My bad.

Once again, the wolf whistles across the bar start, which tends to happen every time you and Bishop take it slightly past PG in the bar area. It seems the guys are enjoying razzing their President.

You pull back from Bishop’s lips, giving him a shy smile, looking at him through your lashes - your best attempt at bedroom eyes. “Can we go upstairs?” You knew he had a whole apartment upstairs, you’d been there a couple times, mostly just walking with him as he grabbed something or waited on him to change so you could go somewhere else.

He looks down at you with his signature smirk on his face, “Yea, okay.”

He takes your hand and leads you to the back of the bar and down the hallway to the stairs leading up to his apartment. He stops you at the bottom of the stairs, pushing you up against the wall and sliding his hands up your neck to cup your cheeks. You think he is going to kiss you again, so you let your eyes slide close, but you pop them open again when he says, “Look at me.” His eyes stare deeply into yours as he continues, “Are you sure this is what you want?”

You reach up, wrapping your hands around his wrists, biting your bottom lip. You take a second, look back into his eyes, at their intensity. In that moment, you’ve never been so sure of another person in your life. The flames inside you explode, heating parts of your body you previously thought expired, warming your heart until you feel it could be glowing through your skin. Externally, you give him a small nod, trying to hide the excitement inside you.

Whatever he sees in your face must be good enough for him, because he lunges forward, pressing his lips to yours, plunging his tongue in your mouth to meet yours. You thought Bishop had been kissing you before? That had been nothing. The promise in this kiss had your toes curling, thankful you still had your hands wrapped around his wrists because it may have been the only thing holding you up. Too soon he pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. “Once we go through those doors, you are in control. I want you to be comfortable. We can stop at any time for any reason, okay?”

“Just take me upstairs, please.”

Faster than what felt possible, you were in his bedroom, attached at the lips, separating only to shed clothes onto the floor. His room was sparse but clean. A bed, a nightstand, a dresser on the wall to the left and a window on the right, which let in just a bit of brightness from the security lights of the scrap yard.

Backing Bishop to the edge of the bed, you push him to sit down, following him as he slides back up to lay in the center of the bed. You take your time kissing down his neck and chest, enjoying the feel on your lips of places you had only touched with your hands over clothes. His hands roam whatever part of your body he can touch, not guiding you in anyway, just touching. When you get to the member between his legs, you wrap your hand around his base, testing the size of him. He was bigger even than you were expecting, adding a new understanding to the swagger and confidence he seemed to exude in every room he entered. Giving him a couple pumps, you then bend down taking him in your mouth, making sure you are using every ounce of salvia in your mouth to get him as wet as possible because its the only way you think he is going to fit.

“Fuck, querida, that feels amazing,” Bishop mutters into the darkness of the room. You hum lightly around him, enjoying as you feel him twitch against your tongue before releasing him with a wet pop and kissing your way back up his body. When you kiss him again, you swing your leg over him, using one hand behind you to line him up against your wet heat. When his tip slides against your entrance, he hands come to your hips, fingers gripping you tightly. He doesn’t pull you forward or push you back, so you start to slide back onto him, willing your body to accept his. He breaks out of the kiss, mouth opening wide, forehead wrinkling, but his eyes are still focused on you. You use the opportunity to sit up, settling yourself flush against his hips. You had taken all of him and you were proud of yourself. Moving only slightly, willing the slight burn in you to become pleasure, you let out a couple breathy moans. Quicker than you expected, your walls adapt to his size and you lift yourself slightly before lowering yourself onto him again. His hands don’t leave your hips, supporting you in your movements.

Soon you find a rhythm that works and the sounds from Bishop and yourself only encourage you. Your wetness can be heard over your moans and you can only imagine what you look like, head thrown back, back arched, riding the man underneath as he moans your name. A shift in your hips causes him to hit a new spot inside you and your eyes pop open at the sensation. Eyes darting to the movement at the side of the bed, you see yourself in the mirror over the dresser and practically freeze. The sex goddess you had in your mind had disappeared and it was just you staring back. You turn to look at Bishop but the damage has been done. The reflection in the mirror has the same effect as a bucket of water on a rolling campfire. You try to resume your pace, not wanting Bishop to catch on, hoping you can at least work him to his release, but he notices the change immediately.

He grips your hips tighter, pulling you to a stop on top of him, “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you say, trying to grind your hips against him. You can feel your heart racing as your breaths start catching in your throat and you curse the tears as they start falling down your cheeks.

“Hermosa, no,” he says, letting go of your hips as you bring your hands up to cover your face. He sits up easily, wrapping his arms around you, lifting you off of him and rearranging you so you are lying against his chest next to him.

As the sobs start to shake your shoulders, he rubs soothing circles in your back, making shushing noises into your hair.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter out between sobs.

“Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me, right now.” His finger comes under your chin and he lifts your face until he can look in your tear filled eyes. “You never have to be sorry about something like this. I know there’s some shit you’re dealing with, and you’ll tell me when you're ready, but I don’t want you to ever do something like this if it makes you uncomfortable because you think it's something I expect from you.”

The idea that Bishop thinks this was his fault in any way has words tumbling from your lips faster than you can think them through. “It’s absolutely not you, I just let myself get lost in my own head in the past, and I didn’t mean -,” you pause, looking in Bishop’s eyes. You see no judgement. No anger, No disappointment. Just understanding and affection. You take a deep breath, willing your tears to stop. It was time.

“I want to tell you about my life before Santo Padre.”

Bishop doesn’t say anything, just presses a kiss to your forehead, before releasing your chin and tucking you under his, like he knows this is a conversation you won’t be able to have while looking at him.

“I was kinda engaged once.”

At that, you feel him still. You guys had discussed marriage at one visit at the bar and you had told him you never saw yourself getting married. It was just a piece of paper, right?

“My high school crush and I were friends, but he always seemed to have a girlfriend and never really interested in me that way. We were friends, which I was fine with. Then his girlfriend went off to college with everyone else. We had some financial stuff with my family come up and I couldn’t afford to go to college. So I stayed and worked. We got closer, I thought we were going to be together forever, ya know? Young love and all that bullshit.” You scoff, shaking your head at the memory of how naive you were at the time.

“Anyway, without saying anything to me, he talked to a recruiter and signed up for the military. In a matter of days, he packed up and left for boot camp, promising we would write each other as often as possible. And we did.”

Things had been great at first. The distance and the writing seemed to help solidify his feels for you. He told you for the first time that he loved you in a letter, which at the time you were foolish enough to think was romantic. He even talked about how you two should get married as soon as possible so that you could go with him when he was stationed. One morning, you woke to someone turning on your bedroom light at 4am. You looked up and saw him standing there in his fatigues. You jumped up immediately hugging him, your mom standing in the doorway with tears in her eyes. You always said she liked him more than you, and if you’d only known how right you were.

He left your side quickly, he had yet to see his own family, he said, but he would be back. You went back to bed, barely able to sleep. You got up, got ready and went to his mom’s house, only she said he wasn’t there and she hadn’t seen him since she had dropped him off at your house that morning.

Strange, you thought, but it had been early, maybe you had misremembered what he said.

Later, you would find out that same night he had stopped at two other girls houses. The whole week he was home between boot camp and leaving for his stationing, that early morning trip was the only time you saw him. Not a call, not a text, nothing. Your heart was broken, but you could heal, you thought. Until he was all your mom could talk about. How he was doing, what he was up to, when he was coming home. Apparently while he wasn’t answering your messages, he was messaging your mom. You and your mom weren’t very close to start with, but you thought she would have picked you over the boy who promised you everything then broke your heart.

The final straw was Christmas Day that year. You had your traditional holiday festivities in the morning, but your mom didn’t seem as eager to take down the tree after unwrapping presents as she usually was. You didn’t really think anything about it until she pulled you aside and asked if you could leave for a few hours. It was Christmas Day, where were you going to go? It was snowing outside and everywhere was closed.

She said she didn’t want you to make a scene when your ex showed up with his new wife.

“Wait,” Bishop interrupts you for the first time. “Not only had your mom invited your ex and his new wife to your family Christmas, she asked you to leave your home so things, what? Wouldn't be awkward?”

You nod against his chest, “Yep. She went on to say how amazing his wife was, so cute and small and beautiful and intelligent and just everything she ever hoped he would find in someone.”

“And what did you say to her?” Bishop asks, the anger evident in his voice.

“I mean, look at me, what was I going to say?”

“What does that mean?”

You sigh, “Look, I am realist, I know I’m not pretty, I work with what I’ve got, but I’m not ever going to be someone people think twice about.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bishop is mad now, leaning up to look down at you. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you since you sat at my bar.”

“I can’t help it you have bad taste,” you say, avoiding his eyes. “Are you going to let me finish my story or not?”

“That conversation isn’t over, but you can finish your story.” He says, laying down again, pulling you back to his chest.

“So I asked my mom if she was really going to pick him over me, and she said that if he hadn't been so ashamed to be seen with me in public, that she could have had both of us so the fact she had to pick him over me was my own fault. I left her house that day and I haven’t been back,” you whisper into his chest.

“I spent the next five years sleeping with any man who even so much as looked at me, trying to convince myself that if all these men wanted me, I was worth wanting. Then one day, I realized I was out of control. I wasn’t enjoying myself. I was just letting these people use me, hoping I would feel...something about myself. I invaded marriages and relationships, ruining anything in my path, thinking that the greater the challenge, the more I was worth because of it. I realized I let them turn me into someone I didn’t want to be. I got the offer here in Santo Padre from one of my contacts at a previous job and never looked back. I started my life here, convinced I was fine on my own, I didn’t need family or friends until I met Y/BF/N. We just clicked, she had a shitty family, too, so we became each other’s family.” You take a breath, noticing sometime in your story, your tears have stopped. “Her trauma is a little fresher than mine, so while she’s going through her reckless phase, I am doing my best to watch out for her.”

“And that’s how you ended up at a bar of bikers you didn’t necessarily want to be at,” Bishop says, connecting the timeline to now. “You were looking out for your friend.”

“I was looking out for my family.”

You know that is something Bishop can relate to, and it may be why you gravitated to him so quickly. None of those men downstairs were related to him, but it doesn’t mean he loved them any less.

“So what happened a little bit ago that brought all of this up?”

You feel your cheeks start burning. You are naked with this man in bed after unloading the details of your past, and he was still here, rubbing soothing circles into your back. Why were you so nervous?

“I haven’t been with anyone in over five years,” you admit against his chest. “Between the pain of my past and pleasure of the present, I think I might have short circuited a bit when I saw us in the mirror.”

Bishop chuckles, which is what you were hoping for. You laugh as well, realizing that with your confessions, you feel lighter, almost giddy, a weight lifted off your shoulders. You slide your hand from his chest, down his taut lower belly, and wrap your fingers around him.

“Do you want to try again?”

He twitches against your palm, but he brings a hand to rest atop of yours. “We don’t have to do anything, we can just lay here, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why I want to,” you say, pressing your lips to his.

You spend the rest of the night wrapped up in each other, Bishop slowing stroking your fire until it licked at the edges of his own. Your body reacting to his in ways you didn’t even know it could anymore. Once you had your fill of each other, he tucked you against his front, wrapping himself around you, drifting off to sleep quickly.

You stayed awake a bit longer and instead of wondering how soon it would end, you found yourself wondering what a future with Bishop would look like. You couldn’t wait to find out.

LAST CALL

The silence after that night felt unbearable. You didn’t hear anything from Nestor about any of it. You knew better than to bring it up to your father. There was no way for you to tell him that you had it on good authority that Miguel shot one of his men without somehow ending up getting into the discussion of you and Nestor. You weren’t ready for that talk. You didn’t know when you would be, if you ever would be. So you didn’t bring it up. You just waited to see if he ever had anything to say about Miguel. Which he never did, at least not to you.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that your father most likely downplayed his real feelings about Miguel, good or bad, in front you just for the sake of avoiding an argument. But you had to think that if he knew about Paco, or had any suspicions about it all, he would say something to you. That felt like something that would be worth the argument resulting from the conversation.

The couple of meetings that you’d had with your father and Miguel after Nestor showing up at your house felt like business as usual on the surface. Miguel still seemed off, and now that you knew some more of the behind-the-scenes of it all, you were thinking that he should seem a lot more fucked up than he did. You wished he’d lose it in front of your father, cause enough of an issue so that he would actually have to do something about it. You were still holding out hope for that while you tried to think of a better, more concrete plan.

In the midst of all of that, you were very aware of the fact that it was always Miguel and Marcus showing up together. You knew that he had other men on his security team besides Nestor, even with Paco being gone. But the fact that he hadn’t been bringing any of them including Nestor was interesting to you. The circle grew ever-smaller. Your curiosity about all of that was far outweighed by your concern over Nestor’s absence. Maybe you were placing too much importance on yourself and your relationship with him, but him being back off the radar after coming to see you felt like a bit too much to just be a coincidence. It was another thing that you couldn’t ask about.

You were tossing your bag into the back seat of your car at your father’s house when the folder you were holding slipped from between your fingers and fell to the ground. The papers immediately started to scatter. Cursing under your breath, you started to gather them back up as quickly as you could.

You were reaching underneath your car for a stray paper when a very distinctive pair of boots materialized right beside you. It was hard to tell from the feeling in the pit of your stomach whether or not Marcus stepping over to help you gave you a sense of relief or one of dread.

“Here,” he said as crouched down and picked up the few that you hadn’t collected up yet.

You pulled the papers from underneath your car and stood up, stuffing them haphazardly back into the folder in your hands before reaching out to take the ones that Marcus was holding for you.

“Thank you.” You tucked those papers away too, unable to ignore the heaviness in Marcus’s stare. Looking back up at him, you tentatively asked, “How is…everything?”

His eyes narrowed slightly for a moment as he processed what you said versus what you meant. You knew he was smart enough to know what you were asking. You just were trying to figure out if he was going to be bold enough to give you the answer.

“We’re figuring it out.”

That gave you less than nothing to go off of. “Anything I can do?”

The frown on his face seemed like a pensive one, but you didn’t know him well enough to say that it was that for sure. He shook his head slightly. “No. Just,” he reached out and rested his hand on your shoulder, “stay safe.”

The knot of dread that his words and gesture put in your stomach made you want to throw up right on the spot. It wasn’t just a nicety, although in the world you all ran in it very well could be. If it had been Miguel saying it to you instead of Marcus, you would’ve said that it was a threat. But it didn’t quite feel like that. It felt like a warning, sure, but not a threat. Like he was trying to intervene because he knew a threat was coming from somewhere else. You had a good idea of where that might be.

You nodded. “Will do.”

If he was going to say anything more, he didn’t get the chance to. Miguel’s voice piped up as he stood by his car. “Ready, Marcus?”

Marcus’s face gave nothing away, as per usual. He turned around without another word to you and made his way back towards their SUV. Your nails were almost digging into your palm despite the fact that you were holding onto the folder. Your jaw was clenched so tight you were worried that you were about to crack a tooth as you watched them roll past you and out of the driveway.

It wasn’t until they were gone and out of sight that you forced your body to start moving again. You tucked your folder underneath your bag before walking around to the driver’s side of the car. You sat down in the driver’s seat, letting out a shaky exhale as you tried to get your mind to slow down. It was the first time that you ever wished that you had Marcus’s number. That way you could reach out to him to try to get some more answers out of him.

If you had to be safe, did that mean that Nestor wasn’t? Was he okay? Was he even still alive? Part of you thought that maybe that was a bit of a reach, but after what had happened with Paco you figured that survival was no longer a guarantee for anyone. The only thing that was giving you any semblance of comfort, and it wasn’t much, was that you would like to think that if something really had happened to Nestor, Marcus would’ve found a way to tell you. Or maybe even Miguel would say something, wanting to put more salt into a wound he loved to keep picking at.

You finally got your hands and fingers to steady and cooperate enough to put the key into the ignition of your car. Thoughts were racing through your head so fast that you couldn’t even make sense of them. All you knew was that they were making your heartrate skyrocket.

Despite knowing it wasn’t going to do anything to calm your nerves, you dug your phone out and dialed Nestor as you drove. You hardly even got a full ring before the automated voice came through the speakers of your car. “Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice messaging system. At the tone—”

You hung up, feeling your bottom lip starting to tremble. The likelihood of being able to get in touch with him now when you couldn’t before was slim to none, but you still had to try. It shouldn’t have caused such a visceral reaction inside you, but you suddenly felt like it was all about to fall apart, like the ground was going to crumble right beneath the tires of your car as you sped down the road.

The next couple of days went by accompanied by nothing besides radio silence. You didn’t see Nestor, didn’t hear anything from or about him. There was nothing from Miguel, Marcus, or your father either. It wasn’t out of the ordinary, per se, but your heightened anxiety made the lack of communication feel like a much larger problem than it was. Typically, no news was good news. But that wasn’t what it felt like now.

You threw yourself into your work as much as you could to try and combat it. Owning and managing kept you plenty busy, but you’d started covering a few shifts here and there if anyone ever called out just to have one extra thing to think about other than the mess that was happening behind the scenes. It also had the added benefit of surprising the other bartenders who worked for you. You’d mentioned to them a time or two that you had been a bartender up until you were in the position you had now, but it was the first time that any of them really saw you in action. It crossed your mind that Jade would’ve gotten a kick out of it. That thought alone soothed some of the nerves that you’d been feeling.

You were crawling towards the end of another shift. When one of the bartenders had to step out because of a family emergency, you gladly filled in and took his place. You left your blazer in your office, standing behind the bar in your sleeveless blouse and slacks. You were thankful that you’d learned how to stand and walk around for long periods of time in heels, because there wouldn’t be any sitting down until the place shut down for the night. You were thankful for the distraction, but you were also exhausted. You knew the other woman working with had to be just as tired, which was why you had told her to head out a little early once everyone left after last call.

“I’ll clean up,” you reassured her. “Go home, get some rest.”

“You’re sure?”

You nodded. “Positive. I’ll see you next time you’re in, alright?”

The relieved smile that spread across her face made the extra time you were going to spend there that night worth it. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.”

Once she was gone you put your own music on as you wiped down the bar and loaded the dishwasher. With the exception of the clothes that you were wearing, you felt like you were right back at the bar with Jade. The urge to call her had rolled through you more often than you expected it to. There was a comfort and stability that she exuded that was hard to find in other people. You were certain that a good, long talk with her would help immeasurably.

But the warning from Marcus still rang loudly in your mind. If something was afoot and you were at risk in some way, the last thing you wanted to do was drag in someone who was innocent in it all. Jade had nothing to do with your business with your father. She made sure to keep it that way. You weren’t going to be the person who got her hurt simply because she was close with you. Distance for now was the best solution that you had, even if it sucked. Even though you knew it wouldn’t happen, part of you wished that she would just turn up one night looking for a drink.

And, if she wouldn’t randomly decide to turn up, you were hoping that Nestor might.

Neither of them did, though. You shouldn’t have been surprised or upset by that. There was no reason that either of them would randomly find their way into your bar. But as you collapsed at the freshly-cleaned counter, setting up your laptop and notebooks to get ahead on some of your paperwork, you wished that the universe would grant you that distraction.

You’d completely lost track of time as you got the next few deliveries and supply runs in order. Your books were meticulously kept, which was helpful, but it was incredibly time-consuming. So you had no idea how late it really was when you reached for your phone and called your father.

A middle of the night call after days of silence wasn’t exactly something that would give anyone confidence. Your father somehow managed to sound simultaneously exhausted and frantic as he answered the phone.

“Mija? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” you replied easily despite the fact that it was a bit of a lie. You were alright in the way that he was asking—you weren’t bleeding out in the desert somewhere.

He hummed and you could picture the way he was probably pulling his hands down his face in an effort to try and wake up a little more. “Do you,” he fought back a yawn and was almost successful, “do you need something?”

“Do you have Marcus’s number?” The question came tumbling out of you before you could stop it.

“Marcus?”

“Yeah, Alvarez,” you clarified.

He chuckled tiredly. “I know who you mean, Y/N.” He paused. “I have his number, yes.”

“Can I have it?”

“What do you need his number for this late at night?” His answer wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. How you answered the question that he’d just asked was going to determine if he was going to give you that information or not.

“In my defense, I didn’t realize how late it was,” you said with a tired laugh. “I just had a couple things that I wanted to ask him about, that’s all. Stuff I’d really rather not bother Miguel with.”

“You mean stuff you don’t want to talk to Miguel about?” he countered, humor in his tone.

You had to laugh at that. “That too.” There was a long pause, and when he didn’t give you the number or tell you that you were going to have to actually buck up and ask Miguel for it, you said, “So…can I please have a way to not talk to Miguel?”

“You can’t just keep finding ways to avoid him, you know.”

“Watch me,” you joked. “C’mon, it’s late and I’m sure you wanna get back to sleep. Just text me his number and you can go back to dreaming about having your own whiskey distillery or whatever it is that you dream about these days.”

It was too easy for you to picture the look on his face even though you couldn’t see him. The tired but still amused look even though he wouldn’t want to look amused. “Why do I get the feeling you’re up to something?”

“Because you always think I’m up to something when it comes to Miguel.”

“And I’m almost always right, aren’t I?”

“We’re both still alive and in one piece, aren’t we? Things haven’t gone too wrong yet.” You paused before saying, “Papí, por favor. Para su hija favorita.”

He let out a sigh that turned into a laugh. “Por díos.”

You laughed, knowing that you had him. “Muchas gracias.”

“Basta,” he said with a laugh. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Te quiero.”

You could hear him smiling through his exasperation with you. “Te quiero mucho.”

When you hung up the phone with him, it was less than a minute before you received a text message from him. You quickly opened it, adding Marcus’s number to your contacts. You weren’t going to call him now—it was far too late for that. But at some point in the next twenty-four hours you were going to reach out. Maybe a text would be a better start, since it was a pretty safe bet that if you called him he would be around Miguel. You didn’t even want any incriminating information, really. You just wanted to know that Nestor was okay.

You spent a few seconds too long staring at his name. Clicking on it, you typed out a text message, thinking that it wouldn’t be enough to disturb him from sleep, but it would be one of the first things that he saw when he woke up in the morning. And that would mean he was away from Miguel.

“It’s Y/N. My dad gave me your number. Call me when you get this, please” You didn’t allow yourself to hesitate before hitting send.

Once the message said delivered underneath it, you felt like the last of your energy had been sucked right out of you. It was a text message but you may as well have run a marathon with the way you sank deeper onto the stool, elbows landing against the bar. You pressed your fingers against your temples, rubbing small circles there for a few moments before deciding to pack up your things and starting to head home.

Even as you were going through your nightly routine at home, you were still periodically checking your phone to see if Marcus had texted you back. There was no way that he was going to answer, but you still had to check. Even as your head hit the pillow and you threw your phone on the charger, you gave it one last glance before finally allowing your eyes to close.

You were woken up the next morning way before your alarm. You groaned, not opening your eyes as you groped around, feeling for your nightstand and by extension your phone. When your fingers wrapped around it, you unplugged it, only opening one eye a sliver of the way. You hit the accept call button, not even bothering to try and focus enough to read the name.

“Hello?” You barely sounded human but it was too late to try and mediate.

“Didn’t mean to wake you.” Marcus’s voice came in from the other end of the line, soft, smooth. “Figured the late text needed a fast reply.”

Your eyes popped open as it registered with you who it was. You lifted your head off the pillow, clearing your throat as you propped yourself on one elbow. “Marcus. Sorry. Yeah. Thanks—uh, thank you for calling.”

“Never thought your dad was one for playing telephone.”

“He’s not. I, uh, I might’ve pestered him a little bit.”

“What happened?”

“What?”

“Never took you for a pest.”

You chuckled as you rubbed at your eyes, trying to wipe the sleep out of them. “Glad to know Miguel hasn’t swayed your opinion of me.”

“Y/N.”

He didn’t sound angry and yet you still felt like you were on the phone with the school principal. You cleared your throat again. “Yeah?”

“What’s going on?”

“If I ask you something, are you gonna tell Miguel?”

“Depends.” He paused. “I’m not planning on tellin’ him anything about you if you don’t give me a reason to.”

You sucked in a deep breath before finally asking, “Did something happen to Nestor?”

There was a long pause. You were afraid that he was just going to hang up on you. You were mentally scrambling, trying to come up with a good excuse to be asking that question. It was hard to think of one that would be good enough, especially considering you were asking a man who you had hardly ever had a full conversation with before. Quick exchanges in the driveway of your father’s house didn’t quite count.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I shouldn’t have—”

Marcus cut you off. “He’s okay.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “You mean it?”

There was another long pause. “He’s okay, meaning he’s not in the same position his last partner was in.” Marcus let you stammer for a few seconds before saying, “You know about Paco.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. “I—”

“Wasn’t a question.”

“Nestor told you?”

“No. But if he was going to tell anyone…”

You sighed as you felt your chest get heavy. You hadn’t even been awake for ten minutes and you already felt like you were on the brink of tears. “That obvious, huh?” you tried to joke to force your emotions down.

He avoided your question, keeping his tone neutral as he asked, “What do you want from me?”

“He won’t leave him.”

You heard Marcus sigh on the other end of the line. “There’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Can you promise me that you at least won’t let Miguel do to him what he did to Paco?”

The silence on the other end of the line didn’t instill any confidence in you. “It’s out of your control, Y/N.”

“So that’s a no?”

“You said it yourself, huh? He’s not leaving.”

You didn’t expect his words to hit you as hard as they did. You took a deep breath, hoping it would make you feel steadier, but it didn’t. You were just thankful that he couldn’t see the look on your face. “Right.”

When another silence followed, you thought that Marcus was going to try and find a way to hurry you off the phone. But, much to your surprise, he just stayed on the line. It was the longest conversation you’d ever had with him, and most of it was filled with disjointed silences.

“You’ve thought about it a lot,” he said, a brief pause before he elaborated, “What the picture would look like without him.” It was a statement, not a question.

Clearing your throat to stuff down the emotions, you found yourself nodding before remembering that he couldn’t see you. “Yeah. I mean…in a violently daydreaming kind of way, yeah.” You couldn’t help the brief, proud smile on your face when you heard the way Marcus chuckled at that.

Despite the moment of shared humor, when he spoke up again his tone was serious. “I can’t promise you what you’re asking. I wish I could, but I can’t.”

You sighed, dropping your forehead to the heel of your palm. “Right.”

“’S like I told you, huh? Just keep yourself safe.”

It wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but there was only so much you could ask of him. He was risking a lot just by talking to you at all. “What happens if Miguel finds out you called me?”

 “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him—and there are plenty of things he doesn’t know.”

There was an ease that he spoke with that made you believe him. While it didn’t alleviate the concerns you had before, it at least didn’t any anything new to the list. You knew that you weren’t going to get anything more out of him now, so you cut him loose and ended the call. Tossing your phone to the side, you laid on your back and stared up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what you were supposed to do next.