Here I Stand √ Juice Ortiz.

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰɪᴠᴇ: ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ, ᴊɪɴx

              It didn't take long for Clove to butt heads with her eldest brother, Hades. The two barely spoke the night before, it seemed her homecoming meant very little to Hades. Yet, Juan swore up and down the man with the scar was just as worried when it came to the youngest Knox. Juan couldn't quite figure out their dynamic.

Did sibling rivalry have something to do with their distaste for each other? Did Hades do something to Clove to cause her to turn up her nose at him?

Juan so desperately wished he had known the secrets about the Knox family before meeting Clove. Their meeting was by chance, but if someone had mentioned these things to him months ago — perhaps he could have done everything right. In the end, as much as Juan questioned — he understood that he wasn't fully patched. The MC wouldn't give this Prospect information.

Still, Juan saw Clove's reaction and felt guilty for something he hadn't done. And why did he feel so hurt about all of this? He saved her and gave her another reason to keep going. Shouldn't he be feeling proud? After all, his helpful hand just may bring the club closure. But as he plunged into the toilet bowl a bit, gritting his teeth at the awful smell of human waste, Juan felt everything but pride.

"Juice!" Tig Trager's medium-toned voice brought the young man out of his thoughts. Holding the plunger in both hands, the young man raised his head to see Tig strutting down the hallway of the Clubhouse. One foot stepped in front of the other as if he were marching. Juan lowered the plunger back into the toilet but kept his gaze on his elder.

"It's Juan," chuckled Ortiz nervously, for Tig made him anxious. Trager is a wildcard, a little creepy, but he means well. At least, Juan told himself that. Despite Tig constantly placing Juan into uncomfortable situations.

"Juan, Jose, Juice. It's all the same," Tig waves his hand while his elbow leans against the worn doorframe. He sniffs, then rubs the hairs on his chin as if to be thinking. "Listen, I need a favor."

"Okay. After I finish this though. Clay wanted -"

"I'll have another idiot suck out shit, I need that favor now," Tig snaps his hand that dangled above his head.

Hesitation settles on Juan's shoulders, but he nods his head soon after. With one or two taps against the ring of the toilet, then placing the object beside it, Juan attempts to wash his hands. However, Tig is swift, yanking him by the cut sleeve of his Prospect Kutte. Juan felt dizzy as Tig threw an arm over his shoulders and forced him to walk up the hall.

"So, I - uh," Tig squeezed Juan closer to his side while his free hand circled his right ear. "The other night I got so piss poor drunk, I clunked my head, man. Hit it so hard. Been havin' issues with hearing."

Juan points an awkward finger towards Tig with his brows knitted; "You should get that checked out:"

"Yeah, no insurance. Anyway," Tig lied while turning the corner which led them into the large area where most of the members hung out. The room was so large, back in the good old days, the first members were able to create a bar, kitchen, and meeting room. With hard work and dedication, this once-abandoned building became the home for any Redwood Originals. The shop was an added feature a year later. Since then, the clubhouse had seen its share of happiness, sadness, madness, and all of the above. Different men came and went. Some died, imprisoned, and others were transferred to different Charters.

It was a place to be rough and tough. To be whoever you wanted to be.

But today, the dimly lit building sat with thick cigarette smoke and the smell of rum. Just about everyone had been smoking more than usual and downing their favorite poisons. Clove's appearance gave everyone anxiety. Not because she lived, but because she held information about that night. It was a mystery no one could quite grasp.