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anactualcaseofthetruth · 4 years

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Friends Can Break Your Heart Too

Summary:

Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that makes sense.

Notes:

This is my first go at Mayans M.C. fanfiction, so let me know how I do. I honestly don’t know if I’ll finish this, but it’s in my head and won’t go away, and I’ve become quite fond of my little O.C., Mia

BTW Jeanine Mason (aka Liz from Roswell, New Mexico) as Mia!

Chapter 1

“Of fucking course, goddammit!” Mia Flores curses as she tugs and pulls on the locked chains around the gate of Romero Bros Scrap. “Son of a bitch!” she exclaims to the darkness and delivers a few swift kicks to the iron gate covered in chains with a huge metal lock just for the hell of it.

The twenty-seven year old then steps back to her car and presses her hands onto the hood, silently berating herself for the decision to not stop one last time at yet another shitty, dirty motel, because now it looks like she’s in for a night of no sleep in her car. Again. All she had wanted was to get here, to feel safe, to finally reach the place she has trying to get to.

A loud rumble in the distance catches her attention, the tell-tale sound of a motorcycle, and her breath hitches. What are the odds that they are heading back to the clubhouse?

Mia waits for the appearance of the loud two-wheelers, but they stop short of her being able to see them or hear exactly where they go. Of course.

She considers her options—resign to sleep in her rundown Chevy Cavalier filled to the brim with clothes and all the rest of the shit she took when she made the split decision to leave or follow the noise in an attempt to find the man she came here for?

“Alright, I guess it’s time for a walk,” she mumbles to herself, opening the passenger side door to reach for the little cash she has, her trusty brown faux-leather jacket, and cell phone. She slams the creaky door shut as she swings the jacket on over her form-fitting soft pink v-neck.

After shoving everything into her pockets, Mia looks over herself one last time in the window. Having expected to go right into the clubhouse when she arrived in Santo Padre, she thinks she already looks pretty decent with minimal makeup, hair clean from the motel she stayed in the night before, hanging down her back in its natural state of loose dark brown curls, she has her signature hoop earrings in, a pair of skintight jeans, and her favorite ankle boots with big, thick heels.

It takes over ten minutes of walking and zig-zagging, but Mia finds three Harley’s parked out front of a bar engulfed by smoke. She doesn’t recognize the one bike she wants, but does see the Mayans emblem on the side of all three.

With a sigh she opens the door and enters the smoke-filled bar thinking that even if she doesn’t know any of the Mayans inside—and that’s the likely case—she could at least use a fucking drink.

Her eyes look for kuttes among the crowd, but sees none, and decides to take an empty seat at the bar.

The drink it is.

“What can I get ya, cariña?” the bartender asks, he’s older with worry in his eyes. She’s not sure if it’s something to do with the missing Mayans or being by herself.

“Uh, a beer and shot of whiskey,” she orders, shrugging off her jacket. “Thanks.” A bottle is set in front of her, the lid pulled off with a clink, and a shot soon follows. Mia wastes no time downing the shot and chasing it with the beer.

“A word of advice, chica,” the man says after the empty shot glass is placed in front of him. Mia’s eyebrows raise as she swallows the alcohol. “Finish your drink and head on home. This isn’t the best place to be this time of night for a niña such as yourself.”

“Thank you, but I can take care of myself. Another shot please,” Mia responds with a sweet smile that causes the man to shake his head at her supposed naivety.

Just as the shot is placed in front of her three men in kuttes exit the backend of the bar. As predicted, she doesn’t recognize any of them, but isn’t shy about looking them over. She practically grew up in the Oakland clubhouse—much can be told simply based on the appearance of a patch.

The first a bigger guy with a shaved head and well-kept beard, which means he has patience and cares somewhat about his appearance. There are tattoos up and down his arms, of course, they even crawl up his neck, and that’s dedication. Mia has no doubt the man would shoot a man without hesitation, but there is also a kindness to his eyes. He isn’t one of the emotionless soldiers.

The second is smaller in stature and body type, a cigarette in his fingers held as if it’s an extension of him. He’s rougher around the edges physically with longer hair and patches of facial hair, he even has some muttonchops forming. He too has tattoos littered all over his body, a small one even on his face. He’s smaller for sure, but there is a fierceness to him that is concerning. His head is on a swivel, meaning he’s always checking his surroundings, and she knows he is completely aware of everyone, and everything, in the room. He’s ex-military, for sure.

The third one catches her by surprise, making her heart skip a beat. He’s taller than the other two by multiple inches, his hair is short on the side and styled on top, and his beard is heavier in the front, but still taken care of. He’s good looking and fully aware of it, and so carries himself with a confidence that can be dangerous. His shirt is tight on his biceps and his arm veins bulge under his tattoos in the best way. MAYANS is tattooed in bold on his right arm, and this alone tells her how important the club is to him. Maybe it’s the brotherhood, the family he gained from joining, or the acceptance they offered. He’s proud to be part of the club.

There’s an ease to his walk that is attractive, it’s a swagger that isn’t forced and is unique to him. She can tell there is a strong bond between the three—they move almost as if they’re one, they are that in tune with one another. Their friendship likely started before they joined the Mayans.

Suddenly his eyes are on her, and now Mia’s heart skips too many beats, but that doesn’t stop her from meeting his gaze. He’s so fucking good looking.

She sits up straighter and runs a hand through her hair, flipping it in a way to get that perfect mixture of messy and sexy, but also can keep a guy’s attention.

One of his friends, the lean one, says something to him that makes him laugh, and it echoes throughout the bar, but his eyes never leave hers as he licks his lips.

Something about the nonstop eye contact makes her uncomfortable, so she looks down at the bar for her shot before tipping her head back with it.

Maybe it’s the intimacy in his stare, the way he seemed to know exactly what she was thinking, what she wants, when she doesn’t even know what’s going on in her head. Or maybe it’s the relationship she just left, how his stare never made her feel anything except dread, especially towards the end.

While Mia knows he’s going to end up at the bar with her and it makes her palms tingle with excitement, she knows this is the last thing she needs right now.

Her brain screams at her to get up, to go back to her car, because she’s so close to what she came here for, because of what she’s running from, because she swore she would be different. Her gut, however, and parts further south, urge her to wait because he’s coming any second and it’s so fucking nice to feel excited about something again, especially a guy.

“Hey, Cisco. Two more shots?” she hears next to her not even a minute later and the anticipation in her stomach bubbles over.

The bartender, Cisco, apparently, nods at the request, but says nothing. Quickly their drinks appear, then he is down at the other end of the bar, far away from them and the outcome he was trying to stop by urging her to leave.

One of the shots slides towards her, and it’s only then that Mia lets herself look up at the man next to her. His hazel-brown eyes connect with her honey-brown and there’s that feeling again—that he’s searching her soul for answers she doesn’t even have the questions for.

“I’m Angel,” he introduces before he tilts his head back and takes the shot with no chaser.

His voice is husky and smooth, and she wonders what it would sound like between her thighs. Would it be lower? Would it tickle her skin with the rumble? Fuck, how long had it been since thoughts like these have crossed her mind?

Is he an angel sent for her during her time of need?

“Is that a line, like you’re my angel, or your real name?” Mia questions, being too honest for her liking, and swallows the warm whiskey in one gulp, knowing it’s been too long since she drank and needs to slow down before she embarrasses herself.

He chuckles, leaning on the bar and closer towards her. He smells like smoke and Earth, and she is curious to know if he tastes the same. “It is my real name, and well, if I’m an angel,” he stops to bite his lip, “that depends on who you ask.”

“I bet that’s true.”

“And your name is?” he asks with a lick of his lips.

Suddenly, she wants to take his bottom lip between her teeth to find out what sound he makes. “Not Angel,” she manages.

“I’ll buy you another shot once you tell me your name.”

“Mia, and I don’t need another shot just yet, but thanks for the offer,” she tells him. Another shot is not what she needs right now, all it will have her thinking is how Angel is that type who would like a girl to be loud in bed, uncaring who can hear. In fact, he’d be proud if the neighbors heard.

“Mia,” he tests the word on his lips and it snaps her back to reality. These are not thoughts she should be having, especially with the relationship she just left.

But, as she looks up under heavy eyelids, all she wants to do is be reminded what it feels like to enjoy being with someone again, for once to not know the unsatisfying outcome, to be spontaneous and not care about what others think, to be free to be herself, if she even remembers who that is anymore.

“So, what’re you doing here, Mia?” he asks as he holds his ringed hand up showing two fingers, and she knows their shots will be refilled momentarily. “You’re not from Santo Padre. Small town, you know.”

“It was the first bar I found,” she answers and his throat rumbles in a chuckle.

Angel takes his shot quickly and hisses as it goes down. “You didn’t look very hard.”

“Truth is, I’m on the run,” Mia tells him and pushes the small glass towards him.

“Somehow, I don’t find that hard to believe,” Angel admits while tilting his head down at her. He’s getting dangerously closer and closer to her, and her buzz is running high.

“I was hired to assassinate a high-ranking government official, but before I could my cover was blown and I was forced to flee in the night,” she says. “I’m on my way to Mexico.”

“’ Cause that’s the last place they’d look for a Mexican on the run,” Angel comments with a smile curling at the edges of his lips.

“Well, I figured with how many they are trying to stop getting here it wouldn’t be hard for one to do the opposite,” she says, “even on the run.”

“Your first time?” he asks

“Going to Mexico?”

“On the run,” Angel corrects.

“Isn’t everyone running from something, Angel?” she questions in return.

“Maybe, but,” Angel stops to take the shot between them quickly, “if you’re on the run from the government, you should be better at it.”

“Are you saying I’m bad at it?” she asks, her voice low, making him lean in even closer.

“If you’re trying to hide, you need to keep shit that is recognizable to you covered up,” he explains and his finger begins to swirl at the skin just below her short sleeve. “This gives you away, mi dulce.”

Mia looks down at his finger still caressing the tattoo peeking out from under her sleeve. It’s a skull with a full, vibrant marigold surrounding it, and written underneath is “It doesn’t matter who my father was; it matters who I remember he was” with his life and death dates, and one start date with no end.

“The flower of el Dia de los Muertos,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” she whispers and lets him push her sleeve up to see the whole tattoo.

“It’s beautiful,” he tells her, his voice deep and full of gravel. “Two dads?” he soon wonders aloud.

The thought makes her laugh a little. “My biological father died, and my mom couldn’t deal, so his best friend, my godfather, stepped up and raised me for the most part.”

Angel nods with a look of approval overcoming his face before murmuring, “good man.” His finger outlines the entirety of it slowly and painstakingly. Her body flushes, and she isn’t sure if it is from the alcohol or Angel. Probably a little bit of both.

“My mom’s gone too,” he admits. “I don’t have anything for her yet,” he goes on, his hand dropping down to her thigh and squeezing just enough. “Nothing seems good enough.”

“I never got to know him, my real dad,” Mia confesses, finding her voice. “He died when I was five. I’ve heard stories about the things he’s done, what kind of man he was, how he died, but all I remember is that he was always there to put me to bed, to say my prayers with me, and always, always kissed me goodnight.”

“Did your… other Dad continue to tradition?” he asks and sounds so sincere her heart clogs in her throat.

“Every chance he got,” Mia confirms with a wistful smile. “He, uh, didn’t have what you would call a regular job, but when he could he never missed it. At least until I became a shitty tween and told him I was too old for it.”

“Damn, quierda, you probably broke his heart,” Angel teases.

“Oh, he was just the first in a line of many,” she continues in hopes of lightening the conversation.

“You have good taste, the tattoo. It’s a piece worth his memory, or their memories, I guess,” he tells her.

“Thank you,” she says and eyes his arms. “You have quite the mural yourself.”

Angel looks down and grins. “I like to think so.”

“Very… colorful in their own way,” she comments, her finger following the pattern of his veins as it climbs up his muscular arm.

“Some more straightforward than others,” he agrees as she traces ‘MAYANS’ very carefully. She’s sure he is waiting for her to ask questions about the M.C. as people passing through probably often do, or at least want to.

“So, are you going to ask what I’m actually doing here?” Mia questions, her eyes flitting up to meet his. The hazel seems darker than when he first came over.

He opens his mouth, but just licks his lips for a moment. “Are you going to tell me?”

Mia grins, and it feels like her first real smile in months. “No.”

“There’s that, and it’s none of my fucking business,” Angel says and catches her hand in his, linking them together. His thumb sweeps over her skin leaving tingles in its wake.

“And what is your business over here, Angel?” she asks of him, her free hand resting on his knee, her face so close to his that his breath tickles her eyelashes.

“Not sure yet, will be soon though,” he tells her, that cockiness shining through.

“Oh yeah, what would make you sure?” Her nose brushes against his while her hand slides up towards his crotch, her fingers gliding over his zipper as the hope in her chest swells.

“Done,” he states before their lips crash together and Mia finds he tastes like nicotine, alcohol, and something sweet.

His beard tickles her chin, making her smile into his kiss and pull him closer by the openings of his kutte. Angel’s fingers brush along the visible skin on her chest on their way to cradling her chin with both palms. The moan that escapes her throat makes it his turn to smile.

His tongue meets hers and she’s one more smooth move from crawling into his lap right here in the bar. Although, being a Mayan, that isn’t new to him. Still, it’s not something she does, a part of the M.C. life she never thought she’d take part in—the footsteps her mother left behind and she swore she’d never follow.

Mia’s hand cups his growing hard-on and it causes their lips to pull apart.

Angel studies her face for a moment before he nods towards the back of the bar he first came from and stands with a hand extended out towards her.

She doesn’t hesitate, simply takes it and lets him pull her from the barstool. Even if this isn’t something she should be doing, it is something she wants to be doing.

Mia’s whole body starts to buzz with adrenaline as he leads her through the back hallway to what, in Spanish, reads the women’s restroom. He opens it as if he knows no one is inside and brings her along right behind him.

It’s a single bathroom, one toilet and adjacent sink, and is cleaner than Mia expected.

The door locks behind them and she turns to find Angel leaning against it, studying her as if waiting for her to make the first move.

With a tilt of her head, Mia looks him in the eye, lifts her v-neck over her head, and tosses it on the side of the sink. It leaves her in a lace white bra with a pink bow nestled between her breasts.

Angel simply stares at her a moment, a grin forming as he pushes off the door and steps up to her. His arms slither low around her waist, his hands cupping her ass as he looks down at her and pulls her against him, lifting her the tiniest amount as their lips meet. Mia takes the hint and with a hop her legs are around his waist. She doesn’t even notice he’s walking until he sets her on the edge of the sink, his hands firmly on her neck to keep her close.

It’s only now that Mia pushes on his kutte, knowing he wouldn’t have dropped it on the floor, regardless of how much they want to fuck each other. Angel understands, letting it fall down his shoulders and tosses it on top of her shirt. He pulls away a moment later and tugs his shirt up over his head revealing more of his ink.

“Hmm,” she whispers as a hand caresses the black markings on his chest. “Less than I thought there’d be.”

Angel lets out a breathy laugh. “More than I thought,” he counters before dipping his head down to kiss at the colorful silhouetted birds tattooed on the underside of her breast.

Mia leans back against the wall as his lips make their way up the valley of her breasts and neck. Her arms loop around his shoulders, squeezing the solid expanse of skin. His teeth nibble on her ear and she sighs in pleasure.

Surprisingly, Angel doesn’t continue and instead brings her heeled feet up on top of the sink with her. He rips his lips from hers and begins to untie the laces, but Mia smacks his hand away with a laugh before pulling down the zipper on the side.

“Like I was supposed to fucking know that,” he mumbles as the boots drop to the ground.

Mia smiles and reaches a hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb resting on his bottom lip. “You gonna fuck me or what?”

Angel’s lips pucker into a kiss against her thumb before reaching down for the opening of her jeans and unbuttoning them. “Something I gotta do first,” he says.

Mia lifts her weight up onto her hands as he pulls her jeans down. “And what would that be?” she asks once he frees her legs, the jeans now turned inside out from being so tight.

Instead of answering, Angel opens her legs wide, pushes her underwear to the side, and his head swoops down in-between her thighs.

“Holy—!” she can’t even finish as his lips suck on her clit, hard, and his tongue starts to swirl around the nub. Her hands grab ahold of his hair to keep him in place. “Shi-it, yes,” she stutters.

She feels him smile against her and she tilts her head back on the mirror, not caring about the sounds she’s making or how loud she is. It’s been months since she’d been eaten out, or even had any kind of sexual interaction that felt good, wanted.

It’s not long before two of his fingers enter her, expertly hitting that special spot, and causes her eyes to roll into the back of her head as she suddenly comes. It’d be embarrassing how soon she unravels if it didn’t feel so fucking good.

Angel’s fingers pull out, but his tongue circles her clit until her orgasm is over and leaves her heaving against the wall. “Fuck me,” she breathes in an attempt to regain her bearings.

“I’m getting there,” Angel promises, making her smile as he undoes his own jeans.

“Yes, you are,” Mia agrees and licks her lip at the sight of his cock. It’s bigger than her ex, although that isn’t hard to be. She reaches down and wraps her hand around him, giving a tug that makes his forehead fall to her shoulder as he groans contentedly. She pumps it a few more times before he pulls away, reaching into his back pocket for something.

Angel flips the golden condom through his fingers with a certain finesse that she hopes is supposed to be funny because it makes a laugh erupt from her throat. He rips the package open with his teeth and rolls it up his member in seconds.

Mia opens her legs wide once more for him to nestle inside, then tilts her head up to him. Angel presses his lips against hers before slipping inside her in one swift movement. She breaks the kiss in a gasp at the feel of him, of how she stretches to accommodate his size and girth.

“Fuck,” she breathes as he moves in and out of her. The pace is fast and Mia tries to find purchase on the sink, something to grab onto, but all she finds is smooth porcelain. So instead, she reaches forward and places a hand on either side of his hips for leverage.

“C’ mere, quierda,” Angel murmurs and lifts her jaw to push their lips together. She can do little more than moan and breathe into his mouth, but likes the contact.

Mia already starts to come undone, feels that familiar tingle begin to climb up her spine, but shakes her head. “No, no, no, not yet,” she pleads with herself. She’s not done feeling this, not ready for it to be over yet. “I’m not ready.”

Angel smiles against her cheek as he continues to pound into her. “Your pussy tells me you are,” he moans into her ear.

She shakes her head, her nails now digging into his ass. “Uh-uh.”

He takes her hands from his bottom, where she was probably about to draw blood, and links them through his own, then presses her against the wall. “You’re gonna come, mi dulce, right fucking now,” he orders through grinding teeth.

Against her own wishes, her body lets go, and she bites her lip to keep from calling out as her inner walls clamp down on his cock, hard. Her body starts to shake, her fingers squeezing his, probably cutting off circulation, as comes harder than she ever has before.

Angel is cursing in her ear as he fucks her through the orgasm, not letting himself go until she’s coming down.

“Holy shit,” Mia breathes, wiggling one of her hands free to thread it through his hair, caressing his scalp while he comes down himself. “I think you are my angel,” she murmurs.

Angel lifts his head from where it was resting on her shoulder, a grin on his face. “Happy to oblige.”

Mia smiles back at him and kisses him. “I’m sure you are.”

With that, Angel finally pulls out of her and drops the used condom in the trashcan before reaching down to pull up his pants.

“You think you can hand me my jeans, Angel?” she asks with her legs dangling from the sink.

Angel reaches down for the denim and even turns them right side out for her.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” Mia teases as she starts to slip them up her legs without getting off the sink just yet.

“That so?” he questions, bending down to put her boots back on her feet, zipper and all. When he stands, he winks, and reaches for his shirt and kutte.

“You are a smooth one,” she remarks as she hops down and shimmies the tight jeans all the way up her thighs. “You mind, uh, giving me a minute? I got a little more to clean up than you.”

“Sure thing,” he replies while swinging his kutte on and reaching for the door handle.

“By the way, Angel,” she starts before the door is quite open. He turns with his eyebrows raised. “That thing about not thinking anything is good enough for the tattoo of your mom, it’s bullshit.”

“Oh, really?”

“It’s not about something being good enough, it’s about what will make you think of good memories of your mom when you see it or when you touch it. It’s for you to remember her, to honor her, no one else,” she tells him. “That’s all it has to be.”

Angel looks her over, then nods in what looks like respect. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

This time Mia winks at him and he leaves the bathroom with a chuckle. She finishes dressing, pees quickly, and throws her hair up in a bun since it’s no longer going to look nice down, not after his fingers got all tangled up in it.

She heads back to the bar, stopping short of being seen coming out of the hallway and looks for Angel. He’s not at the bar, but she does see him off to the side, turned in the opposite direction on the phone.

Mia quickly grabs her jacket and drops a few bills for her share of drinks before ducking out the side door, hopefully before Angel caught sight of her.

She has no trouble making her way back to her car, a smile glued to her face the whole way.

This is not the way she expected her first night in Santo Padre to go. However, as she gets into her car, kicks off her boots, extends her driver’s seat as far back as it will go, and settles under a blanket, she can’t help but think it’s kind of perfect.

They say the best way to get over your ex is to get under someone else, and there’s nothing like kickstarting the process.

For the first time in a long time, Mia falls asleep quickly and with a smile on her face.

-:-

She feels like it’s only been five minutes when she wakes with a start and pounding on her driver’s side window.

It’s accompanied by angry Spanish that doesn’t stop even though the perpetrator can see that she’s awake. As the pounding gets louder the voice changes to English. “Get the fuck up! You think this is park and ride? Are you deaf?” he’s asking.

In a fit of anger, because the noise is not helping her headache, Mia pops open the door and hits the man with it.

“What the fuck? The fuck is wrong with you, lady?”

“Me? You’re the one knocking on my door like the fucking police,” she reminds him as she reaches for her boots.

“So you understand English, now get the fuck out of here,” he tells her.

Mia stands, squinting in the harsh sunlight, and looks the guy who has been bothering her up and down. It’s one of the guys from the bar, obviously not Angel, but the smaller one. “What time is it?”

“Time for you to get the hell out of here. Do you not understand what I’m telling you? You. Can’t. Park. Here.”

“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” Mia sighs and reaches for her cellphone. It’s just past nine AM, the gate to the clubhouse is now unlocked, and Romero Bros Scrap is now open, she guesses. “Bishop here?” she asks while walking around to the trunk of her car as it pops open.

“What the fuck? How do you know Bishop?” the man asks, his attitude becoming even more impatient as he steps closer to her.

Mia fishes out a black flowy shirt that has crisscrossing straps across the chest and unashamedly brings it to her nose for a sniff. “Smells clean enough,” she mumbles to herself before taking off the pink v-neck from the night before.

“Jesus Christ,” the guy complains and turns away from her, which is completely unexpected.

“You Santo Padre boys, you keep surprising me,” Mia comments, the new shirt now on, but he still doesn’t turn back.

“Yo, Coco! You take care of our curbside trash yet?” they both hear and she definitely recognizes this voice.

“Can’t get a straight answer out of her,” Coco, it seems, calls back.

“Her?” Angel questions as Mia closes her trunk and it stops him in his tracks at the sight of her.

“What’re you…” he trails off, looking from her to Coco and back. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Your friend didn’t seem to understand the question, so I’ll ask you. Is Bishop here?” Mia asks

“Bish… you know Bishop?” he responds.

“Yeah, that’s about as far as I got with Coco here,” Mia sighs as she makes her way between the boys to enter the scrap yard.

“How the fuck do you know Bishop? Let’s get that far and maybe we’ll tell you where he is.” Coco catches her by the arm in an effort to stop her from going any further.

Mia shakes her arm free from his grasp. “Touch me again like that and you’ll be dealing with me and wish it was your el Presidente by the time I’m done,” she warns causing both men’s faces to be overtaken in shock. “And, actually, we’re going to do it this way. I’m going to find a bathroom so I can pee. By the time I get back, you can either have Bishop here or on his way, or even an address for me to go to him. How does that sound?”

“Listen, perra—”

“Hey, enough,” Angel stops the insult coming from Coco’s mouth mid-sentence. “Bathroom is through there. If you can’t find it ask the guy with wooden fingers, he’ll point it out to you,” he says with a head nod towards the scrap office.

Mia nods thankfully, but throws a glare Coco’s way before turning towards the building she was directed to. It’s minimal, a computer and stacks of paperwork, but she sees the bathroom sign and a little grateful she doesn’t see the wooden finger man. That has to be a whole other story.

When she’s done, Mia stares at herself in the mirror. Her bun kept through the night, the little makeup left on did too. She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth to calm her nerves.

When Coco grabbed her arm… she didn’t mean to snap, but she’s done being a doormat. That isn’t the woman her godfather raised. She needs to remember who she is, where she came from, and that all starts and ends with Bishop.

When she manages to stop the shaking she exits the scrap office and finds it’s not just Angel and Coco waiting for her, but is now Taza and the one she’s been asking for.

“…has a fucking mouth on her,” she hears Coco saying, a cigarette now in his mouth.

“Do you know how many women that could be?” Taza asks and the honesty makes her snort a little.

All four turn to her and Bishop’s face goes from confusion, to shock, to a smile bigger than she ever remembers all in a matter of seconds.

“She certainly does have a mouth on her,” he comments and is already walking towards her.

“Well, I learned from the best,” Mia jokes as he scoops her up in his arms.

“That you did, baby girl,” Bishop laughs in her ear.

“I’ve missed you so fucking much, Bop,” she whispers and lets him hold onto her so tight it almost hurts.

“Me too,” he says and squeezes her one last time before letting go. “What are you doing here? Did you call?”

Mia shakes her head and tries to hide the tremble threatening to overtake her body. “What? A girl can’t come to see her old man?”

“Any fucking time, pequeña, any time,” he assures her with a kiss to her forehead.

She smiles and hugs him again, this time it’s softer, but feels no less safe than the one before.

“Uh, you mind fucking introducing the rest of us?” comes from their onlookers a moment later and causes them to pull apart.

“Not all of us need introductions,” Taza mentions a second later and Mia smiles before giving him a quick hug too. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart.”

“You too, Taz,” she replies and steps back to Bishop, who wraps an arm around her shoulders.

“Boys, this is Mia, my baby girl.”

CHAPTER 2

Notes:

Thoughts??? Reply with ‘em! Or go onto ao3 and do it as a guest or signed in if you have an account.

And to the people who asked me to tag them:

@mrsamaroevans && @joalsglasses

#mayans mc #mayans m.c.#angel reyes #fanfiction #angel x oc #Friends Can Break Your Heart Too #mia flores #miangel as i call them

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