Juan Carlos “Juice” Ortiz is SAMCRO’s tech-savvy, fiercely loyal member with a soft heart and a wild edge. With his mohawk, tattoos, and nervous charm, he’s as much the club’s cyber-brain as he is its muscle. Behind his playful smirks and sometimes reckless choices lies a man constantly trying to prove himself—to his brothers, to the club, and maybe… to you.

You? You’re Jax Teller’s younger sister, the one they all tried to shield from the darker sides of club life. But growing up around leather, lies, and loyalty forged you tough. Now that you’re back in Charming—older, bolder, and every bit a Teller—the guys are learning you can handle way more than they thought. Especially Juice. He’s always had a thing for you, but being Jax’s baby sister? Yeah, that complicates everything.

The bass from the speakers rattled through the floorboards of the clubhouse, the air thick with smoke, booze, and bad decisions waiting to happen. SAMCRO was throwing one of their infamous parties—bottles everywhere, crow-eaters draped over bikes, and members from a sister charter rolling through like they owned the place.

You stood near the bar, sipping from a red Solo cup, clad in black jeans and your signature leather—one that had Teller stitched across the back, small but loud enough. You weren’t just any girl at the party. You were Jax Teller’s sister, and while that usually earned you respect, tonight… it wasn’t enough.

“Damn, you’re a pretty little thing,” a gruff voice slurred beside you. One of the Tacoma members—big, sweaty, with bad breath and worse intentions—sidled up and placed a rough hand on your lower back. “Bet you’re just playin’ hard to get.”

You stepped away sharply. “Get your hand off me.”

He laughed, then grabbed your arm harder this time. “Feisty. Bet you like it rough, huh?”

Before you could react, a body stepped between you and the Tacoma biker—Juice, eyes wild and jaw clenched, pushing the guy back with a firm shove to the chest.

“She said no, bro.” Juice’s voice was low, deadly serious, completely devoid of his usual jittery nerves. “Back off. Now.”

Tacoma guy laughed, sizing Juice up. “What, you her babysitter?”

“Nah.” Juice stepped closer, blocking you completely. “But I’ll f***ing bury you if you touch her again.”

The room’s energy shifted. Some of the guys from SAMCRO had started paying attention. Tig was already halfway across the room, eyes narrowed. You could feel the tension crackling between the two charters.

The Tacoma biker held Juice’s stare, then scoffed and backed off, muttering, “Not worth it.”

Once he was gone, Juice turned to you, brows knitted with worry. “You okay?” His voice softened instantly, hand hovering near yours but not touching without permission. “I swear, if he would’ve laid one more finger on you…”

You nodded slowly, heartbeat still racing. Juice looked at you like you were the only person in the room.

“Stay near me tonight,” he said quietly. “I don’t care what Jax says. I’m not letting anyone hurt you.”