encryption
Pairing: Coco Cruz x “Coneja” (Cam Girl!OC) Word Count: 3k
During a trip to the Arizona casino, Coco has a chance encounter with Amalia, a cam girl. Known online as “Coneja,” meeting a Mayan is the last thing she expects to happen on a rare night off from work.
PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 2.5 | PART 3
it ain't easter yet and she ain't jesus, but this conejita has risen from the dead
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Coco calls Angel first. Asks him—tells him, really—to take his pop’s truck and make the hour-long drive to Yuma. They argue back and forth until Angel recognizes the frantic urgency in his voice.
“ Listen, man, I wouldn’t ask you for some shit like this unless it was really fuckin’ important,” Coco hisses into the phone.
“Fuck, alright,” Angel relents and Coco swears he can hear him rolling his eyes over the phone. “But Imma have to call Ez and tell him to do it, since I’m already covering for your ass here today.”
Fuck, whatever. It doesn’t really matter either way, as long as someone comes. Coco tells him he’ll text the address and hangs up the phone.
He stops his pacing just enough to return his phone in his pocket, taking a shaky drag of the cigarette in his hand. He squints against the Arizona sun as he surveys his surroundings for what feels like the twentieth time. It feels like some sort of twisted game of hide and seek; wondering if whoever left the envelope is somewhere close by, just watching. Waiting.
Come out, come out, wherever you are, motherfucker.
Coco takes one last pull on his cigarette before tossing it to the concrete and crushing it under his shoe. He heads back inside Amalia’s apartment, his sharp eyes casting a look over his shoulder.
He hears her scrambling around in the bedroom, opening and closing drawers and frantically tossing things around. He walks towards the commotion and leans against the door frame. She’s made a growing pile of clothes on the bed and sifts through the contents with shaky hands.
“I-I don’t know what to bring,” she says once her eyes spot him. “How long do you think I’ll be there? I mean, I’m coming back, right?”
Coco hears the tremble of fear in her voice. He considers the question, his jaw tensing as he watches her try (and fail) to rein in the inevitable meltdown taking over her. He shakes his head—all this over a fucking envelope—and pushes off the door frame, taking slow steps until he’s by her side. “No,” he decides then. Amalia opens her mouth to protest but Coco simply takes her face in his hands, making her look at him in the eyes. “ No, Amalia. He knows where you live and he might even know what you look like.” Her head shakes in his hands. He doesn’t know if that’s to say no, he doesn’t or no, he can’t. Or if she’s just rejecting the thought of that possibility. He sighs, leaning closer into her. “Baby, I can’t let you stay here. Fuck it, I won’t let you stay here. I’ll put you over my shoulder and drag your ass all the way to Santo Padre with me if I have to.”
Amalia swallows hard; she knows he’s right. Blinking back the torrent of tears threatening to fall, she wraps her arms around him. Her grip on him is fierce and Coco holds her just as tightly. Her shaky breaths are muffled against his kutte and she tries to focus on the warm feeling of Coco’s hand rubbing up and down her back. He whispers “I fuckin’ gotchu” in her ear, sweet in spite of the language. They stay wrapped in each other for as long as she needs (days, years, hours, mere seconds—Coco would’ve done it all if he had to), until she’s able to steady her breathing. Cocooned by his warmth and fierce protection, Amalia thinks she could stay there forever.
But she can’t.
Slowly, she pulls back enough to whisper, “What do I do about all my stuff?” Her eyes scan around the mess of a room. “Do I just… leave it here?”
Ahead of the game, Coco shakes his head. “Nah, I already called a brother. Take what you can to ride with me on the bike. I’ll have him bring the rest in the truck. If you forget something, I’ll come back for it later myself.”
Amalia makes a face as she considers this. When Coco questions it, her cheeks warm. “Nothing,” she answers with a quick shake of her head.
Coco gives a look telling her he ain’t buying it. “Tell me.”
“I just…” she chews her lip, casting her eyes down. “I dunno how your brother’s gonna feel about transporting a bunch of sex toys over state lines.” She looks at him through her lashes, her cheeks burning.
Coco feels his lips twitch involuntarily. A concern this trivial feels completely absurd given the very real and dangerous situation she’s in. He steadies his face and shrugs in response. “Shit, pack ‘em up, too. What the Boy Scout don’t know won’t hurt him.”
With Coco’s help, Amalia has two suitcases and three bags filled to the brim and ready to go once Ez pulls up in front of her apartment. She watches as the two Mayans throw them into the back of the truck, cringing when she notices how Ez handles one certain bag with very little care.
Good sex toys are expensive, okay.
Once she’s on the back of Coco’s bike, Amalia wills herself not to look back. He rides to the exit of her apartment complex with Ez rumbling behind them in the truck. Looking to the side, Coco calls out a “you good?” over the roar of his bike. Amalia starts to nod before remembering he can’t fully see her. She lays her chin on his shoulder, her hands gripping his waist as tight as they can.
“I’m good,” she confirms, and he looks back ahead before tearing down the road.
The bright blue sky of day starts to settle into the duskiness of early evening when they cross from Arizona to California. No stops, Coco rides with a purpose straight to Santo Padre. She spends the ride with her cheek laid against the cool leather of his kutte, finding comfort in just being close to him.
Eyes closed, Amalia feels the bike slow before coming to a stop. The weight of Coco’s hand, textured and cool with his riding gloves, settle over her own. “We’re here,” he announces once he’s gained her attention. Slowly, her aching arms fall back to her side, freeing Coco to remove himself from the bike. He’s loosening the strap of his helmet as she impulsively looks over her shoulder, the tension in her body still present. “Hey,” Coco calls to her and Amalia whips her head around. “Ain’t nothin’ for you to worry about here, okay? I promise.”
How can you be so sure she wants to ask but bites her tongue. Amalia nods, both in answer and in effort to convince herself that he’s right.
Besides, it’s not like he got a sketchy ass envelope in his mailbox.
“Well… there is one thing you should worry about.”
“The fuck you—” Coco barely has his mouth open to question Ez when the loud shriek of a screen door slams shut, interrupting him.
Casting a glance over his shoulder, Coco finds his daughter judging the scene in their driveway. Her arms cross over her chest before she asks, “The fuck’s goin’ on out here?”
“Go back inside, Leticia,” Coco dismisses her. He’s not in the fucking mood for this.
“Why?” she immediately challenges, walking out further to look at the situation closer. “Why’s she here?”
“She’s staying here.”
“ Why? ”
Amalia had met Letty twice already, although very briefly. Nothing more than a quick nod of acknowledgement and a hello. Amalia knew if the girl was even just a little bit like her father, she wouldn’t trust her as far as she could throw her. Honestly, she doesn’t blame her.
Finally rising from the bike, she helps Ez take her bags out of the truck. Coco and Letty argue behind her. She just wants to be out of line of any immediate fire.
“What the fuck, Coco? You can’t ask me first?”
“Look, I had to get her out of there quick,” he says before spitting out “and I don’t have to ask for shit, this is my house!”
Amalia could feel the side eye from Letty as she walked past her, into the house.
“How ‘bout you pay a fuckin’ bill first before you try callin’ any shots around here,” Coco yells as Letty stalks back into the house.
“Fuck you!”
Amalia hears the girl’s footsteps, angry and loud as she walks to her bedroom, shutting the door with another slam. She flinches at the sound. Her nerves are fried and she sits on Coco’s bed, sighing as she flops onto her back.
“ Fuck,” she mutters as she roughly rubs her hands over her face. She digs the heel of her hands into her eyes. Maybe if she tries hard enough, the spots that dance across her vision would lead her to another dimension. She sighs as she hears footsteps approaching.
“Don’t worry about Leticia. She’ll get over it.”
Amalia scoffs but says nothing. She drops her hands to her sides. Eyes open, she finds Coco standing in the doorway looking over her.
“You good to stay here while I head to the clubhouse?”
“You’re leaving?” she asks, sitting up to lean on her elbows.
“I gotta look for a way to get that fucker,” he says. “Maybe see if the Boy Scout knows something about computer shit, I dunno.”
“What, uh,” she licks her lips nervously. “What are you gonna tell them?”
Coco gives her a look that tells her, you already know what I have to tell them. She looks away.
“I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to,” he answers.
“Are you ashamed?” she questions, her voice small.
“What? Fuck no,” he replies, his face contorting at the question. He strides over to the bed to sit next to her. “I’m not ashamed of anything about you.”
Amalia just stares at his bedspread, her fingernails picking at the thread.
“Trust me, baby,” Coco says, ducking his head to catch her eyes. “Between you and me, you ain’t the one that’s a degenerate around here.”
“What if I go with you?” she asks after a moment.
Coco raises his eyebrows. “You’d be up for that? They’ll be dicks, asking you questions about… shit.”
Amalia rolls her eyes. “I’m used to dicks asking me about sex and what I do,” she reasons with a shrug. “It’s kinda my job.”
“No mask, though.”
She licks her lips, considering that. Does it even matter anymore? She tilts her head back in thought, weighing the options. “It’s either that or a volatile teenage girl.” Clicking her tongue, she decides. “I’ll take my chances with the dicks.”
“Wait, wait, wait!”
Coco stares over at Gilly, watching as he tries (and fails) to keep the smirk from stretching across his face. He hears the humor in his voice and his jaw tightens.
“So, uh,”—he clears his throat when he catches Coco’s glare—“A cam girl, huh? What, uh, what is that, exactly? I mean, what does that entail?” He schools his expression into one of fake oblivion, chin poised on top of his fist and all.
Coco curls his lip. “Bullshit. You know exactly what the fuck it is.”
“Might even call him an expert,” Angel says around his cigarette.
Gilly raises his hands in defense, the amused smirk still on his face. “Hey, man, I just wanna be one-hundred percent sure.”
“Hmm. I wouldn’t push it, bro,” Angel advises him. He points his in Coco’s direction. “His eyes are lookin’ extra murdery today. Just look at ‘em.”
“Wow,” Amalia scoffs a laugh. All three heads turn to her.
“What?”
She shrugs and leans forward on the table. “I just think Coco underestimated how much of a dick you could really be.” Her eyes focus on Gilly before shifting to Angel. “I mean, he told me but the actual level of dickheadedness—wow,” she says again as she peers between the both of them. “It’s nothing new to me, really. It’s guys like you that pay my bills. So, if you want the lowdown on what my job “entails,” I’m gonna have to charge you.”
Gilly stares ahead at her, dumbstruck. Angel raises his eyebrows in surprise before barking out a laugh. “Ha! Shit, you might already be chargin’ him. Huh, bro? How long have you been a premium member of CamGirlz4U.com?”
Gilly blinked out of his stupor, pushing Angel’s hand away from his shoulder. He looks sideways at his laughing friend before clearing his throat and settling back in his chair.
“You done playin’ payaso?” Coco asks through gritted teeth. “This isn’t a fuckin’ game.”
“Alright, alright,” Angel sits up, trying to diffuse the tension. “For real, man, we’re listening,”—a pointed look to Gilly—“What’s up?”
“I’m being stalked,” Amalia blurts out. “Or watched. Whatever, I dunno,” A frustrated huff expels from Amalia’s lips. “It’s someone who knows me from camming. A fan or something.”
“How d’you know that?” Angel questions.
“They left an envelope filled with rose petals in her mailbox. No stamp, no address. Just the name she goes by online.”
“What’s that?”
Amalia blinks up at Gilly. She turns to Coco, and he gives her a lift of his shoulder as if to say it’s up to you. Under the table, his hand reaches for hers and their fingers lace together. He’ll back her up no matter what.
“Coneja,” she answers. “That’s my username, that’s what I go by online.”
Gilly’s brows furrow as he repeats the name, mostly to himself. He’s seen it before. He’s seen her before, he’s pretty sure. But then why didn’t he recognize her, even in the casino?
His face relaxes when it finally dawns on him. He peers into her face. “You wear a mask, don’t you?”
Amalia nods. “Yes. I’ve always worn one. I’ve never shown my face.”
Gilly nods in confirmation. Angel looks at him like what the fuck I was just kidding.
Coco pushes down the jealousy that threatens to rise up. He can’t help it, it’s who he is. As if she can sense it, Amalia tightens her grip on his hand. She leans closer into his side, lips at his ear to whisper. “Remember, he had to pay for it. I only want you.”
He cuts a sideways glance towards her, clearing his throat before nodding. Yeah, I know.
Coco sits up straighter. “I got her outta her apartment as quick as I could. I couldn’t just leave her there alone. Who knows how much this guy knows, or what he really wants from her,” he licks his lips before taking a pull from his ever-present cigarette. “I need to find him. Stop this shit.”
“How?” both Angel and Gilly ask.
“Why don’t you try Louie?”
Amalia looks over her shoulder. Ez strides over to their table from their table, a dish towel over his shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, honestly,” he tells her, hands raised slightly in defense. (Angel sucks his teeth at him. “Nosey ass,” he mutters under his breath.) “These two don’t really know how to use inside voices.”
Gilly gives him a face at the insult. Angel flips him off.
“Who’s Louie?” Amalia asks.
“He runs a porn site,” Coco answers before shooting a glare up at Ez. “Really, Boy Scout? You tryna—”
“No. Look, I’m not giving her career advice. That’s not—” he shakes his head in annoyance. “What I’m saying is, he’d know about computers, then. Right? Or at least knows someone who does. Maybe they can find an IP address or something, doxx whoever it is.”
“Doxx?” Angel mutters.
“Finding someone’s private information. Where they live—”
“I know what doxxing is!” Angel huffs.
Ignoring the brothers, Amalia looks beside her at Coco, her eyes wide. “You think he could help?”
Coco looks at her through the thick plume of smoke. His cigarette is run down, practically singing his fingers. He crushes what’s left of it out in the ashtray. “He’ll help,” he replies, starting to rise from the chair. “We’ll hit up Dogwood tomorrow, yeah?”
Amalia hears the sounds of agreement as she finds herself walking towards the front, outside of the clubhouse. The door already swung open, she steps onto the lit porch and looks out at the darkening sky. Her hands find their place on the railing, clenching tight. She breathes deeply, taking in the non-smoke filled air before slowly expelling it from her lips. Eyes closed, she sighs. It’s the most calm she’s felt all day.
Coco’s form ambles towards her, his hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie. Next to her, he leans his back against one of the columns. His head tilted skyward, he lolls his head to view her from his periphery.
“You good?”
Amalia gives another deep sigh as she considers the question, then pushes away from the railing. Her hand rakes through her hair. “Scale of 1 to 10?” She speaks softly.
He nods once—sure.
She sniffles—God.
“I don’t fuckin’ know,” she admits, hugging her arms to herself. “I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Coco scolds lightly. Hand out of his pocket, he reaches for her; his fingertips graze her skin. Amalia relents, letting his warm hand curl loosely over her forearm and tug her close. He wraps himself around her and sets his chin atop her head. “You remember what I said this morning?” He feels a hmm? against his chest. “I fuckin’ gotchu. Okay? Fuck this pendejo, whoever the fuck he is. Fuck everything else. I just—I got you, mujer. You hear me?”
Amalia nods, which is somewhat difficult considering Coco’s holding her so tightly. But she nods, tears threatening to spill. His lips press to his hair in a kiss. Yeah, she hears him.
“Thank you,” she whispers, lips speaking the words against his firm, hoodie chest. I love you, she only allows herself to hear. I love you, Coco. IloveyouIloveyoufuckitIfuckingloveyou.
Fingers curled into his hoodie, she holds him even tighter. “I mean it.” She looks up at him, hoping he feels what she does—hoping that he can still somehow hear the words left unsaid, or even seeing it shining in her eyes. "Thank you, Coco."




















