#we are actually now almost completely through my memorabilia archives... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

anactualcaseofthetruth · 4 years

Photo

Friends Can Break Your Heart Too, Chapter 2 > Archive Of Our Own Link

Catch Up - Chapter 1 > Archive Of Our Own Link

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 starts to make sense.

NOTE: trigger warning to abuse - the whole scene is in italics if you don’t want to/can’t read it

“Since when you got a kid, Bish?” Coco asks with cigarette smoke leaking from his nose.

Bishop turns to Mia and makes a show of looking her up and down. “Twenty-some odd years or so now.”

“Very funny,” Coco mutters to himself as he steps on the butt of his cigarette.

“You have something to say now that we know this young lady’s relationship to Bishop?” Taza questions while looking down at Coco expectantly.

“Sorry for the shit I said, how I acted. Didn’t know who you were, you know,” he offers half-heartedly.

“I wasn’t being very forthcoming either, but I wanted to surprise him,” Mia replies along with a hip check to her godfather.

Angel chortles in front of her, and she fixes her gaze on him as he takes a long drag from his cigarette. He meets her eyes but says nothing as the white smoke oozes from his mouth and nose.

“Now that we’re all acquainted and in good standing, I think some of us need to get to work,” Taza says with a pointed look at the two younger Mayans.

“God forbid the scrap piles up,” Angel murmurs before brushing past her and towards the scrap yard.

Coco follows, but Taza lingers with the two of them. “You two take some time, we can handle a couple hours without our fearless leader,” the VP offers.

Bishop nods. “Mia, you mind giving us a minute?” he asks in a voice that is almost too polite.

Mia looks around expectantly. “Uh…”

“Clubhouse is open,” Bishop says with a cock of his head. “No one’s in there, help yourself behind the bar.”

Mia lets out a breath of laughter. “Sure,” she agrees and walks up the few stairs to the clubhouse, but doesn’t help herself behind the bar, although it would help with the headache.

It’s exactly what she expects it to be, the clubhouse. There’s a bar, a pool table, various other tables and chairs, Mayan memorabilia adorns the walls, along with posters of scantily clad women. There’s a tattoo chair in one corner, a stripper pole in another, and a stained-glass door Mia knows leads to where they hold Templo.

She’s only alone for a minute or two before Bishop comes in behind her. “Sorry, club shit,” he apologizes as he goes behind the bar himself. He reaches for a beer, then seems to rethink it and puts it back. “Do you… breakfast, maybe?”

Mia shakes her head. “Maybe we should talk first, it has been a while.”

Bishop leans on the bar, his hands folded together. “More than a year since we spoke at least. Almost two since I’ve actually seen you, despite the fact that I’ve been up to Oakland three times to do just that, but since I didn’t know where you lived—”

“I know, I’m an asshole, I’m sorry,” Mia interrupts.

“I call every year on every major holiday, on your birthday, on the anniversary of—”

“I know!” she exclaims. “I know, okay?”

“Come to find that fourteen months ago your number changes, your cell phone account gone completely. You’re not listed anywhere, Esai hadn’t heard from you, you refused to tell me the name of that boyfriend you practically fucking worshipped. The boyfriend, who, if I recall correctly, lead to all this shit happening,” Bishop continues anyways.

“Do not blame this all on me!” Mia surprises herself by screaming. “Yes, I’m the asshole that didn’t call, didn’t reach out, but you made a choice and I—”

“Oh, no, we’re not going there,” Bishop states as he pounds a fist on the bar.

Mia jumps and silently berates herself for it. “You choose her, Bop, you choose her over and over again, every time,” she insists. “And I got fucking sick of it.”

“She’s your mother,” Bishop says quietly.

“Since fucking when?” she asks. “The moment that my,” she stops to clear her throat, “when he died she stopped being my mother and you know it.”

“She tried.”

Mia shakes her head. “I don’t know why I even came here. I should have known it would turn into this. Yes, I made mistakes. Yes, I am wrong for cutting you out, and believe me when I say I hate myself for it, but here we are, once again, and instead of trying to work things out with me you’re still choosing her.”

“She’s your mother, Mia, I’m not choosing—”

“You were my mother!” Mia cuts him off, and he looks up at her in surprise. “You,” she confirms as she steps towards the bar. “You said my prayers with me, you read me books until I fell asleep, you signed me up for dance classes, came to every recital. Jesus Christ, Bop, you had one of the old lady’s teach your how to help with my hair when I started kickboxing and needed it French braided every day.”

Her godfather nods but says nothing in return this time.

“Bop, you were my mother and my father, still are, and I came here because I,” she stops and blinks away tears. “I really do hate myself for cutting you out, please believe that.”

He’s out from behind the bar and she’s in his arms not even a moment later. “Sh, don’t say shit like that, pequeña,” he whispers in her ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she repeats into his kutte.

“I’m sorry too,” he murmurs against the crown of her head before kissing it. “I shouldn’t have let this shit go on for so long.”

Mia pulls away shaking her head. “How could you have patched it up? You couldn’t find me.”

“I guess I taught you a little too well, huh?” he tries to joke, and Mia laughs to make him feel better.

She wishes she could tell him it was all her idea. Wishes she simply got a new phone plan in an effort to hide from him, moved so he couldn’t find her, stopped working so she wouldn’t have a paper trail for him to follow.

But none of it is true.

“I am sorry, Bop,” she insists while wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.

“C’mon,” he leads her over to a table and pulls out a chair for her. “You didn’t come all this way to apologize, did you? My number hasn’t changed, you could have called, we could have arranged something.”

“No, I did need to come all this way to say sorry. You deserve a face-to-face apology. Respect goes a long way, you taught me that too,” she corrects him.

“We both said shit that day, from what I remember. I’m sorry too. I do…” he trails off and sighs. “I do make your mom a priority, sometimes it might feel like more than I do you, but it’s not true. I know you can take care of yourself, I raised you to be able to. Your mom…” he sighs again, “is a heroin addict and I enable her too much, I know that.”

Mia wants to cry all over again. Because she hasn’t been taking care of herself. Because she hasn’t been acting like the woman he raised. Because if he knew what Jay did to her, what she let him do, he wouldn’t think she could take care of herself so well. He’d be ashamed.

“It’s okay,” she manages.

“No, it’s not. You’re my top priority, always have been and will be. You know that, right?” he asks and for the second time in as many days Mia feels like her heart is lodged in her throat.

Not trusting her voice, Mia simply nods.

Bishop reaches forwards and takes her hands in his. “What’s going on, mija?” he asks in a soft voice. “I am so happy to see you, but you’re here for more than this. I’ve lived here for over five years and you’ve never showed interest in coming down.”

“I’m sure you’ve guessed by now, but me and the boyfriend are no longer a thing,” she confesses. “Just wasn’t working out.”

“He kicked you out?”

Mia almost laughs. “No, I left him, actually. He went on a trip with some friends and I decided to take a permanent one of my own.”

Bishop sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “You think he’ll come looking? Should I talk to one—”

“No,” she stops him, lying through her teeth. “At least, I don’t think so. I tried to keep him in the dark about the club and Mom, all of it. He wasn’t very interested in my past, more of a look to the future type of guy. He always had plans and ideas and cared a lot about what people thought,” she goes on. “I felt stifled, I guess. I thought I wanted normal, I thought being with someone exactly the opposite of what I grew up with was what I needed. I had just started dating him when Mom OD’ed, again, and you jumped in to save her, again, and I was so angry. I was so angry I wanted away from Oakland, from the MC, all of it.”

“I don’t blame you,” her godfather tells her. “You haven’t had it the easiest, I didn’t shield you from as much as I should have.”

“No, don’t. All the good memories I have from my childhood come from you. It was hard sometimes, but I was loved and I had everything I needed to get through,” she assures him. “It took me almost two years, but I’ve realized I can’t forget who I am or where I came from, and I don’t want to.”

“I’m glad,” Bishop admits and gives her a smile.

“Normal is very overrated, I found out,” she tries to joke. “Boring Christmas parties, stuffy work functions, Sunday brunch at the club. It’s all very pastel and white with fake noses and bad dye jobs.”

“Sounds like scary shit to me, baby,” he insists. “I think I’d rather wear black and drink some beers with my brothers.”

Mia forces a smile. “It was nice in the beginning, I guess. All the restaurants and fancy galas, getting to dress up for more than a funeral or a court date, nice cars and all that, but,” she shakes her head as she thinks about it, “it was all a lie. That’s not who I am, and it took me too long to realize that’s not who I want to be either.”

“We all go through shit, Mia,” Bishop reminds her. “You didn’t choose this life, you were born into it, raised in it. It makes sense you wanted a taste of another life. I’m just glad you decided the old one was worth hanging on to.”

“It is,” she promises him quietly. “It’s a memory of you that make me realize I was in over my head, was living a life I wasn’t meant for and being someone I wasn’t.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“I was, uh,” Mia starts while staring at nicks in the table. “I was going through some shit from when I was a kid, pictures and stuff,” she partially lies. “And I found that one of me on my first bike the day you got it for me, do you remember?”

Bishop chuckles and nods. “It took me an hour to get you on it, then three hours to get you off at the end of the day.”

“I remember crying when I realized there were no training wheels and thought that meant I couldn’t ride it,” Mia says with small smile. “But you said I didn’t need training wheels, that I was a big girl, and by the time you were done with me I’d be riding like a pro.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I?” he asks with a proud smile already on his face.

Mia nods. “You usually are. Do you remember what you said the first time I fell?”

Bishop grins at the memory. “We were screaming at each other in the middle of the park. You were six, had pig tails, your arms crossed, and steam coming out of your ears. I really thought I was going to lose the fight there for a minute.”

“You let me fall! I felt betrayed,” Mia defends herself. “But do you remember what you said?”

Bishop lets out a long breath. “I told you life was going to knock you down over and over again, but you had to get up and keep going because that’s how you grow and move on.”

“I think you added something in there about proving all the fuckers who tried to keep me down wrong too,” she teases.

“Yep, I did,” Bishop recalls in a laugh.

“And then you told me,” Mia goes on, “that when I felt like I’d been knocked down one too many times and I couldn’t get back up all I had to do was turn around,” she says as tears fill her eyes again. “All I had to do was turn around because you’d be there to help me up and remind me how strong I was. Do you remember that?”

Bishop simply nods and squeezes her hands.

“I realized I got knocked down a while ago, and I needed help getting back up,” she tells him. “I’m sorry if it’s a bad time or if I messed up anything for you and the club—”

“Stop,” he orders, his tone firm. “You will never be a problem, you understand me? Never.” He brushes a tear off her cheek. “And I’m here, always, just tell me what you need.”

“I think I just,” she stops to sniffle, “I think I just need my dad to pick me up and tell me everything will be okay, and maybe a place to stay for a while. I don’t have much money or,” she’s cut off by Bishop’s arms wrapping around her.

“Don’t worry about any of that,” he tells her.

“I realized I wasn’t being the woman you raised me to be. I was trying to be someone else because I was so angry, and I don’t want to be angry anymore.”

Bishop holds her tighter. “Everything is going to be fine. I’ve got you now.”

Mia just lets herself be held by him like she did that day at the park when she fell again and again, hoping that when he lets her go she’ll be ready to stand up again.

~3 weeks ago~

Mia doesn’t even attempt to get up from where he left her on the floor, and instead curls into a ball. Ignoring the little pieces of glass piercing her skin, not caring about the blood threatening to seep into her eyes, and struggling for each breath, she just waits.

It’s less than ten minutes when she hears glass crunch underneath his shoes and smoke fills the air. The smell makes the tension she’s holding in her shoulders alleviate the smallest bit. Smoking usually means he’s done, that the battle is over.

“What am I going to do with you?” comes from above her. His voice is hoarse now, as it usually is after he’s spent hours yelling.

A hand slips into her hair and Mia can’t help but shrink away from his touch, but that doesn’t stop him or seem to bother him.

“Hm? Any ideas?” he asks with his hand still caressing her hairline.

When she still doesn’t answer he blows the skunk smoke in her face causing her to cough. She wants to tell him that his dealer sucks, his weed is weak, but stays quiet. It’s safer that way.

“Maybe I should get you pregnant again, huh?” he wonders aloud, his free hand now cupping her stomach, and at this she physically recoils. Jay pulls on her hair, hard, to tug her back in place. She winces at the little pieces of glass that are now embedded in her flesh. “But I can’t trust you with that, can I? Since you killed the last one.”

“It wasn’t a baby,” she mutters and waits for the pain, but none comes. “It was cells—”

“It was my baby,” he corrects her as his grip tightens on her curls. “It wasn’t cells or yours to decide what to do with. It was mine. You hear me?”

Mia’s eyes fill with tears because he’s wrong, he’s so wrong. She was barely eight weeks and it could have been a baby, her baby, but she couldn’t let it become that. Not with this father, not this life, not if she could help it.

He stands, accepting her silence as both cowardice and surrender. “No, I think we have some growing and learning to do before you have my baby,” he sighs, disappointed she doesn’t already know her place. “If you think this is going to ruin my trip, you’re wrong,” he says with the joint hanging out of his mouth as he reaches into his pocket. He drops a credit card and wad of cash on her. “This shit better be cleaned up by the time I get home, you hear me? Like it never happened.”

Mia only nods and he walks away back towards the bedroom, probably for his luggage. He was finishing packing when she came home. Of course, he can’t miss the annual weekend golf trip with his frat bros. That would be a shame.

It isn’t until the door closes behind him that Mia breathes easily and lets more tears fall from her eyes.

How the fuck did he find out about the abortion?

She’s gotten most of the glass picked out of her arm when a photo in the mess she’s supposed to clean up catches her eye. All she can make out is the top of her own head and hair of the man who is on her thoughts more than she wants to admit.

Mia’s careful to walk on the small path already cleared with the broom in her barefeet as she approaches the broken curio cabinet and reaches for the picture hidden behind all the photos of Jay at his law school graduation.

Her lip quivers as she looks down at the man who raised her, his arms around her as she sits on a purple bike with teal tires and handlebars, her favorite colors at the time. She looks so happy, innocent, unbroken.

It’s probably the only picture of her past in the entire house. The rest are all lies—them smiling at business functions, family barbeques, his brother’s wedding. What they don’t show is him squeezing her leg tight under the table in warning for her not to mess up again, a hand digging so hard into her neck it leaves bruises, and a look in his eye that makes her scared to go home.

But the picture in her hand is real. It contains joy, love, and it all feels like a lifetime ago.

Mia stands now, the picture never leaving her hand, and she knows what she has to do, because she remembers who she once was.

~present~

“We should make a list of the shit you need,” Bishop calls from the clubhouse kitchen as he goes to refill both their plates with the scrambled eggs and bacon he made.

Apparently, she isn’t the only Mayan daughter around. Coco has a sixteen-year-old that is in and out of the clubhouse regularly, which means there is more than beer and chips stocked in the kitchen.

“I don’t want you to worry about that. I’ll get a job and get it on my own,” Mia says as he returns.

He sets the plate down in front of her and gives her a look she knows means he isn’t going to lose this one. “Mia, you’re my kid, let me take care of you. We can fight about you paying me back later.”

She tries not to laugh with a forkful of eggs in her mouth. “When you put it that way.”

“You need a phone, right?” he questions, to which she nods as she chews. “I’ll put a call in, get you added to my plan. You can head down and pick out whatever you want this afternoon. You can toss the prepaid one you got. Smart move, by the way,” he adds. “Don’t want the asshole following you because you kept the phone he was paying for.”

“You never even met him, Bop,” she reminds him, then bites her cheek. Why is she defending him? He is an asshole.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tell he’s an asshole,” he responds and she keeps quiet this time. “I got a room for you at my place, but since you’re staying awhile we’ll get you moved in to this small house I rent out in a few weeks,” he goes on. “It’s a shithole right now, but I’ll put the prospect on it, maybe a few of the guys. We have a warehouse full of shit too, you can go and pick what you want, make the place yours.”

“I hate feeling like a burden,” Mia mumbles.

“You kidding? I’ve been asking you to move down here for years. I’ve got it all worked out up here, baby,” he says with a finger tap to his head. “SPG is always hiring, you’ll have a job there by the end of the week, no problem.”

“SPG?” she questions as she sips at her orange juice. Her headache is gone, finally.

“Santo Padre General,” he fills her in. “If you want, I can put a call in. I know someone, Gracie, she—”

“I really appreciate all you’re doing for me, Bop, but I can get a job on my own,” Mia cuts him off. “Especially as a nurse. I want them to know I can do the job because I’m good at it, not because my dad called someone.”

“Alright, alright,” he mutters before lighting up one of his cigars. He usually only smokes during celebrations and Templo, so she looks at him with her eyebrows raised. “What? I can’t be happy my little girl is here?”

Mia can’t help but smile at him. “I’m happy I’m here too.”

Bishop grins back at her with a pat to her knee.

She looks back at her eggs covered with hot sauce and lets out a shaky breath. This is what she has been working towards for almost three weeks. She’s here, with Bishop, and he knows just enough not to be suspicious. She’s with one of the few people she feels safe with, in a place where she doesn’t have to look over her shoulder all the time because she never told Jay about it. He never cared to know about her ‘ghetto past’ as he liked to call it.

“You alright, pequeña?” he asks, breaking her concentration on the eggs.

“Uh, yeah, I was just thinking,” Mia tells him. “I need one more thing.”

“Name it.”

“The plates on my car, they are kind of fake,” she says before putting more eggs in her mouth.

Bishop takes the cigar from his mouth. “Kind of?” he questions, to which she shrugs. “I’ll have it handled by end of day. That piece of shit Chevy on the curb is yours?”

“No,” Mia orders, seeing the wheels in his head turn. “I don’t need a new car. It’s just old, that’s all. I haven’t really driven it in two years. I was using one of his cars, and I couldn’t very well take it when I’m leaving him, now could I? But the plates were off it, so I had to get new ones to drive it here.”

It’s a lie. It had plates, but Jay knew what they were, and he’d use them to look for her. There are perks to growing up in the MC, she knows quite a few tricks.

“Fine,” he mutters, but she knows it will be one of those fights saved for later.

“I also need to open a bank account,” she adds on. “I closed mine out when I decided to come down here. Figured it’d be easier that way, I mean, there aren’t many of the usual franchises in town.”

“Good call,” Bishop comments. “You look exhausted, mija,” he says a moment later.

“Thank you, that’s just what every girl wants to hear from her father,” she tells him as she finishes off her plate.

“Let’s get you out of here. We’ll stop at the bank and the phone place on the way to my house, then you can sleep the rest of the day, or do whatever shit you want to do.”

“I would not say no to sleeping for the rest of the day,” Mia agrees.

“And I’ve been thinkin’,” he goes on as they stand, “maybe on Sunday we can have a get together here with everyone, so you meet ‘em all. You know Taza and Hank, but not any of my other guys. We can fire up the grill, tell stories of all the shit you put me through as a teen—”

“Hey! I was not that bad,” she insists. “I was never officially charged with anything, anyways,” she corrects herself and he laughs. It’s full and hearty and makes her feel better inside than she has in months.

“You up for it?” he checks as they exit the clubhouse and are once again out in the blinding sunlight. He hands her the sunglasses clipped to his kutte without a word.

She puts them on and beams up at him. “Definitely. It’s been a while since I’ve been to a real clubhouse party. Think any of the guys will want to get in the cage? I haven’t seen a good fight in even longer.”

“Haven’t been in one either, I bet?” he teases. “Use any of those kickboxing skills I paid for lately?”

Mia looks down at the sand underneath their feet. She doesn’t want to tell him she’s been in fights, not the kind he’s talking about, and that she didn’t fight back. In fact, she barely put up one most of the time. “Not in a while, no.”

“I got a bunch of your old gear if you want to get back into it,” he tells her. “There’s some here, some back at the house, but it’s all yours if you want it.”

“You’re such a packrat, Bop,” Mia teases as they stop at the row of bikes.

There is a whistle behind them and they both turn to see Angel walking over, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

“One sec,” Bishop says and meets him halfway.

Mia takes the moment to look at him. Angel, that is. She can’t believe she let that happen last night, hooking up with him in the bathroom. She smiles at the memory though.

How long had it been since she’d done something for herself? Besides the decision to come down here, that is? Too fucking long.

Maybe it was just what she needed—a good time and an even better fuck to remember what she’s fighting for, or rather show her the kinds of things she is missing. Of course, she doesn’t want or need a relationship, he likely doesn’t either, but some fun? She’s definitely down for that. After the hell she’s been through, she thinks she deserves some.

Mia hadn’t been joking or lying when she said he was her angel, because maybe he was. In that moment, he was exactly what she needed, and she doesn’t regret it for a second.

They only speak for a minute, then Bishop is heading towards the scrap yard and Angel is coming towards her. He looks good in his Romero Bros Scrap shirt. The sleeves are cut off and those veins she loves in his arms are popping in all the right places.

“Hey,” she greets while sliding the glasses up into her hair.

“Bish needs to talk to Taza, wants me to keep you company, introduce myself, you know,” he tells her and his voice is much harsher than yesterday. He pulls out his cigarettes and lights one.

“You think we should tell him we already got that out of the way last night?” she asks, and his mouth opens in shock, causing him to almost lose the stick hanging from his lips. “I’m kidding! Calm down, will you?”

“You knew exactly who I was, that I knew your ‘other Dad’,” he says with finger quotes and all. “And you fucking played me.”

“Are you seriously mad at me right now?” she asks. “Which part are you mad about? That I didn’t tell you that you were fucking your president’s daughter or that I let you play up the big, bad biker thing when I already knew all about it? Just so I know for the sake of the argument.”

Angel takes a long drag of his cigarette, then shakes his head. “I’m just sayin’ you knew all the facts going in, I didn’t know shit, thought you were just passing through.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you usually ask all your fuck buddies for their whole history, want my mother’s maiden name too? How about my record, that seems more your style?”

“Let me guess,” Angel starts with a pointer finger on each side of his head for dramatic effect, “you’re on the run for attempting to assassinate a high-ranking government official.”

Mia can’t hold back the smile from forming on her lips and doesn’t want to. “Wow, tall, dark, and psychic, a real triple threat,” she teases.

“Sometimes I fuckin’ wish,” Angel says while flicking his ashes. “Doesn’t change the fact that you played me.”

“Oh, come on, that is so unfair,” Mia insists. “I didn’t play you, I played my part. We all got what we wanted, didn’t we? I even made it easier on you by leaving before you did and skipping the awkward parts.”

“Or,” he counters while taking a step closer, “you skipped what could have been round two. Ever think about that?”

Mia’s cheeks flush. “Well, I am now,” she mumbles. “But, admit it, you like it, don’t you?”

“Like what?”

“That you fucked your president’s daughter,” she answers easily, and he shakes his head, fighting the smirk that wants to form on his face. “You do, it’s okay to admit it. Makes you feel a little bit like a rebel, maybe. When you’re sitting with him at Templo you’ll be able to look him straight in the eye all while thinking about how you know the noises I make, what it feels like when you’re inside me. After all, I’m not blood, right? So, it can’t be that weird for you.”

“Does blood matter when I’m thinking about fucking you in his chair too?” he asks, and now it’s her turn for her mouth to drop open. “Angel Reyes, nice to meet you,” he offers at her silence with a hand out and all.

“Mia Flores,” she replies automatically as her hand slides into his. “Are you still mad at me?” she wonders once she gains her bearings again. “Because if it counts for anything fucking you had nothing to do with you being a Mayan.”

Angel barks out a laugh and drops the butt so he can step on it, then lowers his head closer to her ear. “And I’ll fuck you again knowing you’re my president’s daughter, if that counts for anything,” he tells her, then steps back while dropping her hand.

Mia smiles up at him, but notices Bishop making his way back. “I’ll keep that in mind, but you never answered my question.”

Angel shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe we’ll have to find out a way to make it right.”

“Maybe we will. It was nice to meet you, Angel,” she says once Bishop reaches them.

“You too, Mia,” he confirms with a wink before turning around and heading back to work.

“Everything okay?” Mia asks her godfather as he reaches for his helmet.

“Yeah, just catching Taza up. You wanna follow me?” he answers with his leg already swinging over his bike. “You probably don’t want to leave your car here.”

“Sure.”

As Mia makes her back to her car she can’t help but look back, hoping Angel is still visible. He isn’t, but she wishes she could get another look.

She doesn’t know what it is about Angel, but he makes her forget what she’s running from, all the shit she’s been through. He makes her feel like the old Mia, the one before Jay, before she lost herself in all the anger she still carries. She feels safe with him, and it’s surprising, but she also doesn’t want to question it.

She’s had so little to be happy about lately, why overthink one of the few things making her feel that way?

-:-

“So, we’re standing in the middle of the best accommodation’s Oakland PD has to offer, Mia in the jail cell, me on the other side, if you can believe it—” Bishop stops to laugh along with the others gathered around them, much to her chagrin. “And she’s insisting it wasn’t grand theft auto, more like, what did you call it again?”

Mia looks down at the empty beer in her hand and shakes her head. She was such a fearless, stupid kid. What happened? “Mediocre borrow auto, I think it was,” she admits, and more laughter erupts around them.

“Right, and we start screaming at each other, mostly in Spanish, and the fucker who arrested her is laughing at us…” he goes on.

Mia squeezes Bishop’s shoulder as he tells the story. “I’ll be right back, I need a refill,” she mentions, and he nods, but keeps the telling of her past indiscretions.

It’s the day of ‘her’ party, as Bishop calls it. Even though she had met most of the club on the day of her arrival (and the one after it), he wanted a celebration in her honor, so here they are. Multiple bonfires are lit, girls are in every direction, and there’s probably more beer than they can all drink in one night, but she doesn’t want to underestimate the charter. It’s too soon to tell.

She could have gotten a beer at one of the many ice buckets around, but wants away from the crowd, somewhere she can hear her thoughts without loud music or pretending to smile. While she’s happy to be in Santo Padre, it’s a very different environment than the one she’s been living in lately.

Everyone is loud and rambunctious, unashamed and proud, and it’s wonderful, but takes some getting used to. She still finds herself looking over her shoulder every few minutes, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying whatever comment comes to mind, and second-guessing every other move she makes.

Mia knows it will take time to feel at ease in her life again but she’s taking the right steps, at least she thinks so.

As she makes her way into the clubhouse, it’s not empty as hoped.

“Need something?” EZ asks as he stands from the barstool in a hurry.

“Sit, please,” she urges, and he looks hesitant, but listens. “I’m not in the club, you’re not my prospect, I don’t need to be waited on.”

EZ smiles and nods. “I just wanted a few minutes away from…everything.”

Mia goes behind the bar and grabs herself a new beer. “Away from being everyone’s bitch for five minutes?”

“Right in one,” he laughs and they clink their bottles together. “So, you happy to be here, living with your dad?”

“Happy to be here, yes. Happy to be living with Bop, still up in the air,” Mia answers and takes a swig as he chuckles. “Surprisingly, he’s a clean guy, at least in his own way. Everything has its place. He’s a creature of habit and I’m throwing him all off.”

“Why do you call him ‘Bop’ by the way?” he asks.

“Well, when I was little I couldn’t pronounce Bishop, so I settled for Bop and it stuck. He’s my dad in every way besides blood, but calling him that…” she trails off, “felt kind of wrong because my real dad would have been around if he hadn’t died, you know?”

“I get that,” EZ agrees with a nod.

“I was lucky to have him, probably would be dead without him, or worse, like my mother,” she sighs, then takes a long swig.

“Sounds like there is a story there, but I think I’ll keep my questions to myself,” EZ decides a moment later.

“You know, they told me you were smart,” she teases and they both laugh. “So, how are you adjusting to the life? Aside from loving your bitch duties.”

“I do love my bitch duties,” he agrees, and she laughs again. She likes these Reyes boys. “It’s nice to be part of something, to feel like I’m working towards something. Being able to get close to Angel is honestly the best part…it’s easy to take the small shit for granted until you don’t have it anymore. Let’s just say I’m not taking anything for granted ever again.”

“You guys weren’t close before?”

“When we were kids we were best friends, I guess all kids close in age are. We grew up, got interested in different things—girls, sports, friends, and he’s still my brother, of course, but I took it for granted, so did he, I think. You think you’re invincible when you’re young. You think nothing bad will ever happen. It’s okay to skip out on family dinner to be with your girl because there will always be another one. It’s alright to flake on your brother because he’s your brother and you know he’ll get over it eventually. We don’t do that shit anymore. If I make a promise, I keep it. If I tell Pop I’ll stop by and help close up, I do it. If I tell the club I’ll be there when they need me, for whatever they need me for, I am,” he tells her.

“I like the way you think, EZ. I recently went through something that made me remember what’s important in life too. It wasn’t prison, at least, not the kind you went to,” she mumbles, “but still life-altering. There’s nothing more important than family, whether it be blood or the one you’ve chosen.”

“I will cheers to that,” EZ states, and their bottles clink together once more.

“Aye, prospect,” they both hear and turn towards the front door. Angel is walking up, that swagger being used with every step. “You might want to get out there. Coco is trying to set you up in a fight.”

“Of course, he is,” EZ sighs as he stands, and Mia giggles into her beer bottle. “It was nice talking to you, Mia, I hope we can get to know each other more.”

“Back at ya and if you need fixed up after let me know. I am a nurse. An unemployed one, but still,” she offers as he’s walking away.

When he reaches the door EZ turns. “I just might take you up on that. Thanks.”

Angel joins her behind the bar and grabs a beer of his own. “You flirting with my little brother, Flores?” he questions as he twists off the cap to his bottle.

Mia shrugs and tries to look innocent. “Well, I figured I might as well try for the whole set. Is your dad dropping by again later?”

Angel chokes on his beer and Mia laughs as he spits up a little. “Very fucking funny,” he grumbles while reaching for something to wipe his kutte off with.

“I thought so,” she agrees. “So, what are you doing in here? Aren’t you worried your brother is going to get his ass kicked by whatever patch Coco set him up with?”

Angel snorts. “The kid spent eight years in Stockton, he can hold his own. Besides, I hear we have this new nurse hanging around in case he gets in any trouble.”

“Oh really? Lucky guy,” Mia teases before lifting herself onto the bar. There’s a mirror behind it she can see herself in.

Her hair has held up in the somewhat tighter curls she tried for, thanks to the mousse, and her make up is still doing its job of hiding her ever-present eyebags and adding a little pink to her cheeks. The smoky eye is something she hasn’t attempted in a minute, but it’s not half-bad.

Her outfit is something she hasn’t worn in forever, since she lived in Oakland, actually. Jeans that are so tight they are a second skin and high-waisted, with a black top that laces and ties up the back like a corset. Still, a good bit of her stomach is showing, and some cleavage too. Bishop had given her a look back at his house, so a big black sweater was put on over top but has now fallen around her elbows.

“Shouldn’t you be out there enjoying your party?” Angel asks, breaking the objectification of herself.

“My party?” she questions before finishing off her beer and tossing it in the trash.

Angel looks around expectantly. “I’m sorry, isn’t all of this for you, or am I fooling around with the wrong girl?”

Mia shakes her head down at him, or directly at him more like, since at this height she’s in his eye line. “No, this party is for Bishop. We haven’t been on the best terms for a few years, so this is his chance to show me off, get the DILF card, if you know what I mean.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s more than that,” he tells her. “I’ve known the guy for years and I’ve never seen him smile this much. He’s genuinely happy you’re here, querida.”

Mia smiles down at her hands and picks at her black fingernails. “He is, huh?”

Angel lifts her chin so he can look her in the eye. “Mhm, but if I had a daughter that looked like you, I would not be parading her around in front of these fucks, that’s for damn sure,”

“Is that so?” she asks, her tone lined with laughter. Before she can stop herself, a hand reaches up and caresses his beard before tugging on it playfully.

“Not in those fuckin’ jeans, hell no,” he confirms.

“What’s wrong with my jeans?” she asks as her nails rub the underside of his chin. His beard is softer than it looks, he obviously uses something in it to make it that way, and she wants to tease him for it, but saves the information for later instead.

“I don’t know if you know this, but,” Angel starts and moves to stand between her legs, even pulling her a little closer by the backs of her knees, “if you put a quarter in your back pocket, I bet you could tell if it was heads or tails. That’s how tight they are on your ass.”

“You been starin’ at my ass, Reyes?” she questions with another light tug on his beard.

“Um, yeah,” he answers easily, and his face looks so ‘duh!’ that she can’t stop the laughter from bubbling up her throat. “Among other things,” he adds on, then takes another sip of his beer.

“It’s nice to know it’s being appreciated,” she whispers with both her hands cupping his cheeks now, and her forehead leans forward to rest on his.

“Among other things,” he repeats softly before nipping at her lips with his. It’s gentle and slow, pretty much the opposite of their encounter the other night.

“You know, I think I figured out how to make it up to you,” she murmurs when they pull away.

“Oh, yeah?”

Mia nods as a hand slips inside his shirt to scratch at his happy trail. “I know it sounds simple, but hear me out,” she whispers, to which he nods. “I can suck your dick.”

“That’s it, huh?” he asks with hands sliding up and down her thighs.

“Oh, but I’m really good at it,” she assures him, and he chuckles against her mouth. “Wanna see?”

Angel just nods and kisses her.

After a few moments Mia pushes him away and hops down off the bar. “C’mon,” she urges as she takes his hand and leads him down the hall towards the kitchen but enters the storage room instead.

“Really?” he questions and flicks on the light above them.

“What? You think you earned fucking me at the table where you hold Templo? Uh-uh,” she says while undoing his jeans and letting her sweater fall off in the process. “Besides, who says you get to fuck me? All I agreed to was sucking your dick.”

Angel grins at that and pulls her into a kiss that includes tongue and teeth and makes her feel dirty in the best way. “We’ll see about that,” he mumbles when they pull away.

“I guess we will,” she agrees and pushes his boxers down until his hard-on springs free. “I’m sure you heard this before, and I hate to boost your ego, but it has to be said,” she starts as her hand wraps around it and pulls just enough to make him sigh. “You really do have a nice dick.”

“I’ll keep that in mind—shit,” he swears when she drops to her knees and wastes no time taking him into her mouth. “Fuck.”

His hands thread into her hair and take hold to keep her in place. She’s able to take a large part of him into her mouth before he triggers her gag reflex and he moans at the flutter of the back of her throat.

She hums as her head bobs, one hand on the base of his cock, the other paying attention to his balls, softly massaging them with her fingertips. When his hands tighten on her scalp she pulls away from him, making a loud smacking sound with her lips.

“No, back,” Angel whines from above her and tries to maneuver her mouth back onto his cock, but she resists.

Instead, she pumps him with her one hand while her tongue swirls and plays with his tip. His hips buck and she can practically feel his impatience. Enjoying this side of him, Mia continues to tease. Her tongue curls and sweeps up and down the sides of his cock, her mouth even moving to suck on his balls lightly. They tighten against her tongue and she giggles a little—Angel Reyes likes his balls played with.

Before she can go on one of his hands pulls on her hair, the other lifting her from the armpit so she’s standing again and his lips are on hers, completely taking control of the situation until she’s the one backed against the wall and he’s attempting to undo her jeans.

“No, no, no,” Mia breathes, pushing on his chest, leaving him heaving in front of her. “I promised to make it up to you, remember? You’re finishing in my mouth, bebé.”

Angel shakes his head and crowds her against the wall, his lips hovering over hers. “I want to turn you around and take you right here, right now, mi dulce.”

“As lovely as that sounds,” Mia murmurs as her nose brushes against his, “I keep my promises. It’s my mouth or nothing, you choose.”

He leans down and kisses her roughly, biting at her lip in frustration. “On your knees, then.”

Mia grins, puckering her lips to kiss him once more before getting back into position. Pre-cum is leaking from his tip and she knows he’s close, even after their little intermission. She makes a show of licking it up and Angel groans while pressing his palms into the wall behind her, his hands threatening to turn into fists.

She takes him into her mouth after pumping him a few times, and he surprises her by bucking into her, triggering her gag reflex before she’s quite ready. A hand grabs onto her head, keeping her there, and she lets it happen even though it makes her eyes water. It only goes on for a moment before he’s emptying himself into her mouth and she opens her throat instinctually to swallow.

“Jesus Christ,” Angel huffs as he lets her go, his eyes closed and his face looking completely blissed out.

Mia wipes her mouth and picks up her sweater as she stands. “Told you I was good at it.”

He grins now, his eyes fluttering open. “Yes, you did,” he mumbles before kissing her and it shocks her a little, especially when he uses tongue because Jay never did that after she blew him, he didn’t like it. Of course, it didn’t happen regularly because the guy had a problem coming too quickly with even small amounts of foreplay.

Mia pushes the thought of her ex out of her head and lets Angel kiss her. It’s slow and drawn out, and his tongue is doing things that she wants recreated between her thighs. She forgot what it’s like to just be kissed, kissed really fucking well.

This guy cannot be fucking real.

“Well, I believe my job here is done,” she breathes after literally forcing herself away from him.

“Mine’s not,” Angel insists and tries to pull her back into his arms.

“That, my friend, is your problem,” she tells him while reaching for the doorknob.

“Seriously?” he asks and she bites her lip to keep from laughing at the sight of him. His pants are still pushed down below his ass, his dick is getting hard again, and he looks like a child who just got taken his favorite toy taken away.

“Weren’t you the one saying I have a party to get back to?” she questions and leaves before he does something to change her mind.

She stops in the bathroom to look herself over. Her lips are a little swollen, but not very noticeable, and she flips her hair a couple times so it’s not so apparent Angel’s fingers were in it. When she comes back to the bar, EZ is back, and Coco is there too, but no Angel.

“Wow, done already?” she asks as she reaches for what will probably be her last beer.

“It wasn’t really a fight,” EZ explains as Coco laughs. “He was pretty drunk. I tried to tell him it wasn’t a good idea.”

“Boy Scout threw one punch and knocked the fucker out,” Coco tells her. “He’s still laying in the cage.”

“I didn’t knock him out, I think he passed out on his own,” EZ insists. “I was wondering if you’d check him out though. We tried to wake him up and didn’t have much luck.”

“Sure thing,” Mia agrees and starts to follow EZ when Angel comes out from the back hallway. “We probably shouldn’t leave him there if he’s that drunk anyways.”

“Bro, you fucking missed it. Baby brother knocked someone the fuck out,” Coco boasts.

“I didn’t… never mind, c’mon,” EZ sighs and leads her out of the clubhouse.

Less people are milling around. She assumes quite a few either are sleeping it off somewhere, or a group headed back to Vicki’s for a whole different kind of fun.

“Hey, grab that,” Mia instructs EZ as they pass an empty ice bucket. He doesn’t question, just grabs it, and she thinks again, she really likes these Reyes boys.

He’s an older Mayan, the one passed out in the middle of the cage, and he’s snoring. He’s one of the guy’s riding through the area and stopped for the party. She opens his lids to check his pupils and shines her cellphone light in them—it’s so nice having a smart phone again, she thinks.

“Hey, Bop, this guy volatile?” she calls when she sees her godfather watching.

“No more than anyone else,” he answers with a shrug.

Mia nods and stands, the beer still in her hand. “Alright, EZ, pour it,” she instructs. A group has gathered to watch the show and EZ, once again, does as he’s told.

He wakes up screaming in Spanish and swinging at the both of them.

“Hey, watch it,” EZ threatens and pushes Mia behind him a little.

“The fuck was that for?” the man yells.

Mia crouches down to look at him. “If you would have rathered stay here and choke on your own puke and die all you had to do was say so,” she says sweetly.

“Get dressed and sleep it off in the clubhouse,” Bishop instructs the man, who still looks very grumpy.

“…definitely his fucking kid,” she hears him say as they exit the cage and she shakes her head, but is smiling all the same. She’ll never be offended by that statement again.

A few minutes later she finds herself away from everyone, nursing her beer, and looking up at the sky. There’s so much to see away from the lights of cities and pollution. All these stars aren’t visible in San Francisco, or even in Oakland. Everything is clearer out here, less complicated, and exactly as it seems.

“Hey,” someone greets from behind her causing her to jump and drop her beer. “Shit, sorry,” Bishop apologizes and picks it up for her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just lost in my own head,” she attempts to laugh and takes the near-empty bottle from him. “What’s up?”

“You have a good time?” he asks, and Angel’s right, he hasn’t stopped smiling since she got here.

“A great time,” she confirms and looks up at the sky again. “It’s beautiful out here at night. There’s so many stars.”

Bishop looks up with her as an arm wraps around her shoulders. “I never really noticed before.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop noticing,” she murmurs.

“How much did you have to drink?” he questions and she smacks him on the stomach, and he laughs. “Listen, I don’t want you hanging around attempting to clean up after your own party. I asked around, Angel said he’d give you a ride home if that’s okay with you?”

“He did, did he?” Mia laughs and nods. “Yeah, that’s fine. But I’m happy to hang out and—”

“No, pequeña,” Bishop cuts her off. “We got this.”

“By ‘we’ you mean EZ?” she jokes and he laughs too.

“Something like that,” he replies. “I have a few things to take care of here, but I’ll be home in a few hours.”

They start walking back towards the clubhouse. “A few things to take care of, huh? Is that what they are calling it nowadays?”

“Ha-ha, you’re hilarious, you know that?” he tells her and bumps into her shoulder with his.

“Anyone I need to give a talking to? Let them know how awesome you are and that I’ll kick their ass if—ah!” she squeals when he tickles her.

“Enough, Mia Valentina,” he states, and she laughs loudly.

“Yes, sir, Obispo, sir,” she goes on with a salute and all.

“Alright, Angel, get her home, will you? She needs to sleep it off,” Bishop calls over and it’s only now she notices they are near their line of bikes and Angel is already on his with a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Will do, jefe,” the younger patch promises.

“Hey, I am not drunk,” she assures him as he kisses her cheek. “I’m not, I’m just in a good mood. Am I not allowed to be?”

“Yeah, just do it somewhere else,” Bishop tells her and she opens her mouth in fake shock. “Grab your helmet from my bike, don’t make him give his up, you know how I am about helmets.”

“Wow, I think you just lost about ten cool points,” Mia mumbles, but does as she’s told.

“There is nothing cool about splitting open your skull on the side of the road,” Bishop says in a firm tone.

“You really have a lot of confidence in my ride home, don’t you? You sure I shouldn’t pick a different one? Gilly, maybe? Or EZ?” she suggests while fastening the helmet to her head. “Oh, what about Coco, I’m sure he could show me a good time.”

“On the bike, Mia,” Bishop practically orders.

Mia grins. She missed teasing him. She’s one of the few who get away with it. “Fine, geez, if you’re gonna make me,” she sighs as she swings her leg over the bike and settles behind Angel.

“Make sure she gets in the house,” Bishop tells Angel. “And Mia, lock the door behind you, both bolts—”

“The cool points are dropping by the second,” Mia sing-songs and can feel Angel chuckling in front of her.

Bishop decides to ignore her and instead does that manly handshake they do. “Thanks for this. Safe ride home, brother.”

“Back at you, brother,” Angel responds as he kicks the engine over as he grabs ahold of the handlebars.

“So, I hear you selflessly volunteered to drive me home.”

“Well, I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” Angel assures her.

“Hm, I’ll be the judge of that,” she whispers in his ear and he revs the engine as they make their way out onto the road.

It might be the alcohol, or maybe the easy relationship her and Bishop seem to be falling back into, or even the anticipation of the sex she knows is going to happen again with Angel, but Mia feels happy.

It’s funny, the weightlessness of it, how her body is responding to it and making her giddy.

She knows that it’s fleeting—when she goes to bed bad memories will plague her dreams, she and Bishop will continue to not talk about her mother, that little voice in the back of her head will make her wonder what Jay is doing, how hard he’s looking for her, if he’ll ever find her.

But for now she gives in to the alcohol, the love she has for the man who raised her, and the growing affection for the man driving her home.

Mia gets caught up in watching the lights speeding by, reminding her of shooting stars in the sky, of the endless possibilities she has if she can stay hidden and keep her secrets. She doesn’t even notice they are slowing down until they are at a complete stop.

“What’s wrong?” she asks over the low rumble of his motorcycle.

“I don’t know about you, mi dulce, but I always stop at stop signs,” he insists.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Ha-ha, this is more than a stop sign, where are we going?”

“That’s what I was going to ask you,” he replies, his head turned back to look at her. “We go straight, I take you home. We turn left we pass my apartment and take the long way. Your pick, querida.”

“Your apartment, huh?” she asks and squeezes his middle. “You think we’re there, yet? Going from a bathroom, to a storage closet, to your bed is a pretty big jump, don’t you think?” she teases. “I don’t know if we’re ready for that step yet.”

Angel’s mouth curls up into a smirk. “Believe it or not, I got a lot of fucking surfaces at my place if you think the bed is too much of a commitment for you.”

Mia lets out a loud laugh. “Fucking surfaces, huh? Nice choice of words.”

He revs the bike’s engine. “Waiting on you.”

Mia leans in closer to his ear. “Turn left. I want the scenic route,” she whispers. She feels his chest rumble as he chuckles but takes off without another word.

A few minutes later they are pulling into a sprawling apartment complex and Angel parks in the very last spot on the end marked with a letter and number, she assumes his assigned parking spot.

“Not bad, any of the other guys live here?” she asks as they get off the bike and undo their helmets.

“Why, wanna make a house call?” Angel counters, and she tosses her helmet at him, hitting him square in the stomach. “Oof, feisty.”

“I’ll show you feisty,” she mutters with her arms crossed in fake anger.

“Not tonight you won’t,” he tells her before bending down and maneuvering her body over his shoulder.

“Ah! Angel!” she exclaims, holding onto his hips for balance.

“You had your fun earlier, I’m in charge now,” he warns with a smack to her ass.

“Watch my head,” she pleads, the amusement in her voice obvious, as he walks up the steps to his second-floor apartment. “I don’t want to ruin the mood with a concussion.”

“Haven’t you learned by now? You’re safe with me, querida,” he assures her while unlocking his door. He kicks it shut behind them before setting her back on the ground.

“Whew, head rush,” she breathes and flips her head until her hair is out of her eyes.

Looking to Angel she finds he’s already taking off his kutte and it reveals a concealed gun holster underneath. He quickly does away with that too, dropping it on the table next to the door for now. She tries not to be turned on by the sight of him with a gun but fails miserably.

Having grown up around guns, they don’t scare her—in fact, Bishop taught her how to use one at thirteen years old right before her first “real” date. If she remembers correctly, he also gave her an expensive looking pocketknife around then, telling her that if she’s ever attacked to stick it in her assailant’s gut and twist.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she speaks up a moment later as he stares down at her during the silence. “You’re in charge remember? I’m just waiting to be told what to do.”

Angel shakes his head at her. “You know exactly what to do, you taught me that earlier, remember?”

“I left an impression, huh?” she jokes while slowly undoing that buttons to his shirt, but instead of the bare chest she wants, it’s a wife beater underneath.

“Oh, long before that,” he assures her, making her smile to herself and push the button-up down his shoulders.

Soon after she’s lifting the tank top and he takes the hint, tossing it aside all together. “There it is,” she breathes, smiling at the sight of his chest. Her fingertips instantly reach forward to play with his happy trail, lightly scratching down until they hit the button of his jeans.

Before she can continue Angel twists her hips so her back is to him and starts to untie the laces going up her spine. When it’s loose enough she raises her arms so he can take it off her altogether.

“I’m in charge, remember?” he whispers in her ear as he moves all her hair to one shoulder so his face can nuzzle in the other.

“If you say so,” she sighs contentedly, her head falling to one side to give him more room. His lips travel along her shoulder and neck, kissing lightly, his beard tickling her just so.

Her entire body jerks when his hands take ahold of her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumb and pointer fingers. “Didn’t get a change to pay attention to these the other night,” he says in a husky tone that makes her knees weak.

“What a shame,” Mia breathes and before she knows it Angel is scooping her up in his arms and dropping her on his couch none too gently.

“The couch okay? Or you think we should take this to the kitchen table?” he asks as he towers over her. “Don’t wanna skip too many fucking steps.”

Mia grins and takes off her shoes, socks included, before shrugging. “You’re in charge, remember?” she counters, being a brat and she’s fully aware of it. “Your call, papi.”

Angel licks his lips as he looks down at her, his dick obviously hard in his jeans, the area becoming so tight it looks uncomfortable. Mia lifts a foot and starts to rub the bulge slowly, teasingly. “As lovely as this view is, and feels,” he says as he takes ahold of her foot to stop her, “I have some payback to do.”

“Payback?” Mia questions and lifts her hips as he pulls on her jeans. “I owed you, remember?”

He does that licking his lips thing again as if he knows it’s driving her fucking nuts. “Mhm and leaving me there like that means now I owe you,” he says and slips her underwear down her legs too.

Angel lifts both her legs up in the air and wastes no time licking all the way up her swollen pink slit. “Fuck,” Mia pants, her toes curling as it feels like he’s devouring her.

Just as she feels her pleasure building, he pulls away causing her to whine. It’s faint, but he hears it, and grins down at her as he wipes her juices from his beard. “Up on your knees, face the other way,” he orders and on with shaky limbs she does as she’s told.

She hears movement behind her but doesn’t look back. Suddenly her knees are being spread apart and she feels his head settle between them. “Shit,” she breathes as he positions her opening over his mouth.

Maybe it’s the lack of foreplay in the last two years or any real pleasure actually, but even if she had been getting off more than just to her own vibrator, Mia thinks Angel has a gift. He knows how to eat a woman out. It’s like he’s showing her how good he is at it because of how she teased him earlier.

And she’s starting to regret it.

As his tongue licks and flicks at her clit Mia grips onto the arm of the couch, her nails digging in. “Right there, like that,” she chants and curls over the arm, and honestly considers grinding down on his face and cutting off his air supply. He’s so good she thinks he really might have some sort of gills.

She’s so close and it feels so good the muscles in her legs start shaking in need.

“Please, I need…” she trails off when she feels him shake his head at her request. “Yes, I can’t,” she stops when his tongue leaves her clit altogether and instead sweeps up inside her. “No, no, no,” she cries and before she even knows what she’s doing she’s off his face, off the couch, and on the floor crawling away from him.

“The fuck you think you’re doing?’ she hears above her and she just shakes her head with her eyes closed.

“I just need a minute,” she whispers, her body curling into a ball with her legs crossed to ease the ache.

“Here’s how this is going to play out,” Angel says, and she opens her eyes to see him dropping his pants and rubbing his own hard-on. The sight doesn’t help her situation any. “You’re going to come on my mouth first, or not at all.”

Her own words from earlier echo in her head and she curses herself.

“Your call,” he repeats her words once more.

Mia lets out a shaky breath and opens her legs to him. As he descends upon her she thinks that if he licks his lips one more time she’s going to slap him. Still, when those same lips pucker around her clit she threads her finger into his hair to keep him there.

He doesn’t tease much this time, because he probably knows she’s close to either hitting him or finishing the job herself if he doesn’t.

It’s at the exact moment he begins to hum with her clit in his mouth that she comes, and she comes hard. Her legs start to shake, fingers rattle along his hairline, and her eyes squeeze closed as he flicks at her nub through the entirety of it.

When he finally pulls away, Mia curls into herself once again and crosses one leg over the other. “Evil,” she manages to mumble.

“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” she hears him say before she’s being put back onto the couch belly down. “I got plans for you, mi dulce.”

“Not to purposefully play on words, but I’m screwed,” she sighs and feels his lips ghost up her spine as he chuckles.

“Yes, you are,” Angel agrees while lifting her hips until she’s on all fours.

“Can’t wait,” she replies and moans when he slides two fingers into her, curling just so. They exit her as quickly as they enter, but before she can complain about it his fingers are replaced with his cock in one swift movement. “Oh, my God, holy shit.”

Mia moves back and forth, up and down, noises exiting her throat every time he’s completely sheathed inside her, filling her up. He’s mumbling something in in Spanish, but she can’t make out what.

Angel grips her hips when her moves become frantic, taking control with his dick deep inside her. “Sh, baby, I got you,” he promises as a hand wraps around her throat and his lips kiss at her temple.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she swears and holds onto the arm of the couch until her knuckles turn white. “Angel,” she moans, her voice low and needy.

“C’mere,” he murmurs and turns her head until their lips connect.

“Oh, my God,” she breaks the kiss in a moan and drops her head down to bury it in the cushions.

Angel pulls out of her and situates them so her legs are in between his and she’s lying flat. Mia pushes up on her hips so he can slide into her more easily and he does without warning. “Fuck,” he groans as he slides into the tight hole.

Mia sits up just enough so she can shake her ass in a way that’s proven successful in the past, but she only does it for a few moments before Angel takes over, leaning down over her and fucks her even deeper, making her cry out so loud she bites a cushion to stiffle it.

“You like that?” he questions in her ear and she nods into the cotton she’s still biting. “I wanna hear you, querida,” he urges, using his hand to pull up on her throat and let go of the cushion. He continues his movements and she tries to keep in her shrieks, but it’s not easy. He’s hitting a spot that’s only been felt once or twice before in happy accidents, but Angel’s not holding back.

“If you don’t… I’m gonna—” she manages between thrusts and cries.

“Do it,” he tells her and speeds up. “You have any idea what it feels like when you come on my cock, baby?” he asks as she feels herself start to spasm. “Your pussy—fuck,” he stops as she starts to come. “Just like that. Your pussy is so tight, and when you come your whole fucking body shakes, your pussy included.”

He let’s up when she screams, unable to hold back and her entire body sags, but he’s right, she is shaking. When her body settles Angel pulls out of her and she notices he’s still hard—he hasn’t come yet.

Seriously, he isn’t fucking real.

Mia flips over, still in between his legs, and finds him stroking himself above her. “I know, I know, you’re not done with me,” she sighs and he chuckles. “But a girl needs a minute to recuperate.”

“You want me to be done?” Angel questions while opening her legs and resting them on his hips.

“Fuck no,” she answers easily and links her fingers through his, pulling until he’s on top of her and presses her lips against his. “Now, fuck me deep and slow and don’t stop until you come too.”

Angel smiles against her mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

CHAPTER 3

taglist:

@joalsglasses

@mrsamaroevans

@justahopelessssromantic

#angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans m.c.#angel reyes x oc #fanfiction #clayton cardenas #ao3 link #friends can break your heart too

62 notes · View notes

mummifymecaptain · 3 years

Text

ghost in your eye

Read me on ao3!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC

Rating: Mature (18+)

Chapter One

The thing Lena hated most about her job was, without question, having to leave it every day.

Abandoning the cozy solitude of her basement workspace— full of artifacts, old papers, and yellowed newspaper clippings –for the unchartable conversations and missed social cues of the outside world. It wasn’t that Lena hated people. Rather, she loved them. She just...wasn’t good with them. She didn't understand them and they, in turn, didn’t understand her. Any attempt at friendship always ended painfully awkward.

“Managed to tear yourself away, Miss Lena?”

With the exception of Hank.

Kind, sweet, mild-mannered Hank, the museum’s nightguard. Arguably the closest thing to a friend she had in this world.

“Mary keeps denying my request to move in down there.” Hank chuckled, as though he’d thought she’d been joking with him. She wasn’t.

“Maybe next time, eh?” It was the same exchange they had almost nightly and the familiarity was comforting. All she would have to do is make some sort of noncommittal gesture or noise, breeze by the admissions desk and then it was just a short jaunt to her apartment building four blocks away.

She made it about halfway to the doors before her steps faltered, head canting to the side slightly to watch the shadow that paced. Hank was still at her back, stationed at his post, when she said, “Did you know that there were 12,000,000 soldiers enlisted in the US Army by the end of World War II?”

“I did not.” A rustle of fabric as he shifted in his seat. When he spoke again, his tone was fond. “You learn that from your artifacts?”

The smile she sent him over her shoulder could only be described as enigmatic. “I found an old lockbox of World War II memorabilia today. A few letters, a handful of coins and medals, and a couple of loose dog tags.” She thought of the worn journal in her satchel, nestled between her collection of stolen pens and spare pair of gloves, with its warped pages and newly inked list of names. “I’m going to see what I can find about who the stuff belonged to. Maybe they’ve still got family in the area.”

The box she’d found— a dinged up, tarnished thing –stamped with U.S. ARMY, looked as though it had been abandoned long before the war ended. Lena had surrounded herself with enough history over the years to know what that meant. Her empathetic heart wept for boys she did not know, dead decades before she’d even been born. And forgotten, judging by the layer of dust she’d cleaned off first.

“That’s our Lena,” Hank teased, not unkindly. “Always lookin’ for a mystery to solve.”

Her answering shrug was anything but nonchalant, too stiff and jerky. Her hands started to sweat inside her leather gloves, fingers clenching against the strap of her bag. Did he know? “No one deserves to be forgotten,” she said after an awkward beat, pleased that her voice had remained steady. “Isn’t that why we have museums? To remember history we might otherwise forget?”

“Wise words, Miss Lena.” She heard him shift again and chanced another glance over her shoulder, quickly averting her eyes to the shiny waxed floor. Still there. “You a smart girl. Whatchu doin’ hidin’ away in our dusty basement for?”

“I happen to like dusty basements.” Hank gave another amused chuckle and she felt a glow of pride in her chest for a successfully landed joke. Still, she risked raising her gaze to fix him with a brief mock glare. “It’s starting to sound like you’re trying to get rid of me, Hank.”

His smile was bright and encompassing, taking years from his weathered appearance. “And miss our talks?”

Her own laugh was genuine. “Highlight of my day. Night, Hank.” She twiddled her fingers at him over her shoulder, finally unsticking her feet to walk forward.

“Night, Miss Lena. You be safe gettin’ home now!”

He’d said the exact thing to her every night since she’d started, first as a volunteer, before slowly carving out a job position for herself. On paper, she was an Assistant Curator. Never mind the fact that the museum already had one. In actuality, she was a walking, talking, living archive. She kept a record of every single piece that passed through the doors, displayed or not, all inside her head. And she spent her days in the basement, cataloging the mismatched mess of abandoned items. Mary, the museum’s actual curator, had told her that most of what was down there had been for the better part of twenty years, and that despite working there for nearly thirty five herself, even she wasn’t positive on what all it contained.

The basement itself spanned the entirety of the upper floors, and in her own four years of her self-appointed project, she’d organized maybe a third of it. For every new thing she discovered down there, days of research followed in an attempt to learn everything she could. And some things...some things she simply couldn’t resist touching with bare hands.

They spoke to her when she did that. Shared their stories through impressions and still images in her head. The more history an object held, the more it would tell her. But opening herself up to them also invited the ghosts.

They never stayed for long— thankfully –and they never acknowledged her, too busy reenacting events that had been stored inside, but their presence was...unsettling, at best. And since she’d been unable to ignore the call, brushing a single, ungloved finger over one of the dingy medals, she now had the haggard ghost of a young soldier unknowingly dogging her steps.

From the brief glance she’d gotten at his first startling appearance, it was clear that he’d gone through something heavily traumatic. There was a reason she made a point to not touch items she knew to be from wartimes. A notion she had idiotically disregarded upon finding the lockbox.

Her unwanted companion dragged silently behind her, despite the heavy limp he now held from his plainly broken leg. His clothes were dirty and torn, hair in a complete disarray and patchy stubble hiding what had once been a youthful face. But it was the eyes that stuck with her, visible even when she closed her own. They were wild and empty at the same time, giving him a constant feral expression. The way his irises had shifted the room, seeing untold horrors invisible to her, had made her heart throb. Whatever incident had earned him that medal couldn’t have been worth it.

He was still there when she stopped in her building’s lobby to check her mailbox. It was always empty, but she still checked it every day.

“Empty again, pet?” She would have started at the voice of her neighbor, Mrs. Boyle, had she not been expecting it. For months now, she’d been catching Lena in the lobby after work, trying to convince her to go on a date with her grandson. She frowned. Maybe she ought to consider forgoing the mailbox. “No letters from home?”

Her frown twisted into a reluctant fond smile. “Most people don’t write letters anymore.”

She’d hoped it would be enough of a deflection and she could make her escape, but Mrs. Boyle wasn’t going to let her off easy tonight, it seemed. The soldier made a sharp, jerking movement, mouth wide in an unheard scream of agony. She hurriedly reverted her attention back to her nosy neighbor. “You do. Every morning. I see you drop a letter in the box when you leave, when I take Starla out.” Her expression was nearly one of pity. “They don’t write back?”

“I never expect them to.” She left it at that, climbing the stairs, her war-torn ghost trailing after her. “Have a good night, Mrs. Boyle.”

Lena knew that, one day, her carefully practiced aversions would no longer be enough. But how could she possibly confess to the woman that she wrote letters to the dead? She was aware that it was an odd practice, even by her own standards.

She spent her days surrounded by the left behind belongings of those who’ve passed on, items that have slipped through cracks of time, hidden from the world and consigned to oblivion. However, Lena’s ability granted her the unique opportunity to rectify. By opening herself up to the various articles, gleaning what she could and piecing together all the little bits, she’d been able to identify original owners, and eventually, their final resting places. Then, she would write to them, explaining who she was, and what she did.

Logically, she knew it was a silly thing to do. The people she wrote to were long departed, mere bones and ash beneath the earth. There was no one to read her letters, let alone respond to them. But was almost cathartic, in its own way. And there was naïve hope she carried in her ever-bleeding heart that she was somehow making a difference. That maybe, just maybe, the dead would know that they hadn’t been forgotten. That she would remember them, even if no one else did.

Her keys hitting the counter was harsh in the otherwise quiet of her apartment, sliding across the already scratched up worktop. Haphazardly strewn papers and research books on loan from the library littered most of the island, the odd mug of half-finished tea squeezed in wherever she’d managed to find room. A chaotic, disorganized mess to anyone that wasn’t her. Despite the clutter, she knew the exact location of anything she might need.

Her ghostly compatriot lingered near the paint chipped door, his visage wavering at the edges as he wordlessly shouted orders to comrades she could not see. He would be gone soon enough, and she would finally, truly be alone.

Well, aside from Carlyle, her lone fish.

Lena had attempted introducing friends to him at one point, but it hadn’t ended well. Which she could definitely sympathize with. Granted, he’d eaten all of his tankmates. She was just terribly inexperienced when it came to dealing with people. And given that she could hardly stomach eating animals, she didn’t think she was in any danger of suddenly developing a desire for human flesh.

“And how was your day, Mr. Carlyle?” she asked the striped blur zooming around the tank. She paused, canting her head as though listening intently to his reply. “Well, that sounds absolutely riveting. You certainly know how to live life to the fullest, my friend.”

Resting her chin in her palm as she rested her elbow on the countertop, her soft eyes tracked Carlyle’s wild movements as he weaved in and out of the decorations she’d placed for him without a care in the world. There were times in her life where she was almost...envious of him. How nice it must be, to be able to pass from day to day without worry or responsibility. But even Lena knew that such an existence would be terribly dull. For all her oddities and peculiarities, she was not immune to the plight of dullness.

“They reported another sighting,” she told her fish, blowing her short bangs from her eyes. They immediately fell back into the same place. “Just a glimpse. Some hotel in Calgary. It’s the first one since D.C.”

For all that she loved history, in all its forms, Lena Taggerty held one specific area in the highest of regards.

She loved the conspiracy theories of history. The ghost stories. The unknowns and unanswered questions. Endless mysteries, all waiting to be unraveled by her fingertips.

After the events that had transpired in Washington D.C., just two months before, events that even Lena— disconnected from the modern world as she was —caught wind of, had brought forth whispers of what was, arguably, the greatest historical ghost story of them all, and had her nearly chomping at the bit.

The Winter Soldier.

A topic of much controversy on the forums she’d frequented since learning the name. Some believed that it was a title, passed on throughout the decades, making it appear as though the same man haunted behind the scenes of the criminal underground over several lifetimes. Others claimed it was a group, operating under one name so as to keep their identities and intentions secret. And others still believed that the Winter Soldier wasn’t a man at all, but an idea. A violent threat used to inspire fear and upset.

The only thing that anyone seemed to agree on was that whoever the man from D.C. had been, Winter Soldier or otherwise, was extraordinarily dangerous. A fighter of immense skill, based on what little footage had been recovered. Not someone to be trifled with. And definitely not someone’s radar you wanted to be on.

Lena was fascinated. Truly, utterly, fascinated.

The story of the Winter Soldier was possibly the biggest unknown mystery on Earth at the moment. There was virtually nothing on the man, and what she’d managed to uncover at first often contradicted itself. Nearly every time, in fact. Almost as though someone were purposefully trying to spread misinformation. Which, naturally, only made her all the more curious.

Her secret pet project. A mystery no one had been able to solve. One that, until recently, most didn’t even know existed.

Though not owning a computer of her own, she’d spent hours at the local library, pouring over the recently declassified files that had been leaked online in the wake of D.C. Admittedly, most of what she’d read in those early days had gone straight over her head. Anything that sparked a note of interest, but wasn’t relevant to her current investigation, was printed off to be carefully filed away for a later date. It was this exact practice that had led to her accidental breakthrough.

For weeks, she and the internet alike lamented over the lack of information regarding the Winter Soldier. He was well and truly a ghost, even among the organization that employed him. The name hadn’t been found in any of the examined files at the time, and users on the forums were frustrated over it, Lena among them. She found it difficult to believe that of all the thousands of documents now accessible to the general public, not a single one mentioned him.

The answer had come to her late one night, as she’d lied in bed, unable to sleep.

What if he went by a different name?

It was the internet that had dubbed him The Winter Soldier, taken from long ago leaked files, back before the internet had really taken hold. So, it wouldn’t make much sense for that to be the one appearing in the documents. With a renewed sense of purpose, she abandoned any and all idea of sleep that night, pouring over her printouts for anything that might smack of the person she was looking for. And on the second night, she’d found it, while reading a mission report recounting the successful termination of a target by ‘the asset’.

She’d read a similar report before, of a failed mission that had been compromised by the Winter Soldier.

By the asset.

Lena had returned to the library early the next morning, having not slept, and armed with her find. Now that she knew what to look for, she’d ended up with hundreds of hits, file upon file upon file that had ‘the asset’ sprinkled liberally throughout. She’d saved every single document it appeared in— regardless of whether or not she understood it or even knew the language.

She’d since added learning Russian to her to-do list.

Settling down on the one cushion of her secondhand couch that wasn’t covered with her research, she shoveled a forkful of instant noodles into her mouth, breathing in sharply as she stupidly burned herself in her haste. Balancing the foam up on the arm of the couch, she reached for a stack of papers she’d printed off days before.

They looked to be mission reports of some nature, different from the ones she’d encountered before in that they were inordinately coded and completely in Russian. Much of the top page was scored with thick black lines, and the same heavy redaction treatment appeared on the subsequent pages. Resting the Russian/English dictionary she’d checked out on one knee and a spiral notebook on the other, she picked up where she’d left off the night before in translating the documents.

From what she’d had so far, which wasn’t much thanks to an unfamiliar alphabet and more than half of the information missing, ‘the asset’ had been dispatched to an undisclosed city in Belgium at some point in 1977 to retrieve an unnamed scientist of some import. Extraction had gone smoothly, with the intended target being delivered with only minimal injury to his person.

Blowing her cheeks out in exasperation, she stretched cramping fingers and shook out her hand. The only genuinely useful information was that he’d been in Belgium in ‘77. She circled both findings as a reminder to add them to her timeline map and flipped to the next file to begin the process again.

Lena worked well into the night, her meager dinner all but forgotten. She’d finished translating three and a half documents before her eyes grew too heavy to continue, burning with gritty sand every time she blinked. Digging her palms into them, and dislodging her reading glasses in the process, her groan was pained as she unbent her stiff legs.

Stumbling her way to the bedroom, she barely managed to chuck her glasses on the end table by her alarm clock before collapsing on top of the covers with another groan. She was asleep within seconds.

She did not dream.

✪ Chapter Two ->

#ghost in your eye #it's tortured white boi hours 24/7 here

0 notes