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ravennaortiz · 8 days

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Your Boyfriend is a Bitch Headcanon -Mayans Version

Summary: How the guys would react if they overheard some guy hitting on you and saying that your boyfriend is a bitch. Inspiration came from the song below.

Taglist: @keyweegirlie @hatersaremymotivators @meera10 @kikijackson-blog @im-just-a-mississippi-girl

A hint of mischief is in Coco's eyes as he turns to you after knocking the guy out who had went from telling you how beautiful you were to telling Coco he was a bitch and he could steal you away if he really wanted to.. "My bad ma" he states with a smile. You had been begging for a normal date night away from the clubhouse and brothers. As much as you loved them and the club sometimes it was nice to have a quiet dinner at a nice restaurant outside of town. You couldn't help the smile and laugh as you shook your head as you reached for his hand quickly moving to your car. "I can't take you anywhere. Always getting me in trouble" he continued as the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance.

"Oh, really? You think you have a chance of taking me?" inquired Angel his voice casual as he turned to the younger guy who had sat down at your table. The guy had been chatting you up since you had stepped into the packed clubhouse looking for your man. Not taking a single word you had said to heart as you told him to back off and that your boyfriend was not one to play with. You watched as the mans eyes widened as he took in Angel and his eyes flickered over the patches. Angel was an imposing man sitting down but when he stood up the guy took off. "Thought I was the bitch?" laughed Angel as he sat back down looking at you.

Short king Bishop oozes big dick, don't fuck with me energy. Which is why you are stunned into silence as well as Gilly and Angel at what the new prospect has just said to him. The air is tense as Bishop contemplates the young man who had just dared to say he could fuck you better than him. "I assume you only said this because you think my beautiful goddess of a wife is a club girl correct? " asked Bishop as he gently taps your hip. Once you have stood up off his lap he stands up and walks to the new prospect who has decided now to shut his mouth. "I'll help you out son. There is no correct answer" states Bishop as he grabs the guys arm and leads him out the door.

Manny is all slow blinks and tight smiles as he listens to the man next to him at the bar describe all the ways he would do you as they wait for EZ to get them beers. "Said she has a boyfriend, dumb bitch doesn't know what she's missing out on. He's obviously a winner since he left her alone." states the man as he nudges Manny who chuckles darkly. "Yeah, the mother of my four beautiful girls over there sure is missing out" he states before punching the guy in the face. "Also im her husband not her boyfriend" states Manny before making his way to you. "This is why I don't bring you out ma. Always got me acting up" joked Manny as he pulled you too him for a kiss.

Guero is all angry forehead press and fists the minute the guy grabs your arm to turn you too him. The two of you had been taking a break from dancing and wee making out in the back of the packed clubhouse. You had mentioned to Guero earlier that the guy had been hitting on you and said he could take your boyfriend in a fight when you mentioned you were not single. Guero had wanted to put his fist through the guys face then but you had been so amused he had pushed the idea down so that he could keep that smile on your face. Now though it was on. No one touched what was his.

The moment your sweet Teddy Bear said excuse me and stood up you knew the guy was done for. It never ceased to amaze you how many people thought it was fun to poke the grizzly bear of a man that was Gilly. You smiled as he blew you and your daughter who was cooing away in your arms kisses before grabbing the back of the guys neck and walking him out of the clubhouse. "Still getting guys in trouble, four days after giving birth" chuckled Coco, making you laugh, as he stood up. "I'll make sure he doesn't kill the kid"

Creeper is silent as he watches you and the guy go back and forth. You have just as much blood on your hands as he does, he knows you can handle yourself. He won't hesitate to step in though if you want him too. He patiently waits for your cue as he sips his beer, chuckling when the guy says he can do you better and asks what position you like. "Do you like having your ass fucked?" you inquire as you tap Creepers arm. "As her bitch of a boyfriend I like to watch her fuck guys in the ass" he states as he looks the guy up and down.

"Who's the bitch now?" growled Bottles as he stood over the guy he had just punched in the jaw much to the shock of everyone. The guy had been following you like a scenthound, not taking your rejection of an offer to dance or to sneak off to a more private area. Even when you stated your boyfriend was a Mayan he was undeterred, going so far as to push you into a wall saying your boyfriend must be a bitch if he wasn't with you. Pushing Guero out of the way as he congratulated Bottles you pulled him to you demanding he take you home to bed now.

EZ is willing to let the guy slide. He's drunk and clearly overcome by your beauty. Who wouldn't be? He could not blame the guy for coming over and hitting on you. He probably figured you two were just friends sitting here having a drink and a chat. Its an easy mistake if you are new like he was. The two of you shared a look and small chuckle when the guy said your boyfriend was probably a bitch. He was going to let hat slide too but when the guy angrily slapped your beer out of your hand.....letting anything slide was out the door.

#Spotify #ravennasmasterlist #mayans imagines #mayans mc #bottles mayans mc #guero mayans #mayans x reader #manny mayans #angel reyes #bishop losa #gilly lopez #creeper vargas #coco cruz #ez reyes #mayans headcanons #mayans imagine #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagines

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spaghettificationandpretzels · 9 months

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The New Bartender

Mayans MC Masterlist

Contains: Smut, MFM threesome, fluff, friendly rivalries. No beta read, probably full of mistakes I can't see.

4K words

Out of desperation, Bishop hires a real bartender.

Thank you to @burningtacozombie for the gif.

You looked over the ad, "The pay's alright but I don't think I'm going to gel well here, the poster I picked up didn't exactly say I would be working at a biker clubhouse."

Bishop swallowed and shot a look at Hank; you were the most qualified person they had spoken to all week, and the drinks you had whipped up were to die for, "We realise not putting the location on the ad wasn't the best idea but we're desperate. We can't keep people long and well, we're bikers, we like to drink."

You nodded, "Yep and I've been there and done that, I'm not interested in spending my night being disrespected. At least in a bar, I can get the fucker kicked out."

Hank held up his hands, "If you wanna toss someone, you can. The girls that are left could really use a hand. I promise we're nicer than we look."

You sighed, "Fine, a two week trial, you do sound desperate. But I ain't putting up with any shit and don't think I'm not going to take someone's keys from them."

Bishop smiled and stuck out his hand, "Done, you're hired."

You shook it and sighed before shaking Hank's hand too, "I have a feeling this is going to be an interesting two weeks."

That was two months ago, and aside from a few growing pains and walking out with all the other women in the middle of a party after a particularly rude Mayan took it one step too far, things had been amazing.

"I'll get an old fashioned please." You mixed the drink in a flash and slid it across the bar to Bishop, "Thanks."

You smiled, "Don't mention it. I know I've asked you this before but have you considered broadening your horizons? Maybe try something a little different."

Bishop sighed, "What do you recommend?"

You ran a finger over the liquor bottles, "You ever had a dark and stormy?"

He shrugged, "Probably."

"Ok then, when that's drained, you can give it another go." Bishop walked away with his drink and Guero and Bottles filled the space.

Guero gave you his trademark smirk and you handed him a beer, "What do you want? I know that look."

He chuckled, "Who do you like more, me or Mr Magoo?"

The question seemed to roll off Bottles' back, "I'm not going to answer that."

Bottles smiled, "Nah, we want to know."

You shook your head, "No, and if you keep this up, I'm cutting you both off."

Guero looked you up and down, "That's what we like about you y/n, this take no prisoners attitude is very hot."

You huffed, "You've both made your attraction pretty clear and it's not happening, I'm not going to be your tool to show up the prospect."

"Maybe we're just going to ask you to have a drink with us." Bottles hadn't yet developed the charm that some of the patched members had and if it wasn't so cute, you might have felt sorry for him.

"Come on y/n, I wouldn't be showing him up, we'd be helping the poor boy. You see how shy he is." You rolled your eyes but Guero continued, "All this flirting we've been doing has to go somewhere, just say yes and we'll show you a good time."

There was no denying they were attractive, and if the rumours you heard around the clubhouse were true, they knew what they were doing, "I'm not going to have sex with Bottles because you wanna torment him about it, that's really gross dude."

Bottles smiled, "That's not what it is, he's got a big mouth and I want to prove him wrong."

You blinked, you had no idea where his sudden confidence came from, "What fucking cave did you two crawl out of?"

Guero raised a hand in placation, "It ain't like that, we like you and we want to show you a good time, if you'll let us."

You sighed, "Fine, but no fucking bullshit and this doesn't mean I'm getting passed around." You held up a finger as the smirk grew on Guero's face, "Any fuckin bullshit and I'm putting you both out on your asses, understand?" They both nodded aggressively, "Good, I'll see you at my place tomorrow at six and bring food."

****

You rubbed your face as they fought over the last spring roll, "I swear to shit, cut it in half or I'll eat it." They stopped like little boys caught in the middle of roughhousing and did as you asked, "Thank you."

Bottles shifted in his seat and pushed up his glasses, "Thank you for agreeing to this."

You smiled, "You're both very handsome and I'm hoping to have fun too, it's not a big ask."

The corner of Guero's lip ticked up, "Oh, you're going to have more than fun."

You rolled your eyes, "If you keep bragging, I'm going to think you're overcompensating for something."

"Oh trust me, I'm compensating just the right amount." Sometimes his smug tone made you want to punch him.

Bottles shook his head, "You don't need to worry about that with me, I'm secure."

"You know, it might serve you to be this confident all the time, I like this side of you." He positively beamed at your praise. Guero kicked him under the table and you slapped his chest, "None of that, be nice to him."

Bottles smiled, "Yeah, be nice to me."

Guero's jaw ticked, "You are so in for it Prospect."

You shook your head and stood up, "I'm going to fix up the bedroom, I expect my kitchen to be clean by the time I invite you into my bed." Guero would have taken the chance to make Bottles do it had you not stopped him, "Both of you. You don't want me thinking you're lazy would you?"

Guero shook his head, "I love cleaning."

"Sure you do, you got ten minutes." With that, you headed to the bedroom and left them to rile each other up for the upcoming fun.

At eight minutes, you walked out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen, looking around before smiling, "Great job, shall we?"

Guero slapped Bottles on the back and grinned, "We shall."

You followed them into the bedroom and Guero flopped himself on the chair by the bed while Bottles stood in the middle of the room, "You're not taking part?"

Guero's tongue darted out and licked his lower lip, "I'm alright with watching, I'll step in when he can't do the job right."

You ignored him and stepped closer to Bottles, taking his glasses off his face and handing them to Guero without looking at him. "Are you sure you're alright with this? I don't want you to do anything you're not one hundred percent into."

He laid hands on your cheeks and smiled, "I'm really alright with this, trust me." He leaned in closer and bumped your nose with his, "Can I kiss you?"

You nodded, "Yes, I would like that." His lips were gentle when he pressed them to yours, holding a quiet confidence that made your skin burst out into gooseflesh.

One hand left your face and made its way down your body to unbutton your top before sliding it off your shoulders, "Holy shit."

You could feel Guero eyes on your body as he took in your bare skin, and you broke the kiss, "It's just my back dude."

He chuckled, "Yeah, but I can tell you got a hot bra on, and the Prospect's too busy kissing you to appreciate it."

Sure enough, when you turned back, Bottle's eyes were stuck on your lace covered breast, "It is a nice bra."

You nodded, "Yeah, you wanna take it off me?"

Bottle's hands rushed to remove it as his lips found yours again, "Wow Prospect, I thought you were a virgin but the way that bra came off makes me think we might be alright yet."

You broke the kiss again and shot a look at Guero, "You did crawl out of a cave, virginity isn't real."

Guero chuckled, "Sorry, continue."

Bottles' lips moved to your neck when you turned back this time, that same quiet confidence coming through as his hand moved to your breast to play with your nipple. His hand went to your ribcage and pulled you close as the other moved down to the zipper of your jeans, "Can I?"

You nodded, "Yes please." The zipper came open and a warm hand slid inside before settling over your covered core to cup you through your panties.

"You gonna take her jeans off Prospect? It ain't fair that you're keeping her all of yourself." Again, there was something in Guero's tone that made you want to punch him, he was clearly enjoying the power.

Bottles pushed your panties aside and his fingers grazed your bare flesh, "How about you come over here and do it yourself, I'm busy."

Guero hopped up with a skip in his step and took two long strides over to the middle of the room. His hand were warm as he ran his knuckles up and down your sides, getting lower and lower with each pass before finally going low enough to pull your jeans down your legs, "Did you dress up for us?"

Bottles' calloused fingers finally making direct contact with your clit made it hard to reply, "I think she did, but unlike you, I'm grateful for it."

Guero went to reply, but you mustered your own, "I did it for me, I like nice lingerie. As far as you know, I could have been wearing something like this four nights a week."

Bottles swallowed and flicked his eyes to Guero who smirked, "Our bad, apologise Prospect."

Bottles didn't respond, and your panties went next while he gathered wetness from your entrance before sliding two of his thick fingers inside you. Guero stepped back, flopped on the bed, and pet the spot beside him, "You two wanna join me?"

You whimpered as Bottles pulled his fingers out and stepped backwards towards the bed, sitting on the edge as Bottles stepped between your legs, "You're both overdressed."

You reached out, pulled Bottles' belt free and yanked his jeans down while he removed his shirt and then a bare chest was being pressed against your back and Guero's lips grazing your neck, "Hey, fuck off, it's my turn."

Guero sat back, propped up on the headboard and smirked, "Sorry man, you were just taking forever."

You shook your head in disbelief, "Do I get a say in any of this you fucking troglodytes?"

Bottles suddenly looked very smug, "What do you want?"

You heard Guero's jeans coming off as they waited for your answer, "I want you to fuck me."

Bottles grinned and leaned over, forcing you to lie back, "I can do that."

You made your way up the bed and settled on the pillows and Guero bent over to take you into a kiss. His hand found your cheek and he pulled back while his thumb stroked your skin, "You want me to fuck you too or are you going to make me sit here and watch?"

Eyes got wide as you watched Guero's hand slide down his body to take his dick out, "Holy shit."

Guero chuckled, "That's not an answer."

You blinked, "That thing is fucking huge, what the fuck do you want me to do with it?"

Guero shrugged, "Whatever you want, I'm not fussed."

Bottles tapped your hip gently and drew your attention back to him, "Well you can decide later because I want to make you feel good, can I do that?"

You nodded, "Yes please."

Guero stroked his dick lazily, "So polite, who knew you had such great manners. Did you know about that Prospect?"

Bottles was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive, "She's always sweet to me, it's not my fault you're an asshole."

"Can someone please do something before I have an aneurism?" No reply came from either of them as Bottles made his way all the way up the bed and hovered over you. His lips touched yours, the kissed deeper this time as his free hand rubbed your outer thigh and you placed one hand on his side and the other reached out to grab Guero's cock.

Bottles grabbed your wrist and shook his head, "Don't."

"But I want to." Your tone was far more desperate than you intended

Guero looked for you to Bottles and chuckled, "Yeah Prospect, she wants to. Are you going to deny such a beautiful woman?"

You could see the wheels turning to Bottles head before he let your hand go, "Alright, only because you've been so good."

Guero wrapped his hand over yours and placed it over his dick, moving in a barely there stroke, "Like that yeah?"

You nodded, "Ok." He smiled and leaned back, enjoying the sensation as he watched Bottles' lips return to your skin.

You slid your hand from Bottles' side and removed his boxers and his hard cock sprung free, "Well look at that, the Prospect's packing too. Who knew?"

Bottles chuckled, "Yeah, and unlike you, I know how to use it."

You huffed, "Can someone please fucking do something instead of just bickering, I could have gotten myself off five times by now."

Bottles smiled and nibbled your neck as he made his way to your breast, and Guero's hand wrapped over yours again as he tightened your grip slightly before pulling away once more. Bottles lips wrapped around your nipple as his hand came up to play with the other but Guero slapped it away, "You don't get to have all the fun, I've barely touched her."

Bottles took the chance to take to the hand that was on your breast and place it back between your legs, and you took in a breath as he went right back to where he was before, with his fingers sliding inside you.

Guero's finger moved in broad, teasing circles, his fingertips bearly touching your breasts as he moved closer to your nipple. Bottles, however, was kissing your flesh like it contained the answer to the universe. Before you could relax into the feeling, Bottles was pulling away and kissing down your body to your core.

Guero picked up the slack, his hands becoming more insistent as he had more room to work, and Bottles' fingertips crooked upwards to brush your G-spot as he used his other hand to lift your legs over his shoulders. He lifted his head and made eye contact with you before giving you a soft smile, "Can I?"

You nodded and wove your hand into his hair, "Please." His lips sealed around your clit and Guero shuffled down so he was lying next to you before taking your face in his hands and pulling you into a kiss. Guero swallowed your moans as Bottles worked you closer to the edge, all the teasing and stopping finally catching up with you as the orgasm rushed towards you like an oncoming train.

You bit down on Guero's pillowy lower lip and he let out a feral grunt as your hand tightened around his cock. You pushed Bottles head closer and ground yourself on his face as your clenched around his fingers and Guero broke the kiss to watch as pleasure overtook your body, "Fuck, that's so fucking hot."

Bottles pulled back and wiped his face with his palm and kissed back up your body, taking your chin in between his fingers and pulling your head away from Guero and towards him as he took you into a kiss. Guero's breath caught in his throat, but before you could act on it, Bottles grabbed both your wrists and pressed them into the pillow by your head, "Keep them there."

Guero was taken aback but recovered quickly, "I was going to complain but this might be better than the handjob."

Bottles removed his hands from your wrists and slid them down your body and bent your knees so he could slot himself in the space between them, "Condoms?"

"Top drawer." Guero twisted himself around and reached over, rifling through the drawer with a smile before pausing to look at something.

A smirk grew on his face as he pulled out a bullet vibe, "What's this?"

He and Bottles shared a look but you shook your head, "Next time."

"Alright, next time it is." Guero shot Bottles a pointed look and when he stayed quiet, the box of condoms was lobbed at his head, "You got something stuck in your throat? She's saying there's going to be a next time."

Bottles' brain caught up with his dick because he was grinning, "Hell yeah, I can't wait."

He picked the condoms up from where they had landed and pulled one out of the packet before opening it and sliding it over his cock. His hands ran up and down your legs as you threw them over his waist and he rubbed his cock up and down your slit and looked into your eyes in a request for permission, "Please."

He slid inside you slowly, biting back his moan as he bottomed out. Guero rested his hand on your cheek and turned your head towards him for another kiss as his hand returned to his dick. Bottles rocked his hips slowly, working up to a steady pace as he held himself above you on his elbows.

You pulled your hands off the pillow and wrapped them around his body, Bottles making no move to stop you as his hips picked up speed. Beside you, Guero tutted and slapped Bottles' shoulder before pushing him slightly, "Have you forgotten something man?"

Bottles hips barely slowed as he shook his head and Guero rearranged himself so he could slide his hand between your bodies to rub your clit, "The fucking basics man."

It took a few thrusts for them to get the rhythm but before long, the sensations overwhelmed you, "I didn't fucking forget man."

Guero smirked, "Ah I see, if you can't handle it I can take over."

"No, please don't stop." That only spurred Bottles on as he picked up speed, and then he was the one batting Guero's hand away as he took over. There was more light shoving as Guero pressed his lips to yours, and Bottles kissed your neck, giving you no time to warn with as the second orgasm swept over you.

Bottles' pace faltered, and they swapped places as he climbed his own high. Through the haze of pleasure, you were vaguely aware that Guero was nibbling bruises into your neck, but before you could protest, Bottles' breath shuddered, and he pulsed inside you.

Your hips twitched as Bottles pulled out and rolled off you with a chuckle, "Sorry."

Guero huffed, "He's not sorry, look at him." He rolled you over onto your side facing him and took your head in his hands, "Don't worry y/n, I'll be nicer to you."

Bottles settled behind you with his chest pressed against your back and ran his hands up and down your body while he pressed his lips to your upper back, "Do you believe him?"

Guero was brushing your sweat stuck hair from your face with a gentle smile, "I do."

There was a rush to find the condoms and Guero paused like he was deep in thought as he held the little square package, "What is it?"

He smiled, "I'm thinking about whether I should go down on you first, it's no fair that the Prospect gets all the fun."

You thought for a moment, "I think that might be a bit too much, my brain feels like it's swimming in maple syrup."

Guero smiled, "Maple syrup, are you a secret Canadian?"

You shook your head, "No, I was worried if I said chocolate syrup you'd leave us to get a hot fudge parfait."

Guero chuckled and pecked your cheek, "I wouldn't dream of it and that's alright, I'm happy to skip to the main event." He rolled the condom down his dick and lifted your leg over his hip before running his cock up and down your slit, "You wanna keep going? You don't need to say yes, we can do something else if you're done."

You smiled, "No, I want to keep going."

Bottles chuckled behind you and reached over to shove Guero lightly, "Who's denying the beautiful woman now?"

Guero snorted, "Hey, I'm being a gentleman." He sighed and his lips met yours as he began a slow, steady slide inside you. He paused for a moment, allowing you to adjust to his ample size before slowly rocking his hips, "You good?" His voice was tightly, clearly feeling the outcome of his own delayed pleasure.

You nodded, "Yep."

Bottles pulled you away from Guero and you twisted towards him like a pretzel so he could kiss you while Guero's hips picked up speed, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Guero exhaled sharply, "You wanna say that again?" Guero's fingers found your clit in an instant and he flashed a grin at Bottles, "I don't forget." He rolled his hips into you and Bottles swallowed your gasp as Guero brushed your G-spot with each forceful stroke.

Your breath caught in your throat and Bottle's lips turned gentle on yours, the mix of rough and gentle intensifying the sensations even. Bottles didn't let you pull your lips away to warn Guero of your oncoming release and you swore you could hear something break in his brain as you clenched around him, "Fucking fuck."

Guero yanked you away from Bottles and pressed his lips to yours in a kiss that left your head spinning as he followed behind you, taking his hand from your clit and gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises.

Guero rolled away from you and you flopped onto your back, unable to move much more without rolling onto Bottles, "Fuck that was amazing."

Guero chuckled, "You said it Prospect."

You sighed and pushed yourself up, "I really need to go have a shower, I'm all sweaty."

Bottles followed, looking helpful as always, "We can join you, I had a look at your shower and it will fit all three of us."

Guero shook his head, "What are you talking about Prospect, I'm going to help y/n clean up and you're going to change the sheets."

You crossed your arms over your chest, "Nope, I'm going to shower all by myself and you're both going to change the sheets, they're in the drawers under the bed and there are spare pillows in the cupboard." Guero glared at Bottles and you held up a finger, "No fighting or you'll be sleeping on the porch."

Bottles eyes went wide, "I wasn't fighting, it's all him."

You shook your head and turned on your heel, "Don't think I can't see how you rile him up. I'll be out in ten, that should be enough time."

Thankfully, when you came out of the bathroom, there were fresh sheets on the bed and they were getting along. They took turns in the bathroom and Bottles was thoughtful enough to bring you a glass of water while Guero glared at him.

You stretched and yawned then climbed into bed, Geruo and Bottles following after you, "So, who do you like more, me or Bottles?"

You shook your head, "I like you both equally now can I please get some sleep, I'm worn out."

Bottles chuckled, "That's my plan but I get the feeling that he's going to want to talk."

Guero reached over you and shoved him, "Do not, I know when to shut up, unlike you."

You huffed and climbed over Guero to turn off the lamp, "Goodnight, both of you."

They got the message because they arranged themselves so they could touch you, with all your legs entangled in a mess, while placing their arms strategically over you. Guero pressed his lips to your temple, "Goodnight y/n."

Bottles went next with his lips falling on your cheek, "Goodnight, thank you for tonight."

Guero kicked him softly, "Show off."

Fin

Y'all want this to become a thing? I'm not above making this a thing, where's there's I love yous and non sexual cuddling.

#mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc fanfic #guero smut #guero fanfic #guero fanfiction #guero #guero mayans mc #bottles #bottles mayans #bottles mayans mc #alex barone #andrew jacobs #guero x reader #bottles x reader #guero x reader x bottles

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bullet-prooflove · 8 months

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Help Wanted - Bottles x Reader

Tagging: @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @callsignartemis @kmc1989 @darqchilddaydreamz @the-person-in-the-circle @librarian1002 @prettyinpunk85 @thanossexual @@littlestroman @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @lunamoon @s1lverhand @wakeama @adaydreamaway08

When your dad gets sick you pull away from him. Bottles isn’t sure if it’s a self defence mechanism, if you need the brain space or what. All he knows is that you aren’t around, and that you stop picking up his calls. When he goes past your house, it’s dark and locked up. It goes on for a few weeks. The two of you have only been together a few months but the idea of you in pain wounds him, your absence in his life cuts deep.

When he does catch up with you it’s at the supermarket of all places. It’s ridiculous how something as normal as buying toilet roll can turn into a twist of fate. He isn’t looking where he’s going when he comes around the corner of an aisle, and he bumps into you literally. He knows it’s you before he even registers your face, the recognition is instinctive at this point, he’s attuned to your presence. He catches the scent of your perfume, sensual and soft with a hint of mandarin.

You look tired, your hair is pulled back into messy bun and looks like it hasn’t been washed for days. Your face is gaunt and there’s dark shadows underneath your eyes. You are far from the vibrant girl he knows and loves, and it kills him.

“Talk to me.” He requests his hand coming to rest upon your arm, his thumb chasing over the hollow of your wrist. “As a friend, as a lover, I don’t care what.”

It’s at a table, in the outdoor seating area of the café next door, that the whole thing comes pouring out of you. Your dad’s been sick for a while, longer than you realised and you don’t have time anything else in your life right now.

It had started with him calling you at odd hours to ask when Family Fortunes was on, something that he had never done before. Bottles remembers these phone calls vividly, because they always seemed to occur around a similar time on a Saturday. Your phone would ring and the two of you would look at the clock and he’d say “It’s your dad” without even looking at the call display.

At first you had thought he was just lonely, your job as an events manager kept you busy especially with the Santo Padre Summer Festival on the cards. Then one day you’d popped over and discovered he’d had a mini stroke. He’d lost movement in his left hand, he could barely hold the remote, his memory was shot to shit, and he was asking where your mother was despite the fact, she had passed away five years earlier. It was soul destroying.

You are one of the strongest people he knows, so when you start to cry it breaks something deep down inside of him. He shifts seats to the one alongside of you and wraps his arms around you because this shit is far too much for one person to bear. He holds you close as you sob into his chest, cradling you close.

He knows a thing or two about being exhausted and overwrought, how it feels like a weight bearing down on you. After his father died of an opioid overdose, his mother hadn’t been able to get out of bed for weeks. His relationship with both of his parents had been fraught, but he had spent that time taking care of her. He made sure she ate, that she had company and little by little he’d helped pull her out of the depression until she had started to function again. He knows that this shit isn’t easy. That between your job and caring for your father you’re wearing yourself down, he can see in your eyes how your struggling to cope.

“Let me help.” He asks you. “Please just let me help you.”

He must catch you in a moment of complete weakness because you agree.

The first time Bottles turns up at your father’s house, the old man thinks he’s one of the in-house nurses that he’s managed to run off. There’s been a couple of them so far and none of stuck around more than a few days. After spending a couple of hours with your father he can see why.

He’s a veteran, he used to be a Captain. People like that hate anyone to seeing them vulnerable, so they lash out. Bottles thinks that’s part of the reason he didn’t tell you about the mini stroke in the first place, he didn’t want to shift this burden onto your shoulders.

Albert or rather Bertie, is not kind with his words but Bottles has lived through worse. He’s entire life has been far from a walk in the park and he’s now a Prospect in the Mayans. Your father is a cake walk compared to that. He isn’t sure how it happened but the three of you slip into a routine. You’ve taken as many days as you can away from work, so Bottles steps in to cover the time you’re away. He cooks for Bertie, he helps bathe him, cleans him up and changes the sheets if he doesn’t make it to the bathroom in time, he does as much of the heavy lifting as he can until Bertie starts to get a little better.

When you come home, he shoots out and deals with club business. At night, he curls up around you in your single bed, holding your close and whispering tender words into your ear until you fall sleep, surrounded by Blink 182 posters and Evanescence playing on the C.D player because he’d forgotten that they’d even existed. He switches it up with a couple of Green Day C.Ds after he’s flicked through your collection.

“There’s no money you know.” Bertie tells him one day when the two of them are in the living room watching Family Fortunes. It takes Bottles a minute to understand what he’s saying. “She doesn’t get much if I die. That’s why you’re here isn’t it?”

“I’m not here for the money.” He informs Bertie as he raises to his feet and collects Bertie’s bowl from the tray set across his lap and places it inside his own. “I’m here for her, to make sure she takes care of herself.”

“I used to take care of her and now she takes care of me, how fucked up is that?” Bertie says in a rare moment of clarity. “I fucking hate it.”

Bottles can understand that. Parents are God in the eyes of children, and this is what happens when you realise that they’re just mere mortals like the rest of you. He knows how jarring this whole experience has been for you, and for Bertie. Confronting your own mortality changes you, he knows, he spent his entire childhood, thinking he was going to die every time he went under the knife because a child with a disability wasn’t good enough for his parents. He sets the bowls down on the floor beside his usual chair before sitting down again.

“I had forty-six surgeries by the time I was eighteen,” He confides to Bertie, pulling up his trouser leg and showing your father his scars embedded deep within the tissue of his leg. “Suffering isn’t new to me, you can’t imagine the shit I’ve gone through, and I can’t imagine the shit you are going through but I know what it’s like to feel like your life isn’t your own, to feel frustrated by your own capabilities.”

“I don’t want this for her.” Bertie tells Bottles. “I don’t want her putting her life on hold to take care of me and I don’t want to end up in one of those homes where they feed you gruel and leave you to die alone in a bedroom where the curtains are still drawn because nobody bothered to open them.”

“I hear you.” Bottles says. “It’s fucking depressing.”

“So, what are my options?” Bertie asks him. “I rely on my daughter and her… What even are you?”

Bottles shrugs his shoulders because truthfully the two of you have never really put a label on it. All he knows is he’s committed to you; he has been since the moment he kissed you on your doorstep.

“The man who loves your daughter.”

“Boyfriend? Partner? The guy who hoses me down when I make a mess of myself?”

Bottles finds himself smiling before he shrugs his shoulders.

“All of the above.”

“I’m serious when I’m asking you what my options are.” Bertie informs him, his gaze straying back to the T.V. “I need to start figuring shit out before I start losing my marbles and the decision is taken away from me.”

“I could find out.” Bottles offers as he leans in close. It feels like the two of them are engaging in a conspiracy, because the both of them know that the idea of putting your father in a home is not something you agree with. “One of the guys in my club, his mom has memory issues. She started to fall down a lot. He managed to get her into this sweet place up by the community centre. She loves it there, she’s made a lot of friends, there’s all these clubs she goes too, they do some pretty cool shit. I could look into it for you?”

Bertie reaches across the space between the two of them, his strong hand grasping Bottles’.

“Could you?” Bertie requests before he tilts his head to the bedroom door where you’re sleeping. “I have a feeling we’re gonna have a fight on our hands.”

"I'll talk to her." Bottles promises the older man. "See if we can't all get on the same page."

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#bottles goggles #bottles x you #bottles x reader #bottles mayans #bottles mayans mc

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burningtacozombie · 9 months

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❤ Guero, I didn't have you for long but I will miss you ❤ (Mayans MC 5x10 - Slow To Bleed Fair Son) Now, lords, take leave until we meet again, Where’er it be, in heaven or in earth.

#andrew jacobs #guero #alex barone #bottles #clayton cardenas #angel reyes #gino vento #nestor oceteva #jd pardo #ez reyes #mayans mc #mayans fx #my gifs

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darklydeliciousdesires · 9 months

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Lost & Found - A Guero (Mayans MC)/OC Story.

Okay, okay! I cave to the demand and the excitement I have warmly received from you all. Here you go, darlings. First chapter is here. I can’t promise I will be posting the second next week just in case I want to do ANOTHER deep dive into the editing, but since I am just over halfway through writing it now, I thought I would at least post the first.

Story is somewhat canon, with a few changes here and there to suit my artistic vision... i.e. I kicked canon in the ass and told her to go home, hahaha! Oh, I also gave Guero a surname, too! I tried to keep him as true to who we see on screen, but obviously since we didn’t get him for long, some of his characterisations are of my creation. Don’t like it? Don’t read. Simple as that.

Nervously and excitedly awaiting your feedback, eeek! :)

Words - 3,834

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, Minors DNI. Recounts of kidnap, child trafficking, physical/verbal/sexual abuse in the coming chapters.

Unknown numbers. Ezekiel Reyes often received more than he wished to endure upon the burner phone he used for club business. Regularly they were legitimate, but occasionally telemarketers, such annoyances he simply hung up on instantly. While walking from his trailer to the clubhouse, he expected the call coming in to be that of nuisance, 11am seemingly the call centre worker bee’s peak time to bother him about his long-distance courier needs, or savings on his energy bills.

It was no telemarketer, but he almost disconnected the call all the same in sheer disbelief.

“Ezekiel Reyes?”

“Who wants to know?” His journey across the yard was undisturbed, watching as Bottles and Nestor took in an alcohol delivery, a nearby Guero and Downer giving them the usual offering of shit talk.

“Rocco Lombardi.”

He stopped dead in his tracks. The Rocco Lombardi was reaching out to him? Nah.

“This your idea of a joke?”

He heard a deep chuckle filter down the line. “I’m more of a knock knock, who’s there kinda fella.” Remaining paused, he thought whoever it was had at least nailed the thick, New Jersey accent. He had to give them props for that, he guessed. “Listen, you got FaceTime, I take it?”

“I do, but...” The line cut dead. Five seconds later and sure enough, a FaceTime call came in. EZ nearly fell over when there on the screen, appeared the face of the big boss, the notorious and famed king of the mafia. There he was; the head of the biggest, most powerful crime family on earth. Rocco Lombardi.

“That better?”

He raised his eyebrows, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk. “Yeah, the confirmation is appreciated.”

“Good. Now not for nothin’, but I can’t fuckin’ stand video calls, encrypted or not. I’ll call you back.” Once again, the call disconnected, the cell ringing after a few moments. All the while EZ could feel his ego swelling, realising truly how far he’d come in his leadership that he was being sought out by someone of such standing within the criminal underworld. He was nothing short of surprised when he eventually found out why, though.

He’d always believed that the code of La Cosa Nostra forbade their operations to extend into the realms of drug trafficking. To be specific, he’d assumed it stemmed from reasons of mortality, perhaps a skewed sense of Catholic guilt, when in fact, the commoner explanation was far simpler.

The prospect of a lengthier prison sentence, of course, increased the propensity of their members turning upon the organisation, becoming government informants in order to secure a more lenient custodial term. When the federal carrot is dangled before a desperate man, one looking at forty years when his assistance could mean all he ends up serving is ten to fifteen, tongues tend to be loosened.

Rats out themselves, major players are taken off the streets and ultimately, the government wins. It would be very reasonable to assume that the code is in place for this very reason, to prevent such catastrophic damage within their organisation and family infrastructure. The risk is not worth the payout. Or rather, it is bendable to the point of unrecognition when those doing said bending can earn a substantial profit.

Enter Rocco Lombardi and his proposition.

“I think we could mutually benefit from the blending of your organisation with mine, Mr Reyes.” Lombardi was intelligent enough to be concise, even when speaking upon the relative safety of a burner phone. He hadn’t gotten to the top because he was sloppy. Lombardi had sat at the very head of the hierarchy for years, after all. He was hailed as the boss of all bosses for a reason.

They’d once given John Gotti the monicker of Teflon Don, because nothing ever stuck to him in the way of evidence to bring about charges. That was until his own underboss has turned on him, the evidence given at trial by Salvatore “Sammy the Bull” Gravano leading to his incarceration. Truly, if there was one overlord within the organised crime world who lacked cohesion, it was the man who ruled the Romano crime family with an iron fist.

EZ Reyes had launched into thoroughly researching Lombardi after his reaching out to him, learning the ins and out of his character, how much of a slippery customer he was, how – and it went without saying – he would use people as pawns to further his own reach and agenda. It went without saying because it was the way of his own world, too. Within his MC, he went about the very same, albeit on a much smaller scale.

Rocco Lombardi’s reach was, to put it simply, enormous. EZ and his VP would be lying if they’d have claimed that bearing such in mind, it hadn’t piqued their curiosity over what on earth he could want with a Californian based MC. For all intents and purposes, the man had his operations not merely sewn up tightly, but steel reinforced.

“All I know is we gotta play it carefully, mano,” Bishop had sagely advised prior to their leaving Santo Padre to for a face to face with the mafioso legend, Rocco insisting that a larger MC presence not assemble in the interests of it remaining nothing short of clandestine. “Our worlds might be similar, but the mafia play by an entirely different set of rules. I ain’t saying you’re not smart enough to outsmart the guy, but he’s the kind who will have thought three moves ahead before we’ve even stepped foot into that hotel suite.”

EZ had sipped his beer, narrowed eyes unmoving as he’d absorbed the words of the former president with all the credence they deserved. Bishop had, after all, been approached by the mafia before. His reasons for turning down an offer from a different crime family had been solid in their validity, and EZ knew he would be a fool to let this warning go unheeded. Especially since the club were on their knees where their drug trade was concerned. He also knew that somehow, Rocco likely knew this, too.

The mafia tended to have ears in the very last places one might expect them to extend. He also knew that they preferred to keep their operations within the Italian American brotherhood if they could at all help it, so the need for an alliance was somewhat even in its beneficial mutuality.

“I guess we just have to wait and see what this sit down entails.” Truly, it was all they could do.

The time passed quickly between then and the two of them riding through the strip, both separately feeling the mist of apprehension gather, until they were parking up at the hotel and casino they were scheduled to meet Lombardi at, their demeanours switching to cool composure before they’d even entered the building.

The two men dressed in denim, flannel and leather looked out of place as they strode across the foyer of the MGM Grand, the buzz and tacky decadence of Las Vegas swirling all around them. Gamblers bet it all, slot machines flashed in frenzy while spitting out endless streams of coins, and alcohol flowed without restriction, certainly enough to keep it so the house always won.

Would it be their own win he was sealing, EZ thought while waiting for the elevator, or was this the biggest and most uncertain gamble the club were about to make to date? He guessed the next few hours would tell, whether or not he was about to be presented with a winning hand.

The ding of the elevator roused him, both stepping inside, Bishop pressing the button for the tenth floor. EZ stared straight ahead at his reflection in the shiny metal of the elevator doors, noting the haunted veil that hung over his features. Shadowy eyes and skin bearing many more lines than a man in his mid-thirties should do were now his staple in appearance, a few further flecks of grey in his hair also.

Ezekiel Reyes was a man barely holding it together, but his demeanour did not give away the tumult that gnawed at his guts and yanked at his nerves, even if it had seemed to age him five years in just over seven months. His control was as unquestionable as it was unshakable, even in the dark times his club was currently under the duress of. He would never, ever let the toll it was taking upon him show.

He was in Vegas, after all. Home of the poker face.

The man at his side, though? He saw through the veil. He knew. In the interests of helping him glue back together the smashed fragments of the MC, he chose to keep his observances to himself. When he’d reigned supreme, if someone had pointed out his weak points, he would have shown no magnanimity in return. He knew better than to antagonise. Bishop Losa was nothing if not tactile these days, with how much delicacy teetered upon a knife’s edge, how much was at stake.

The elevator shunted to a stop, the doors gliding open, the men exchanging a look and a nod before they exited, walking in step down the long hallway. Coming to a stop in front of room eight one five, EZ reached to knock, his arm suddenly grasped, preventing the rap of knuckles upon the sleek, white enamel.

“Whatever goes down in there, I got you.” Bishop’s words were delivered with a solemn nod, EZ returning it before knocking the door. They stood tall as they waited, unflinching, rock-like in their demeanour, the door opening to reveal a slight yet menacing looking man in an expensive suit. He eyed up the two men standing before him, his lips pursing slightly as he stood back to allow their entrance.

“Guns on the table.”

EZ’s brow knitted. “The fuck?”

“You heard me, stronzo. Guns. On. The. Table.”

Neither man took well to his condescending delivery, both irked at the display of what they considered to be one hell of a chip upon his shoulder. EZ was just about to offer his retort when a voice came from further within the suite.

“Stop playing rottweiler and let my guests in, Mario. If we’re armed, so can they be, too.” Immediately, he stood aside at the instruction of his boss, a large, dark-haired man rising from his seat at the dining table, two armed men stationed in opposing corners of the suite. “My apologies. This one here, he can be a hot head, y’know?”

Although seemingly personable right off the bat, there was an aura surrounding Rocco Lombardi that virtually crackled with menace. His ‘thou shalt not fuck with me’ demeanour was beyond palpable. “Take a seat, fellas. Can I offer either of youse a drink?”

EZ’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in every detail. He stored it all on the internal hard drive that was his brain, his guard up as naturally it should have been. “No, thank you.”

Rocco took the rebuff in his stride, gesturing to the chairs opposite as he sat again. “A man who likes to get straight down to business. I can appreciate that.” Down to business was exactly how it went, no pleasantries, no idle chatter. Rocco cut right to the chase.

“My proposition is simple, Ezekiel. My current methods in transportation of product are, shall we say, attracting more attention than myself and my associates are comfortable with, y’know? I need to implement a one stop solution. I also need a far more financially viable method of my product crossing the border from Mexico than I’m currently paying through the fucking nose for.”

Bribes. Of course, Lombardi meant bribing the border control, an exercise EZ knew likely cost fortunes, cutting into a profit margin the mafia were probably tired of having bites taken out of. “This is where the MC comes in, youse and your tunnel.” EZ’s eyebrow twitched, just a fraction, Rocco smirking at the tell.

“Yeah, I know all about it. Ain’t many places my ears don’t have reach. I want that tunnel as a new channel to move my product across the border, which then will be transferred to the Port of San Diego, to a designated shipping container the day it ports. You unload into the container, minus your personal cut that will ensure you keep the monopoly on supply within the Californian correctional facilities, and you also get a nice little monetary injection for you and your boys on a monthly basis. How’s that sound?”

EZ took a moment to ponder, his fingers knitting before him on the table, arm muscles flexing as he shared a sideways glance with Bishop. “Sounds like there’s a catch.”

Rocco smirked, taking a long puff on his cigar, his eyes twinkling through the thick plumes of smoke as he leaned back in his chair. “You move two tons at a time. That is non-negotiable.”

Two fucking tons every month. Holy mother of god. Before they’d even entered that room, they of course knew the reach of the Romano crime family, that it was extensive. Worldwide, even. Two tons of heroin every four weeks truly hammered home just how far Lombardi’s tentacles reached within the criminal underworld. The risks associated with that were unfathomable, EZ lifting his chin, his poker face firmly set once more. “I’m gonna need to see a number, the nice little monetary injection you speak of.”

Rocco reached into the pocket of his suit, removing a pen, taking a napkin from the table before him and scribing a number upon it, sliding it across the polished wood. Upon viewing it, EZ’s well trained blank façade slid south quickly, showing it to Bishop.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

His quiet exclamation was no understatement over the amount of zero’s scrawled upon the napkin.

“I assume you know of our current difficulties with the LNG?”

The tall man nodded. “Quite a fucking pasticcio youse have gotten yourself into, eh?” His smile widened suddenly, slowly drawing his thumb and forefinger from the corners of his mouth down to the centre of his lip. “If you do the first shipment for free, I can take care of that, as well as your issues with the knuckleheaded, heavy arms wielding fuck heads you got yourselves caught up in, too.” He hissed a breath over his teeth, shaking his head. “Fentanyl, gentleman. What a risky business that is.”

What in the fuck didn’t this man know about their operations? EZ was all but surprised that Rocco wasn’t clued in on the colour of his underwear by that point, the man seemingly well informed, his intel even extending to knowing about their deal with Cole.

He rose to his feet, jerking his head towards the balcony. “If you could give myself and my VP a moment?”

Rocco made a passive motion with his hand, nodding. “Sure, take your time.”

They strode across the suite, wallet chains rattling and leather creaking the only sounds to permeate the silence of the room, EZ sliding the glass door open. The warm Vegas air hit him, his eyes narrowing as he looked out over the luminosity of the strip, thousands upon thousands of lights twinkling. They glittered a promise of wealth and prosperity hinged upon a gamble, which was exactly what Rocco Lombardi was offering up to them.

“You have to back me on this when we take it to the table. The risk is massive, and I appreciate that, but this? This is our way out of it all. Our way out and our ladder to climb back to the top.”

Bishop considered the words of his president as he pulled out his cigarettes, lighting one up. A massive risk; fuck, that was putting it lightly. It was a fool’s errand, in short, transporting such a colossal consignment of heroin. The pay off, though? If they could execute each run flawlessly, it would be beyond worth it. Santo Padre would be back on top, and the Mayans kings of California.

He wanted with everything he had to back EZ, but something persistent tugged at him deep in his guts. The old adage ‘too good to be true’ echoed through his mind. There had to be another catch. For all appearances, said catch appeared to be the two tons of narcotics, the kind of consignment that would mean the MC would never see the outside of a prison for the remainder of their lives, should they be caught moving it. However, he felt there was another shoe yet to drop from Lombardi’s perspective.

Conflict rose in him like an unpleasant tempest, knowing that they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. Take the deal and shoulder an enormous risk or walk away from it and try to seek a way out of their mess alone. Being in the pocket of the mafia was a dangerous location, he knew that; they both knew that. In this instance, no matter how much trepidation he felt, he had to concede that Lombari’s offer was very much the lesser of two evils.

Still, it didn’t prevent him voicing the concern. “I feel like there’s something extra he’s gonna have us on the hook for further down the road.” Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, he turned to his president, brows furrowed, his head shaking softly. “I wanna back you, but I don’t trust him.”

Neither did EZ, if he was honest. “We don’t need to trust him. We need to make ourselves indispensable to him. The weight of his organisation has the power to break us completely, and I’d be an idiot if I didn’t see that, Bish. We gotta remember that he’s coming to us because he needs this symbiosis too. If he had any other plan to move his product, he’d have exacted it by now. What he’s offering us in payment solidifies that. He needs to lock the MC down.”

He took a breath, his eyes once again focusing on the lights below. “And our backs are against the kind of wall we can’t break alone. Rocco Lombardi can not only break that wall, he can obliterate it completely. We can’t refuse.”

Upon their return to Santo Padre, an immediate templo was called, the proposition repeated, a vote cast. It was, just as EZ had anticipated, a unanimous yes. Hell, it wasn’t like any of the men assembled around the table hadn’t known that extreme danger was exactly what he was signing up for, and this was about a risky as it got.

Moving heroin two tons at a time for the mafia was the height of hazardous endeavours, but the payoff would elicit the kind of money and power they had been striving for. Sure, they were still ultimately under someone else’s thumb, but in the world of the MC, Santo Padre rose like the phoenix from the proverbial ashes. If they were careful and exercised caution, they would remain risen, too.

The operation was undertaken with military precision. The two tons of heroin were moved through the tunnels from one side of the border to the other, then stowed away down there for a day before the Mayans arrived, loading one ton into each van. The vehicles both then hit the road, two members within, two members upon motorcycles escorting at the front and rear, and EZ leading the way.

They drove far enough apart not to attract the attention that such a closely assembled convoy likely would, with EZ a quarter of a mile in front, so he could warn of any upcoming complications that might lead to said convoy needing to peel off the freeway. Since the run was done at 2am, the risk of such was minimised greatly, yet still they always prepared for the worst-case scenario. This is why two vans were utilized, when all it truly took was one. If one broke down, then there they were, stuck with a life sentence cargo on the side of the freeway, rather than another means to continue their journey.

Arriving at the port, EZ gave the usual nod to the guard, a guard whose pockets had been nicely lined with mafia cash, who would duly send another of his team down to the container as soon as the Mayans left, standing guard until the cargo was loaded onto a vessel bound either for New York or the far east the following morning. Yes, the tentacles of Rocco Lombardi even reached over to the Yakuza, the Japanese criminal organisation taking two tons of product off his hands on a bi-monthly basis.

The shipment they were about to offload on that particular night was heading straight back to New York, the guys all assembling, the usual banter firing back and forth.

Downer, of course, was at the epicentre of it. “Hey, I thought there was meant to be whores on the dockside? That’s a thing, ain’t it? We’ve been here four times before now and no damned pussy anywhere.”

Angel lit a cigarette, raising his eyebrows. “Man, where the fuck you get that from?”

“He’s right,” Hank chimed in, “but about a couple hundred years out of date. Hookers used to frequent the docks back in the eighteen, nineteen hundreds. Gave lots of navy men who’d been at sea for months at a time a rampant case of the syph.”

Guero couldn’t help himself. “Eighteen hundreds. Back in your youth, huh bro?” He was shot a look of pure distain from Downer, his chirp continuing. “I bet you’d like the crotch rot. You’re a sick enough individual to probably be into it.”

“It’s his kink. Itchy balls and a putrid cock, man,” Bottles interjected with, earning a snort laugh from Guero and an incredulous stare from Downer.

Aggressively delivered middle fingers were raised. “Fuck you and fuck you even fuckin’ harder!”

Bottles grinned at the rise he’d gotten. “You wish.”

“You’re getting way too smart with that fuckin’ yap of yours, prospect,” he snorted, pointing at Guero. “Been spending too much time with him and his big mouth.”

The man himself beamed, pulling his hood up. “What can I say?” He held his arms in wide expression, his smirk growing. “I’m infectious. Like your cock, just way less scabby.” He received a boot in the ass as he turned, heading straight over to the yellow container and hauling the levers to open it. What he expected to see within were the usual lines of packing cases into which they would load their cargo, with a specially marked one housing their cash.

The last thing he expected to see was the body of a dishevelled looking blonde girl with a gash upon her head, lying there out cold, and the marked case notably empty of its usual stack of bills.

“Uh, guys?” he called, appearing back around the container door as his brothers were carrying cargo across from the vans. “We got a situation in here.”