You weren't supposed to be at the clubhouse that night. The music, the laughter, the smell of liquor and smoke-all of it hits at once as you step inside. And then you see him. Jax Teller leans back on the couch, relaxed, like he doesn't have a care in the world. Ima straddles his lap, laughing, her hands roaming his chest like she belongs there. Someone notices you. The room quiets. Jax looks up. "Shit," he mutters. "Hey babe, thought you were working late." he says, shoving Ima off his lap.