She hadn't meant to choose a town with an adjective for a name. Charming. It'd better be cute as hell to live up to that name. But it had what she needed - a job, protection, a friend, and some calm. For a change. Mackenzie Torrell laughed to herself as she drove past the Charming town sign. Home, sweet home.

It'd been strange fate that had brought her here. If she was honest, the story started with her uncle. Her parents had been troubled, to say the least. Drugs, alcohol, petty crime, it hadn't really mattered. In their rare lucid moments they'd instilled in Mac a love of literature, and a penchant for cars and bikes. Her uncle, on the other hand, had been more of a heavy handed guardian.

He was a Navy big shot, and he never let Mac forget it. She'd followed her books to a languages major in college, and then her uncle to the military. For whatever reason, she was good at it. Good at something that she abhorred and reveled in in equal parts. She saw the former part squashed smaller and smaller as the military became a source of livelihood.

When she'd finished her training, they'd sent her overseas. She was not your average solider - special agent - they'd called her. She always cringed at the TV-trope title. But overseas she went; to Britain, Egypt, Russia, Greece, anywhere they sent her. It wasn't long after that she killed her first target. Target. A cold way to dehumanize another human being. It wasn't as if the man was an angel sent from heaven. Oh no.

He had a dark past and an increasingly violent future. He had his finger in all the big crime pies - guns, laundering, trafficking, drugs, you name it. But the one that Mac respected the least was drugs. Not after her parents. And so she'd done as she was told. Her first mission was successful.

It was like coming up for air and drowning at the same time. She'd lost part of herself and could never go back. So she shoved her doubts aside, and did the best job she could. There were caveats. She was careful to inspect every target; she wouldn't kill an innocent, and she absolutely wouldn't go near children. And for quite a few years, she was successful.

And then something changed. She wanted out, away from the goddamn control and back to a freedom that she hadn't really had since college. She knew, deep down, that she was running from the problem, but she worked her way out and was honorably discharged into a world that didn't remember her.

Mac didn't have much choice than to do what she knew best. She took up contract killing, going by the name Kennie, relying on friends she'd made in the military to get her into it, and then building up a network as she went. She developed a reputation for pickiness. She would thoroughly research each target before accepting a job. But she was damn good at what she did, and that meant good money.

She kept a low profile - living in her truck or in and out of cheap hotels. She made contacts and some friends, some romantic, mostly otherwise, but stayed nowhere too long. It wasn't until Sacramento that she met Clay Morrow and Bobby Elvis. It was a favor for a friend; she was meeting with them about a job. Mac had thoroughly enjoyed the look on their faces when she introduced herself.

"Who're you?" came the drunken question from a fat man with a lot of curly hair.

Mackenzie laughed from under her hooded sweatshirt.

"I'm your contact, Elvis." she said, and the man's eyes widened.

The one with the white-tipped hair smiled menacingly, taking in her small frame. The sweatshirt didn't hide that fact.

"You're a wannabe. We didn't come here for a little boy." he growled. "Get out."

Before they could blink, Mac had pulled out her switchblade, and jammed it between Clay's fingers resting on the table. The blade just barely sliced open the side of one finger, and the man hissed at the sting.

"There's nothing boyish about me, Mr. Morrow." she whispered, shaking back her hood. She pulled back, enjoying the surprise in their faces.

"Besides," she said, sitting down, "little doesn't mean shit in my business." She grinned at them. "I'm Kennie, short for Mackenzie."

She stole Bobby's shooter and downed it.

"Ugh, vodka." She screwed up her face at the burn. "What does a girl have to do to get some good whisky around here?"

Eventually, once the boys had gotten over their surprise, she'd accepted their offered job. The pair had just come from a wedding, so they were already half in the bottle, and it didn't take much prodding on Mac's part to learn more about them.

They were Sons of Anarchy members, from Charming, CA. Mac genuinely liked them. Something about the camaraderie they described appealed to her. And it felt a little like fate when they'd mentioned Charming. That was Tara's hometown.

Mac had met Tara Knowles in Chicago, in college. The two had been fair hell-raisers for a while, before Mac had left for the military. Tara had told her bits and pieces about her childhood in Charming, but nothing too in-depth. Mac had known that the Sons had chapters all over the States, so it hadn't occurred to that this pair would be from Tara's hometown. But here they were.

It had presented an opportunity to Mac, who was getting tired of all the running around. She wanted to stop in one place for a while. Charming seemed to satisfy her needs - off the map, quiet, with an open teaching job that would take her languages degree, and, of course, the Sons. They'd make life interesting, and if she did the job right, perhaps they'd even be protection from her past if she ever needed it.

This would've been enough for Mac. But on top of that, Tara was going back. She'd aired her concerns about this shitty ex of her's; Kohn, and Mac had in return told Tara about her growing desire to stop running. Tara had always known the outlines of Mac's life, but never any details. It was a mark of their friendship, that she accepted Mac's explanation without further questions.

And so it had been settled. Mac would finish the job for the Sons, then head to Charming. She'd get Tara's house opened and set up and the two would live there together. Tara would work at the hospital, and Mac would teach. It would be charming. Mac laughed to herself. Or something. she thought.

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