#ez reyes x ofc

[narcolini]

in his shadow - pt. 4

ez reyes x oc: ava gomez (& bonus angel), 3072 words

for day 26 of whumpril, using alternative prompt: words that can’t be taken back

a/n: ahh i love making drama for the sake of drama, it’s so good for the soul

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc​ (let me know if u want to be tagged!)

previous part here

It’s been a week, well, a weekend and a day, and EZ still hasn’t heard from Ava. The last he saw of her, she was leaving the trailer, hair a mess, jacket and near-empty tequila bottle stuffed into her bag. It’d been good. Real fucking good. Nice, like they were dating, or something. Like there was a genuine connection between them. And then, nothing.

No text, no call.

He’s trying to be chilled about it. No biggie, because they aren’t dating, are they? They barely even know each other. Well, that’s a lie, even if it does make him feel better to think it. They’d gotten close fast enough to feel like he’s known her as long as the rest of the guys have. Longer, even. Maybe. He knows things she’s never told them. Heard the shit that goes on behind that doe-eyed expression, that endless look of kindness. It sits in her features even when she’s swearing, or chatting shit with liquor on her breath. Just endless, endless, kindness. Like she’d been drawn up by Disney or some shit.

‘The fuck you smiling about?’ Angel asks, lips tweaking like he’s in on it, catching his brother’s attention.

They’re parked up outside the sandwich place they can’t get enough of, waiting for the food coma to settle before they leave again. Angel’s reclined on his bike, head against the handle bars, EZ’s standing on the sidewalk, shoulder to the nearest pole.  

‘Nothing.’ EZ shrugs. ‘Just thinking.’

‘Bout what?’

‘You want a list or something? Stuff, things.’

Angel slides the shades up from his face, into his hair. He’s scrutinising him like he knows something, or is about to. Like he can read the thoughts in EZ’s head. ‘Did you get laid?’ he asks, uncertain of his guess until he sees EZ’s chin dip in response. ‘Ho—ly fuck. Little bro finally got his dick wet.’

‘Shut up, man.’

‘Who’s the lucky princess?’ He smirks. ‘I know her?’

EZ’s head shakes. He hates when Angel’s like this, hates even more when he’s right about it too. ‘I’m not telling you when you’re being a dick about it.’

He sits up, boots planting on the ground either side of his bike. ‘Shit, it’s that serious? Why am I only just hearing about it now?’

How does he answer that? Logically, he know’s it not serious, not by their standards. Not by Ava’s either, probably. But he has to physically stop himself from saying yes, because that’s the answer that tries to fly out. Yeah, kinda. Yeah, I hope so.

‘I don’t know,’ he says instead. ‘Maybe.’

‘Maybe?’ Angel’s teetering on a laugh, pure glee at his brothers uncertainty sitting behind his eyes. He could do this for hours. ‘You gotta give me a name, Romeo. Who’s got you all caught up like this?’

EZ sighs. He’s got two options, a long death, drawn out and real fucking annoying, or the short, merciful one. Sure to sting, but quicker to fade. ‘Well,’ he starts, hanging his thumbs in his jean pockets, ‘me and Ava have kind of…’

‘Kind of…’ Angel winds his head in EZ’s vision, trying to lure the rest of it out of him. ‘Started a bookclub, or what? The fuck is it, bro?’

‘We’ve been hanging out.’

He squints, then his eyes go wide. ‘Oh, come on, Ezekiel.’

‘There it is.’ He shouldn’t have said anything. Should’ve lied and said he was smiling about his fucking sandwich.

‘You slept with her?’ Angel’s voice pitches up, like he can’t believe it. ‘Damn, bro, it’s like you fucking hate happiness. My God.’

He’s shaking his head at him, but EZ’s no idea why. Honestly, he hasn’t a fucking clue. What was so bad about it? They’re both adults, they’re both single. He know’s Ava’s baggage as well as anyone, better even, than Angel himself. If anything, spending time with her had made him happier than he’s been in years. The first real good thing to happen since getting out.

‘The fuck does that mean, Angel?’

He ignores the question, muttering to himself, as he toys with the helmet in his lap. ‘That’s so fucked up, man.’

‘Why is it?’ EZ's back straightens, a defensive response. He’s starting to get irritated. ‘It was her idea.’

‘Yeah,’ Angel nods, ‘and now you’re all up in your feelings, falling in love with her, while she’s out, acting all new and sexy and shit, thanks to your dumbass self.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’

‘What’s wrong with…’ He scoffs, looking up again. ‘You realise she’s about to go out and get a man that isn’t in a fucking MC now? Probably on Tinder already. You’re a rebound, boy-scout.’

EZ bristles, jaw clenching. He tries to shake it off afterwards, like Angel’s words are nothing at all, just noise without weight. It isn’t convincing, even he can tell that. He’s got a face like a scolded child. ‘You don’t know that,’ he says.

‘Don’t I?’ Angel laughs. ‘Been in this club way fucking longer than you, and I ain’t never seen a widow go for a Mayan twice.’

He’s right, EZ knows that. Even though he’s not seen it himself, he can recognise why. One death would put you off for good, but it isn’t like that, is it? Ava hadn’t used him as the jumping point for the return of her love life. Wouldn’t mess him about for the sake of messing about. And it wasn’t like he was in love with her, or falling, even. They were just hanging out. It was fun, mutually. It still is. It can be as simple as that, no matter what Angel puts into his head.

‘You spoken to her since?’ Angel asks.

He doesn’t answer, which says all Angel needs to hear. Tutting, laughing, head shaking like EZ is utterly clueless.

‘You’re full of shit, Angel,’ he snarks, pulling his own helmet from the seat of his bike. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Yeah, cause you’re the expert on women.’

I know her, he wants to say, clicking the strap under his chin. I know her, and you don’t, even with all the years you had to get there. Maybe it was rebound, maybe he’s the rebound, but so what, right? That doesn’t mean he’s fucked up, or ruined whatever they’d started. Ava had wanted someone to treat her like a normal fucking woman, and he’d done that, that’s all.

That’s all, isn’t it?

*

‘There’s someone out front for you, Ava.’

‘Really?’ She looks up from her work, hand mid-wipe over the leather seat. ‘I’ve not booked anyone in for the afternoon.’

Her colleague shrugs, not lingering long enough to explain beyond, ‘He said he’s here to see you.’

She only has a handful of male clients—eyebrows, botox, lip-filler—but none of them are due anytime soon. If one of them’s back already, then it can only be a bad thing. A complaint, maybe, a mistake on her part. God. She hates dealing with that. The guilt over it, no matter how small, is enough to knock her confidence for weeks. To make her doubt her qualifications entirely. She chucks the cloth on the side, peeling the gloves from her hands to toss them in the trash on the way past. It’ll be okay, really, she doesn’t have any clients that would hold it against her. I mean, she’s an aesthetician, not a robot. Mistakes happen. Bodies react in different ways, even if you’ve had the treatment before.

She rounds the corner, into the small shop front that acts as a greeting desk and waiting room all in one, and finds it’s not a client at all. It’s EZ, full leathers and helmet, standing dark against the blinding pink of the walls.

‘Oh,’ she can’t help but feel relieved, ‘it’s you.’

He smiles, looking shy from her reaction. ‘Yeah, hey.’

‘D’you need something?’ She pauses behind the desk, waiting as he dawdles forward. It’s obvious he isn’t comfortable here. He looks seconds from sprinting out the door, knocking fake palms trees and magazine stands on his way. ‘Did you call me?’

‘Nah, I figured I’d just stop buy. Speak to you in person.’ He puts his elbow on the desk in front of her, leaning like he’s comfortable. Or trying to be. ‘You got a minute?’

She has an entire afternoon, technically, but she also has a shit load of paperwork to catch up on. Expenses to list, lash in-fills to count. ‘Sure, I got a window.’ An hour, for him, is nothing.

She nods toward the back, inviting him to follow. They could talk here, sure, but he looks like he wants privacy. And, well, she doesn’t really want her colleagues to see them chatting in the first place. She’d got this job after Seb had died, unable to go back to her last one. So the shock of a man in a kutte, lingering in the middle of the shop, might send a gossip shockwave strong enough to unsettle her peace forever. The questions would never stop—and God knows, she doesn’t have the patience for that.

‘You been good?’ he asks, walking behind her.

‘Yeah, busy.’

‘Though I might’ve heard from you.’

She lets him into her room, and shuts the door behind. He looks just as out of place here, standing by the reclining seat, under the white lights, as he did out front. ‘I know,’ she sighs, ‘I haven’t had a minute to stop.’

He nods but doesn’t look convinced. It’s not like she’s lying, not like she has any reason too. They’d made up, she thought, more than made up. The last time they hung out, they’d ended the day on a high she’d never even imagined. Swollen lips, fresh spirit, an electricity under her skin that she’d forgotten the feeling of. She didn’t think they had any more catching up to do. Let’s call it even, he said, and then sweeten the deal on top of it.

‘Is something the matter?’ she asks, because he clearly isn’t going to start himself. He’s standing like he’s scared to move, one thigh against the leg-rest.

‘Nah.’ His head shakes, brow pinching. ‘Not really.’

‘But?’

He sighs, settling his hands on the edges of his cut, fists over his chest. ‘Honestly, Angel got in my head about something,’ he confesses. ‘Thought I could talk to you about it.’

Now it’s her turn to frown, because she never got the impression Angel had the ability. EZ’s the brainy one, the logical one. Angel surely had no way of twisting his thoughts away from himself.

‘Oh boy.’ She lets out a breath, moving to lean against the nearest counter. ‘Should I be worried?’

He smiles slightly, just enough to put it into the creases of his eyes. ‘Depends,’ he says, ‘on whether I’m a rebound or not.’

‘What?’

‘Angel thinks you’ve, I don’t know. Shit.’ He sighs. ‘Can we start that again?’

‘A rebound?’ How could he be, how could he or Angel even think that? For starters, it’s been three fucking years since Sebastian died. If he was a rebound, it was less of a bounce and more like a delayed crack, a skimmed stone that made one fucking ripple, way out into the bay. ‘As in, what? I used you to make myself feel better?’

He’s exhaling through his teeth, rubbing the back of his head. ‘That came out wrong, was trying to make a dumb joke, lighten the mood. Sorry.’

But it came from somewhere, out his lips like he’d been wondering it his whole way here. ‘No, go on. What did Angel think?’

‘You don’t want to know.’

‘Well someone’s gonna have to explain that rebound line, EZ.’

He looks like he wants the ground to eat him, whole and scrambling, but he carries on. To his credit, he carries on. ‘He thinks us sleeping together was a mistake.’

She doesn’t comment on the fact that telling Angel in the first place, is the real mistake, but from the looks of him he’s knows it already. Like he regrets it enough to make her overlook it, focusing on the next problem. ‘And that matters because…?'

‘Like I said, he got in my head about it.’

‘How?’

‘How what?’

‘How did he get in your fucking head?’ she stresses, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. They’re parroting each others words like they’re speaking a different language. ‘Angel thinks a lot of dumb shit, and you never take notice of that. Why does it matter now?’

Why is it any of his business? How can something like that even be a mistake, when it’s just fun, just two people enjoying themselves. If Angel’s said she’s using EZ as a rebound, to propel herself forward in some way, why would he care, why would he—

‘Oh my god,’ she breathes, ‘you believe him, don’t you? You think I’m using you?’

‘What?’ His face scrunches, disgust showing in the kiss of his teeth. ‘No, course not.’

‘Well, you believe something, EZ. What the fuck is it? A rebound or a mistake?’

‘Neither.’ His voice is sharper now, words hardening into annoyance. ‘I just want to know what the fuck the plan is from here,’ he says. ‘Cause, you know, I’ve not heard from you at all since it happened.’

‘So, naturally, I have to have been using you?’

If she’d known he’d be this concerned, this paranoid about five days of quiet, she’d have never bothered. Honestly, she’d have never let it get past kissing in the first place. Some people can’t do just sex—Hell, she used to be one of them—if she’d known that was the case with him, she’d have stopped that train long ago. Saved them both the stress.

‘You know,’ he says carefully, like he’s holding something back, ‘you know, I wouldn’t think that.’

She flaps her arms up. ‘You near enough said it yourself, EZ. The fuck am I meant to do? Read minds?’

He turns away, just for a moment, to take a breath big enough to lift his shoulders. She watches them go up, down, up again. When he’s facing her afterwards, he looks calmer. Not believably so, but in the conscious, put on like a mask, way. He’s trying, at least. She appreciates that, as much as it does nothing for the sourness in her stomach. The quiet anger beneath her ribcage.

‘Look, I just, really didn’t know what the fuck to think, okay?’

She nods. Carry on, keep digging.

‘Angel said all this shit, and I hadn’t heard from you.’ His voice lowers a fraction. ‘And I know the stuff with Seb is always gonna be there.’

‘Make your point, EZ.’ She tries to sound commanding, but it comes out too quiet, almost like a plea. The mention of Sebastian now, right now, in relation to whatever she’s started between them, is the last thing either of them need. It doesn’t help his argument in the way he thinks it does.

‘I don’t care,’ he says, ‘if this goes no where. I don’t care if we never fucking touch each other again.’ He’s closer now, eyes intense on hers. ‘But if your plan is to avoid me forever—’

She cuts him off. ‘When have I said that?’

He waits, searching her expression.

‘I’ve been busy,’ she says, for what feels like the hundredth time, true or not. ‘I didn’t think sex came with a contract, y’know? One fuck equals three texts a day.’

He laughs, but it’s dry as anything, stripped of all humour. ‘Come on, Ava. If you don’t wanna talk like adults, I don’t know why I’m even here.’

‘Yeah, me and you both.’ This wasn’t even an issue before Angel had spoken to him, wouldn’t be something worth talking about at all, if she’d just been allowed to come back to him in her time. Of her own accord. ‘I had no intentions of blowing you off, EZ,’ she says, putting it like an insult somehow. Too highly strung to use it as the mediator she intended it to be. ‘If anything, I was really fucking happy with, y’know, whatever we’ve got going on.’

It still works, though. Words tight, or not, they land all the same, softening EZ’s shoulders. Putting a lighter breath into his throat.

‘Yeah, sure,’ she continues, ‘I’m not planning on having a relationship any time soon—but that doesn’t mean I’m using you.’

‘I know.’

‘I wouldn’t do that.’

He sighs, repeating it. ‘I know.’

‘I should’ve text you,’ she admits. ‘But I didn’t think you’d be taking advice from Angel, of all people.’

He catches the slight smile she’s offering, doubling it himself, and partnering it with a half-laugh. ‘Shit,’ he says, ‘I might kill him, actually. Think that’s probably the best solution.’

‘That or sewing his mouth shut.’

He snorts, head twitching sideways with he force of it. ‘That’d solve half my fucking problems in one.’

‘Yeah,’ she agrees, ‘me too.’ Someone should’ve thought of that sooner. ‘So, are we good? No pressure and no panic either, right?’

He doesn’t want it to be just sex, doesn’t want that to signal the end of them hanging out at all, but she equally doesn’t want it to be a promise of anything more. If he can’t meet her in the middle, then a clean break is all they have left. Back to how it was, with her as the widow, and him as the prospect. Nothing more, nothing less. Two people with one foot in the ring.

But he nods, and she sighs like the alternative would’ve made her collapse.

‘I really gotta stop saying shit without thinking,’ he says, smiling faintly.

She mirrors him. ‘True, but I have to stop saying nothing at all. Keep forgetting you you aren’t as old and fucked up as me.’

‘Woah,’ he frowns, ‘old? Come on, you got at least ten years before retirement.’

She laughs, too caught off guard to be offended. She’s got six years on him, max, but it’s not worth fighting over it now. ‘I like how you’re fine with the fucked up part.’

‘Oh, you’re definitely wrong there too. Fucked up beyond imagination, really.’

‘Mhm,’ she nods, matching his tease, ‘keep going. Your chances of never touching me again are really starting to sky-rocket.’

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Twenty Two & Epilogue.

So, besties. I did originally have another chapter after this, but after sitting on it for a couple of weeks after finishing and then re-reading it a few times, I decreed that it was mostly me rambling on and I didn’t like it, so I cut it to a final chapter and epilogue, a result I was much happier with. I can only hope you agree! Thank you so much for your engagement with this story, I’ve been so thrilled with the love it had received along the way. You’ve been a wonderful audience :)

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen  Twenty  Twenty One

Words - 4,770

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” EZ apologised, turning to stroke Camille’s arm through the darkness. She reached for the bedside lamp, switching it on.  

“It’s alright, I wasn’t really fully asleep anyway. I didn’t expect you to be, for obvious reasons.” It was 4am, and they had to be at the hospital by eight, EZ parched and hungry, of course on strict nil by mouth orders, since his surgery was scheduled for 9:30am. “Silly question, but how are you feeling?”

He shuffled closer to her, Camille turning onto her back, EZ resting his head in the crook of her shoulder. “Scared to fucking death, if I’m honest. I trust Doctor Shepherd, I really do because she’s such a surgical genius, going by her track record, but still. I’m frightened, that this might be my last morning lying in bed with you.”  

Her emotions wanted to succumb to the heavy stirring his words prompted, but she swallowed down the lump in her throat. She had to be strong for both of them. “It won’t be the last, baby. God can’t take you from me yet. It isn’t your time, I know it. You haven’t been put through all of this not to make it over the final hurdle.”

“You always say all the right things,” he mumbled, turning to kiss the side of her neck, wrapping himself around her, the warmth of her skin comforting. “I hope I live to hear you tell me many more.”  

She stroked his head, her nails raking softly over the little bits of new hair growth. “You will, my darling. You will.” She curled around him, holding him tightly, giving him all of the comfort he sought, glad when she heard him begin to snore softly, dozing in her arms for a couple of hours.  

He awoke at 6:30am, this time deciding to get up, shutting himself into the bathroom and shedding tears he didn’t want her to see while he took a shower, trying to hold onto a little optimism beneath the fear that was gripping him, the trepidation he felt at knowing he was about to be put under anaesthetic for a minimum of twelve hours while someone cut into his brain.  

After pulling himself together, he thought upon the reasoning that had calmed him, knowing that Doctor Shepherd did this daily, that it was her field of expertise, marvelling to himself that something that was so huge for him was just another day for her. He was in awe at that kind of poise and control, thinking that it could have been him with someone else’s life in his hands, had his life gone to how he once planned it and he’d become a cardiovascular surgeon.  

By the time he’d cleaned his teeth and dressed, he was feeling a little more positive, but the grip he held Camille’s hand with as they left the hotel room at just gone 7am was tight, nonetheless.  

“Good morning, Mr Reyes, Miss Smith,” Doctor Shepherd greeted them with at just coming up to 9am, smiling brightly as she entered his room. “Okay, so all of your pre-op stats look good, do you have any questions before we take you down?”  

“I don’t think so, no,” he spoke, Amelia seeing it clearly in him, the nerves.  

“Alright, that’s fine. Try to relax, remember, you’re in the best hands. I’ll see you down there.” She nodded curtly and left, going to prepare herself and take a last look at her notes prior to beginning what was to be a long and difficult surgery, but one she was extremely confident over. When it was time for him to go, he held Camille one last time, exchanging kisses with her. How she managed to hold herself together, she didn’t know, her voice shaking a little with emotion.

“I’ll see you later tonight, or tomorrow morning, depending. I’m not leaving the hospital at all. I’ll be right here when you wake up, I promise,” she vouched, her lips meeting his again. “I love you so much.”

“Love you too, baby. Remember that, alright. You’re the entire world to me.” One last kiss and he was wheeled out of the room, Camille waiting until the bed had vanished from view around the corner before she allowed herself the tears she’d held onto so tightly to fall, having a little cry as she made her way to the waiting room.  

“Good morning, everyone. Alright, we have Ezekiel Reyes here, thirty-five years old, with a grade five glioblastoma upon the frontal lobe as you can see, with a push of two millimetres into the temporal. The previous prognosis was inoperable, but we all know I love a challenge on a Thursday morning, and we have just that right here. Right, shall we begin? Start the clock. Ten blade, please.” With that, the first incision was made, the viewing gallery full of the residents who wished they could have been chosen to be in the OR with Doctor Shepherd, all curious to watch the huge surgery unfold.  

“This margin is so much better than I expected, I can get a beautiful, clean cut along this side. Suction, please,” Amelia began after assessing the area, slicing carefully along the outer wall of the tumour, stopping after a couple of millimetres progress, observing the MRI beamed images, checking her patient’s stats as she and Doctor Anders, her attending, shared thoughts. “Continuing laterally over the parameter onto the posterior ramus, I shan’t divert here until I need to. Look at this, god, he’s lucky. Death can go screw himself. He’s not coming for this man, not today.”

Doctor Anders agreed, his eyes flitting up to the clock. Five hours, thirty-two minutes. At eight hours, the progression had led to the base of the tumour, Ameila stepping back, asking for a few moments while she considered her options in how to proceed. She studied the scans, muttering to herself, taking a breath as she rocked on her heels, her feet tingling a little. “Twelve blade, please. Proceeding bi-laterally against the inferior temporal sulci. Margins are less clear here.”  

Less clear was an understatement, Amelia needing a further four hours just to cut around that small area, leading up to the superior temporal sulci by the time the clock ticked over into twelve hours, and only half of the tumour cut away. “You shall not get the better of me, beast. No, you shall not.” She spoke confidently, Doctor Anders having left a short time ago, her reliable soundboard that was Richard Webber at her side.  

“Take a pause if you’re unsure, Shepherd,” he advised, watching her blink tightly a few times, knowing she was beginning to stress herself. “Leaving a tiny amount around the hippocampus isn’t a failure if you aren’t sure. Radiotherapy can see to the rest.”

She took a deep breath, nodding. “I know, I know.” Her eyes crinkled in smile as she looked to her side. “You know I don’t enjoy being beaten, though.”

Richard made a small ‘hmph’ that had her chuckling softly. “Tell me something I don’t know. You and your brother, exactly the same.” She thought of her late sibling then and all his surgical brilliance in the same field, closing her eyes for a second, wishing she had a direct line to the other side. “What would Derek do?” The question she thought resounded through her head, looking to the MRI again, her brain ticking along with the minutes.  

By thirteen hours and twenty-four minutes, she knew how to proceed.

By fourteen hours, she had made her progress around the hippocampus.

By fifteen hours, she was working onto where the tumour pressed against the temporal lobe.

By nineteen hours and beyond exhausted, she ready to close.

For the entire time, Camille had sat an anxious wreck in the waiting area of Grey-Sloane, napping for a few minutes here and there. At just past four thirty in the morning, she looked up to see a welcome sight in the appearance of a tired looking Doctor Shepherd.  

“Well, that was the most complex surgery I have had task me for a number of years, but I’m pleased to say that all went well. I managed to get it all out, every last bit,” she revealed, Camille gasping, getting up to throw her arms around the brilliant surgeon who stood before her, the doctor giving her a fleeting hug before pulling away. “Now comes the part of waiting to see if anything has been affected where his speech and motor skills are concerned. This can be very tricky to tell, even though nothing happened surgically that would point a definitive finger to such, it’s all so complicated that we do have to wait until he comes around. You should go and sleep, and we will call you when he awakes. It could be hours yet.”  

Camille was resolute, though. She would not leave that hospital until he did wake. “I think I’m going to stay here, I can’t leave until I’ve seen him. I also cannot thank you enough for what you did for him. Thank you so, so much, Doctor Shepherd. You’re incredible.”

She nodded at the praise, smiling. “I do what I can, and I am pleased I could do this for him, for you both. Try and get some rest, I’m going to do just the same. I’ll remain right here so I’m close by in his immediate post-surgery hours. One of the nurses will come and fetch you once he’s regained consciousness.” Camille thanked her again, taking a seat, kicking off her shoes in the mostly deserted waiting area and curling up on the seats. The relief of knowing that her love had made it through the surgery was so great, she was asleep within minutes.  

Five hours later and a nurse shook her awake, smiling kindly. “Miss Smith? Mr Reyes awoke briefly, but it was fleeting. If you’d like to come through, you can sit with him now. It might be a long wait until he wakes again, but the fact that he did open his eyes only for a moment is a very positive sign.” She took a moment to quickly go outside and let his family and hers know that he’d come through the surgery, telling them she’d call when she had more news before being taken up to his room in recovery.  

It was frightening, to see him covered in wires, his head back to completely clean shaven, not that she could see much around the myriad of dressings and bandages, his chest slowly rising and falling as the machine he was attached to breathed for him. She leaned down and gently kissed his cheek, tears running down her face. “Told you so,” she whispered, grasping his hand softly, taking a seat at his side. “Told you god wouldn’t take you from me just yet.”  

She sat and talked to him, getting up to stretch, napping a little more, only leaving to go and fetch herself coffee on a couple of occasions and stretch her legs, reading one of the two books she’d brought along with her. It was coming up to 6pm when she practically threw the book on the floor, feeling his arm twitch against hers and looking up to see his eyes open, immediately buzzing for the nurse.  

She was asked to leave while she and one of the surgeons who had been in the OR with him, Doctor Webber, checked him over, Doctor Shepherd joining them after a few minutes. Camille couldn’t see much through the partially closed blinds, but when one of the nurses stepped out, she could make out that his breathing tube had been removed, which was a good sign, she thought, for him to be breathing on his own thirteen and a half hours post op.  

“Okay, Miss Smith, we can have you back in now. We’ve given him a first assessment, and he is completely cognitive, I am thrilled to reveal. Except... it’s all in Spanish. Now, this is not unheard of, I myself began replying in French after my own tumour removal, but in the hours to follow I did revert back to English. He understands everything we’re asking of him, but Doctor Webber and I have only a basic grasp on the language. I don’t suppose you could help us out there?” she asked, Camille smiling.

“I can, actually. I learned Spanish at school. I’m not completely fluent, but I know enough to get me by.” She stood up, walking back in, receiving a very tired smile from EZ, grasping his hand in both of hers as she leaned to kiss him.  

“Well, I take it from that, you know exactly who this young lady is?” Doctor Webber asked, EZ nodding minimally.  

“Si, mi novia, Camille,” he spoke, before focusing on her. “Cómo estás, querida?”

“I’m fine, baby. I’m just fine. A little thrown, hearing you talking to me in Spanish, but Doctor Shepherd tells me that this can happen after surgery.”  

Immediately, EZ looked confused, beginning to speak again, Camille nodding as she took it in. “He says he isn’t consciously doing it. He’s thinking in English, but when he comes to speak, it’s all coming out in Spanish.” She paused while he spoke again, laughing at his words. “He says his mom would be proud, and his brother would be pissed off because he was always the one more fluent than he.”  

The doctors both laughed softly. “Well, everything else is perfectly normal on first assessment, and we will take you down for an MRI shortly, once you’ve had something to eat as you’re likely starving by now,” Doctor Webber explained, he and Doctor Shepherd leaving them to talk, EZ revealing he was so hungry, he could happily eat a shoe as long as it had mustard on it. 

After he was brought fruit and a sandwich, both of which he ate like he’d never seen food before, he was taken down for a scan, brought back up asleep, since he’d apparently conked out while in the machine, the porter telling Camille it had taken four people to lift him again and still, he hadn’t woken.  

It was no surprise to her, knowing exactly how heavy her boyfriend was, or that he’d fallen asleep again. He must’ve been so tired, and in pain too. She was just glad that everything appeared to be normal. His balance and motor skills would furtherly be assessed in the following days, but the fact he could grasp things and feed himself were progressive signs that all was well.  

“Te ves cansanda, mi amor,” he told her, stroking her face with his thumb.  

“I am, honey. I’m very tired. They said I can stay here for a few more hours, though,” she revealed, stifling a yawn.

“Well, I think I’ll be going back to sleep soon, so you should go back to the hotel.” They both then looked at one another with wide eyes. “That was in English, wasn’t it? I didn’t just think that and not speak it, did I?”  

She beamed at him. “No, it was in English. Either that or I’m suddenly telepathic.” He laughed, wincing a little. “God, the fucking headache I have right now. I mean, it’s preferable to the tumour, so I’m not gonna complain much, but yeah. Ouch.”  

“I think I’ll leave you to rest, then, as much as I really don’t want to, and come back in the morning.” He agreed that it was a good idea, kissing her goodbye, telling her over and over how much he loved her, clicking the morphine drip he was attached to as soon as she’d left, feeling woozy in the following seconds. Before the dose sent him to sleep, though, he smiled into the dim light of his room, two words resounding through his very sore head.

“It’s gone.”

A happy tear trickled down his cheek as he dozed off.  

Epilogue

“So, how big is your scar, then?” Angel asked, sitting on his hotel room bed, Bella next to him as they chatted via FaceTime with EZ, the latter laughing at his sister-in-law.  

“Sorry, I know I shouldn’t laugh, B, but your face!”  

She frowned, his laughter bursting forth. “I look ridiculous!” Falling asleep in sunglasses had left her with the white marks on her face from such, Angel turning to her and snorting before cracking up, He received a slapped arm for it, Bella mildly fuming.

“As for how big the scar is, I have no idea. They changed the dressing but it’s still a little tender, so it has to remain covered for now,” EZ then went on to explain. “I did manage to walk today, though. They didn’t want to get me up on my feet for forty-eight hours while I rested, so yeah, I managed that okay. Nearly flattened Camille when I wobbled, but other than that, I’m all good.”

“That’s good to hear, bro. Not that you nearly took Camille out, but that you’re making progress. We were nervous as hell, all the way through those nineteen hours, man. I’m so relieved you’ve made it out the other side and shit, and you can put all this behind you. You tell that surgeon from me that she’s a goddamned genius!” EZ vouched that he would before letting them go, the door opening to reveal Camille with a familiar paper bag in her hand.  

“Here you go, don’t demolish it all at once,” she told him, handing him the takeout bag from a burger place they’d visited the day before his surgery. The hospital food wasn’t bad at all, but all EZ had been able to think about for the last day was the triple bacon cheeseburger he’d loved so much, Camille telling him she’d fetch one for him on her way in.

“I cannot promise you that at all. Here, I take it one of these is for you?” he replied, taking out one of the two cartons of fries.”

She took it with thanks, placing the drinks down on the cabinet to the side of his bed. “Yes, they are. I did have a chicken burger, but that was gone before I even jumped into the Uber, I was so hungry! Oh, I spoke to mom and dad this morning, they send their love.”

“Tell ‘em the same back, or actually I’ll FaceTime with them later, once they’re back from work. Hang on... what day is it?” He was a little cloudy on that at times, but it was to be expected after all he’d gone through.  

“Monday, so yes, they’ll be home from about six tonight,” she confirmed, covering her mouth with her hand as she chewed through her fries. “How are you feeling? Did they get you up again today yet?”

“Only to go to the bathroom, which I managed okay. Doctor Shepherd said that she feels confident enough that I should be able to leave tomorrow, should everything still be progressing like it is.” It was, EZ being discharged just after 10am, surprised at how swiftly it was all moving. He’d expected that he’d need weeks in hospital prior to his first talk with Doctor Shepherd, not understanding how if all his vitals were fine and his brain showing good progress after the surgery, he only needed to keep resting.  

He did so in the beautiful surroundings of their hotel room, going straight back to bed again, tired, as he was told to expect for the first few weeks post-surgery. Naturally, he had headaches as well, but nothing that couldn’t be controlled with his painkillers. One headache he’d been anticipating the cease of, an external one, came to an end three days after he’d arrived back at the hotel, receiving a call from an unknown number on his pre-pay.  

“Ezekiel.” He’d recognise the strong Irish lilt anywhere, despite only having met the woman once. “I just thought I’d call to let you know that the dominoes have toppled, and I will drive to meet with your VP later this week in order to discuss our arrangement in more detail, since I know you’re still incapacitated at the moment. I'm eager to get this moving.” She paused, lighting a cigarette. “How’d it go, by the way?”

He was surprised she cared, but he could detect a genuine interest in her tones. He’d decided it would be in the best interest of the club, and future harmony with the Sons to reveal his health issues, should he have died on the table, so warned Chibs during their meeting there could be a chance that going forward, it might be Bishop he’d be dealing with, should the worst have happened. “Thanks for the update. As for the surgery, it went well. Nineteen hours saw the entire thing removed.”

Abi’s eyebrows rose significantly. “Jesus in tap shoes, that was a battle, eh? Well, heal well, and I’ll see you at some point in the future, so.” The line clicked dead before he could reply, EZ smiling to himself, his affairs all now in perfect order. With the figureheads of the LNG all taken out in a systematic strike, leaving the foot soldiers in the wind without leadership, the tie was severed. The Mayans were free of it, and for that moment, he was free to focus on someone much, much lovelier.

“How was your bath?” he asked, closing the door after accepting the room service cart that had brought up their dinner.  

Immediately, Camille flapped her hands in the direction of the bed. “Get back in there!”

“Damn, I wish you were ordering me back here under the promise of climbing on me.” His confession made her laugh as she dressed in her shorts and vest sleep set, grabbing their plates and taking them to the bed.  

“No heavy exerting yourself, doctor’s orders, and you will follow them!”  

“Yes, Marge,” he couldn’t help but tease, receiving a soft slap to the chest before she passed over his steak and fries, her mouth-watering at the smell of her plate of spaghetti carbonara. “All jokes aside, I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Thank you, baby, for taking such good care of me.”  

She reached for him, stroking his shoulder. “It’s what I’m here for.”  

Truly, Camille was his godsend, his shining light, the one person who had refused to let him slide into the jaws of fate. She’d never given up on him, and she never would. In turn, he showed her every day going forward, just how thankful he was for such devotion.

Fifteen months later...

“Camille,” Molly, one of her beauticians called from the counter, Camille at the back of her beauty shop preparing everyone a cold drink. “There’s a gigantic bunch of white roses coming this way.”

She walked forward, grinning happily as she took the delivery from the girl struggling with them, thanking her while taking the card.

‘Happy anniversary, mi amor. Thank you for being so wonderful, for making me proud you’re mine each and every day, and for loving me just as much as I love you. EZ xx’

What a stark contrast it was, from two years before when he’d sent her white roses, all in the interests of keeping her hooked on him, regardless of how he treated her. Now, he sent them to show his love, but his actions and his words always outshone such gestures. He’d promised her he’d show himself to be worthy of her devotion to him, and it was a promise he’d kept.  

Shortly after their first Christmas together, Camille had left her job at The Lunar Lounge, finding the perfect property to open her salon in, the business thriving, her customers always leaving with the kind of cheer the proprietor greeted every single one of them who came walking through her door with. She still had her little house, and EZ his apartment over the clubhouse, both enjoying that although very much together, they could have their separate spaces still, a few nights a week spent at hers, a few at his, and a couple free to do as they pleased.

That night, they would be at neither property, though.  

“Are you ready?” EZ asked at 6pm, arriving promptly at Camille’s to collect her.  

She locked her front door behind her, turning to take the helmet he proffered forth. “Sure am, but I wish you’d tell me where we’re going!”  

“You’ll see.” Oh, how she hated when he kept things from her. Just over fifty minutes later, though, and with the sun beginning to sink into the horizon, they pulled up at the coast.  

“You always tell me I never take you to the beach enough, so here we are,” he spoke, stowing their helmets away, Camille scanning her surroundings.  

“This isn’t far from Bella’s mom’s place, is it?” she spoke, recognising the area, although they’d turned off prior to taking the route that led to Deb’s home.

“Yeah, it’s about a twenty-minute walk that way.” he confirmed, pointing over at the row of beach houses, which all looked like dots in the distance, both descending the small verge that led down to the sand, taking off their shoes, EZ then taking her hand in his.  

They walked for just over twenty minutes along the shore, enjoying the sunset, talking about their respective days, EZ suddenly looking worried.  

“Shit,” he began, patting his pockets down. “Oh, fuck. I think I dropped my keys.”

Camille’s eyes widened. “Are you sure? I swear, I thought I saw you put them in your hoodie pocket. Are they not there?”  

“Nope, but I heard them jingling not long ago, so they must be further on up the beach.” Back they began to walk, EZ trailing back deliberately. “Babe?”

She stopped, turning around, her hands flying to her mouth to see him there, down on one knee, a ring box flipped open.

“Camille Teresa Smith, you mean more to me than words can ever express. You’re the love and light of my life, and I’m thankful for you with every breath I breathe. Will you marry me?”  

Her eyes filled with tears in an instant. “Oh my god! Oh my god!” she cried. “Yes!”

It was the greatest answer to a question he’d ever received, pulling the cushion cut diamond ring from the box and sliding onto her finger, her hand trembling, pocketing the box again before he stood with her in his arms, hugging her tightly. He let her down, sharing kisses, Camille’s ears pricking up to a sudden noise coming from the houses.  

“What the...” she exclaimed, looking up the beach to see all their friends and family come running from Deb’s property, Camille screaming with laughter.

“Yeah, about that,” EZ began, turning to see Marge and John leading the pack. “Kinda thought you might want to celebrate with everyone you love most.”  

She couldn’t help but tease him. “And what if I’d said no?”  

“Then they’d have got me plenty drunk to help ease the pain, I guess.” They looked at each other and laughed, Marge launching herself towards her daughter, hugging her tightly as she offered her congratulations, John pulling him into a warm hug.  

“Son, I’m thrilled for you,” he spoke warmly, hand rubbing his head with affection. “You too, Camie.”

“Oh my god, we’re going to be sisters-in law!” Bella cried, bouncing up into Camille’s arms as she laughed with happiness, placing her down, moving to hug Felipe.  

“Thank you,” he spoke, stepping to the side with her, touching a tender hand to her cheek. “Thank you for loving him as much as you do. I know I might’ve been a cranky, old pain in your ass when we first met, but I see it. Your love got him through the hardest time in his life, and for that, I will never stop being thankful to you, Camille.”

She was touched beyond words, hugging her future father-in-law again, kissing his cheek before one by one, she was congratulated by everyone present, all of them heading back up to the house.  

“Shall we?” EZ spoke, jerking his head in the direction.  

“Yes, lets.”  

And so there they went, heading off into their life together, the dark passenger of their past long gone from the ride they’d begun together, heading off along that long road. It had been rocky to begin with, but now, the road ahead was smooth, and the only passenger upon their journey with them was happiness.  

The End.  

[appropriate-writers-name]

Day Dreams.

Ezekiel “Ez” Reyes x OFC Eliza Quintana

Warnings: None but intense feels😭, RIP y'alls hormones

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: I can never forgive myself for how lonely I made myself feel writing this, but Ez deserves the world in a hand basket and I stand by it 🤧✊🏾

So this is a mini series filled with stand alone one shots of Ez and an OFC named Eliza. They don't need to be read in any specific order now, but in the future if I decide to add back story it'll be separate. These are just random scenes for when I get in the mood to be Ez's baby mama lmao

Anyways, this is what I do instead of focusing on the Lemonade Series smdh, I gotta do better lol

You can check out more of my works on my Masterlist and join my Taglist!

(Gif Credits to @azularen)

Ez was startled awake, the soft sounds of fussing and cooing rousing him awake from his pleasant slumber. He lifted his head slightly to look down at their newly shifted positions. There was a baby on his chest; a soft head tucked into Ez's neck, a chubby hand greedily fisting his shirt, his silver chain tangled between the tiny fingers. Ez's large right hand was covering almost the entirety of the infant's back, effectively hiding the woman's hand that lay between his and Andrés.

His eyes moved to see the woman who had been occupying the majority of his thoughts for the last four months. She was tightly pressed against Ez's firm body, her front pressing against his side, with her head peacefully resting on his chest. His left arm had wound around her tightly, securing her to the safety and comfort his body provided her with. As the baby fell back to sleep with the help of some shushing from Ez, Ez closed his eyes to retreat into the imaginary.

He imagined claiming the baby laying against his chest as his own. He thought about the woman laying against him, how she would be his wife, and the three of them would be a family. He imagined coming home to this house with his own key, his presence expected at 6pm sharp for dinner every night. A smile crept to his face at the thought of the many scoldings he would receive over being late, and how he would drag Angel with him so they could both share in her playful wrath. His heart swelled at the thought of Sunday dinners involving the entire club, Chucky and Letty included, as well as his pops, hosted at his home. He imagined the holiday parties, and the different celebrations they would have for every occasion.

He envisioned coming home with toys for Andrés and ice cream and french fries for his pregnant Mrs., her belly swollen with their first unborn child. He felt a warmth in his chest at the thought of his own baby growing within her womb, excitedly awaiting it’s entrance into the world. He imagined the different stages of her pregnancy, her belly getting bigger every day. He felt his hand squeeze her waist slightly as he thought about how it would feel to rub her belly and feel the soft kicks of his baby.

A vivid scene started to play in his mind. He would be coming home in the afternoon a little earlier than usual, coming to hear his two sons, eight and seven, loudly arguing over who was cheating in a game outside in the backyard. He would chuckle as they reminded him of his relationship with Angel growing up. As he emerges on the back patio of their home, he would find his wife and five year old daughter engaged in their afternoon tea, his usual chair now occupied by Gloria the Hippo. He would bend down to kiss the woman of his dreams, the butterflies still present after 8 years, giving his beautiful baby girl a kiss on her forehead as she insisted he wash his hands to get ready for tea. He would wave at the boys, both too busy trying to prove the other wrong to even acknowledge their father.

He'd reenter the kitchen through the sliding glass doors, smelling the mouth watering aroma of a home cooked meal baking in the oven, moving his way up the stairs. The hallways would be littered with an obstacle course of toys, crooked family pictures on the walls alluding to his sons' rough housing while he was away at work. He would make sure to stop by the twins' bedroom, double checking the integrity of the baby monitor, the three year olds peacefully taking their midday nap. He would shake his head with a smirk, thinking about the amount of energy the terrorizing twins would have to wreak havoc on the Reyes household.

The door to his father's bedroom would be ajar as usual, as he would often be away at the carnicería. It would take much persuasion to get Felipe to move in with them. With Ez having his own family, the relationship the two had had before would no longer be the same. No more were the days of falling asleep on the couch after watching the game, or coming by for breakfast every morning before going to the club. Ez's attention was now on his ever growing family, his wife and children taking up whatever left over time he had away from the club. After the death of Marisol, Felipe had leaned heavily for Ez's and Angel's support for a family network. Now with five grandchildren and a new daughter, the only thing that may have held him back was the memories in his house in which he had raised his own kids and loved his wife in. As a compromise, they’d recreate Felipe's bedroom in their house, as well as adding much of the decor and China pieces into the decoration of their house. Ez and Eliza had created a beautiful altar for her in the family room, the children saying goodnight to her every evening.

Ez imagined entering his master bedroom, a room that would have changed since he first entered all those years ago, now accommodating both of their belongings. He would shower and dress, getting ready to join his family when he would spot a small onesie on the made bed, something out of the ordinary for his neat-freak of a wife. “Last One, I Mean It.” would be written on it in cursive lettering, a rush of warmth flooding Ez's system as a boyish smile forced its way through the surprise he was feeling.

Gripping the tiny piece of clothing to his broad chest, he would excitedly make his way to his family still out in the backyard. His wife would look up at him with a twinkle in her eye, a gentle smile gracing her face as she saw the look of pure adoration and joy in his eyes. She would rise up from her tea party, earning a whine from the princess seated beside her. Her hips would sway as her long sun dress blew in the wind, making her look ethereal. Her hand would lay across her lower stomach, the little life shielded there in the safety of it's mother's womb, growing rapidly. He would pull her close to him, pressing her flush against his body as he smiled down at her, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate embrace, eliciting a groan from his children who will have seen their parents physical display of love so many times, Ez would think they'd be used to it by now. She'd pull away and narrow her eyes at him, telling him that this was indeed the last one, pulling a wicked smile from Ez who reminds her of her words "as many as you want".

The 5 year old will have lost all her patience by then, demanding her mother return to the tea party, scolding the adults for being rude and lacking manners. Ez would join in, his daughter already having his tiara ready for his head to adorn. Ez would spend his time playing referee from afar as his two sons argued over who was cheating, sipping cold watered down tea and nibbling on salty scones his daughter had made while being reminded time and time again “pinky up”, and glancing at the baby monitor screen occasionally while keeping an ear out for the oven timer. His life would be perfect—she would make his life perfect.

Another round of fussing drags Ez away from the domestic fantasy and back to his reality. This time no amount of shushing would calm the baby, his wails only growing louder, startling a sleeping Eliza awake. She adjusts her position, with her hand pressed against Ez's chest to prop herself up, she looks down at the sight before her with an adoring look and a soft smile. She reaches for her baby, pressing him to her chest as she moves to stand from the couch the three of them had been cuddling in, the movie long ended and the throw blanket forsaken on the floor.

"I should get going," he offers, sitting up with his feet now on the ground, the time on the cable box indicating that it was well past midnight.

"Nonsense, Ez, it's too late. You can stay." She says, her body bouncing up and down to effectively quiet the baby, now contently sucking on his fist over her shoulder. "I'll go find some clothes for you, I think my brother left some from the last time he came around. I'll go get them and a towel, you can shower while I get Andrés a bottle." And without space for Ez to argue, she had turned around to approach the stairs. Ez shook his head, smirking at the woman he had just dreamed up a life with, her nurturing heart solidifying what he already knows he wants. He follows her, hearing a rustling in one of the guest room dressers. She emerges with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, reaching in the hallway linen closet for a clean towel, before guiding the Mayan to her bedroom.

"Everything else you may need is in the bathroom. I'll be in the next room with Andrés, I'll be back in a bit." She tells him, reading his body language carefully. He's somewhat tense, as if in conflicting thought, looking at the clothes in his hands a little longer than one would. "Ez," she gently calls for his attention, walking away from the door and back to him. With a hand on his cheek to hold his attention she tells him "if I was uncomfortable, I wouldn't have asked you to stay. If you're uncomfortable, you don't have to sleep in here, you can sleep in the guest room, or if you want to leave that's okay too." Her tone is patient and her eyes are kind, "I just plan to sleep. We just cuddled on the couch, I think we can manage moving to the bed" her playful wink causes Ez to release his tension at her reassurance with a grin and a chuckle.

With a sweet peck to his cheek, she turns to leave and feed the hungry baby. Ez's eyes refused to leave her retreating figure as she crossed the room to the bedroom door, his eyes watching her wide childbearing hips as a smirk and a blush cross his face as he thinks back to his vision. With a shake of his head, he enters the bathroom to wash up.

Once finished and changed, finding no Eliza in the bedroom, he moves to the nursery, watching her stand by the crib as he leaned against the door frame. Her body swayed softly as she held the bottle to his mouth, humming a soft tune that Ez recognized as a popular radio song Eliza had complained about not getting out of her head. He watches for a moment, before his paternal instincts surfaced; though this was not his son and this was not officially his woman, he had become very protective of the pair. He truly wanted to be a father, and Angel had teased him many times, saying that Ez was having too much fun "playing house". He couldn’t help his reaction to them, feeling like a puzzle piece that just fit. There was great chemistry between him and Eliza, feeling an easy flow in their dynamic that he could escape to when his life got so out of control.

He moves away from the door frame, no longer able to fight the magnetic pull he was feeling. He wrapped the smaller woman in his large arms, cocooning her and the baby in his protective presence. Her head laid perfectly back against his shoulder, his cheek pressing to her temple as he looked down at the small infant cradled gently now in both of their arms. He laid one hand on the baby's tummy, Andrés’ grippy hands instantly finding Ez's large fingers, struggling to wrap them completely around. His other arm went to rest below the baby, offering assistance and support, allowing him to take on much more of the baby's already light weight.

As she melted further back into Ez's warmth, he could feel the vibrating hums from her chest in his, and she could feel the strong thump of his steady heartbeat against her back, almost lulling her. The soft sounds of her baby suckling always provided her with a sense of security that Andrés was okay: alive and well, safe and sound, happy and full. With her eyes closed for a moment, she allowed herself to release her worries for the night—Ez was here now. Though she had only been a single mother for a few months, the constant worry about every detail was magnified as she had no one to share the care of Andrés with. It was all on her, and it was taking a toll. With Ez, he was so careful with Andrés, so loving and nurturing, and it felt natural to rely on him.

In this very moment they could both step out of reality and, as Angel always teased, play house. She knew, in the few short months she'd known Ez, that he was what she wanted; as a friend, a partner, a lover, and a father to her son; Ez knew that she was the woman he was meant to be with. Neither one of them could describe it, knowing it was happening fast, but nothing could have felt more right to the both of them. They didn’t have the most conventional relationship, going a lot slower than most would. This was different for both of them; Eliza not sure of how to navigate dating with a baby and Ez not sure of how to date someone with a baby. They were figuring it out together at their own pace, wanting this to be as organic as possible, not wanting to depend too heavily on the opinions of others. Her home was a safe space, where no one could interject their opinions of how the two of them engage.

“I love you, Ezekiel.” the words slip past her lips quietly as she felt a heat in her chest at how much the man holding her had changed her life in the last few months. She expected to feel fear at the confession, but there wasn’t any—it felt right to tell him. She felt his arms pull her impossibly close to him in response, there is a quiet that falls over them, but to her surprise she’s not alarmed by his silence. He releases her, maneuvering himself around her to take the now sleeping baby from her arms and placing him in the crib. She watches in awe of the large man with the tiny baby; he was a Mayan, capable of doing unspeakable damage with his bare hands, but here he held this innocent infant so sweetly in those same exact hands. 

He turned back to her, his soft expressive eyes boring into hers as he took a step forward reaching for her hips, her hands going to rest on his exposed forearms. He pressed his chest to hers, the intensity of his gaze making her breathing hitch. The two of them just stood there, looking deeply into the other’s eyes, an act that would make many uncomfortable. She felt her bottom lip tremble slightly as a rush of overwhelming emotion washes over her as she got lost in the sea of emotions swirling in his eyes. A hand leaves her hip, coming to rest on her cheek as he wipes away a stray tear that fell from her eye.

“I love you, Eliza.”

[narcolini]

in his shadow - pt. 3

ez reyes x oc: ava gomez, 3426 words

warnings for alcohol usage and mild steaminess, 18+

for day 19 of whumpril: ‘i’m worried about you’

a/n: ok. mi gente, mi compas. this had all the intentions of being whump and angst and then. i dont know what happened. im so sorry to the whumpril creators but my brain said we flirting today and thats all i could do. anyway HUGE eyes at this development

tagging: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa​ my ez ladies 

previous part here

Her grand plan to make amends, went as smoothly as every other plan she’s had lately—which is not smooth at all, forever doomed to tip into something like disaster, apparently. She’d pulled up to EZ’s trailer undetected at first, which filled her with confidence that this would work. Had managed to get half the weights from her trunk, to the spot just beside his door, without too much noise as well. It was all going perfectly, really, until she dropped the last dumbbell onto one of the others, sending the pair of them clattering to the ground.

He didn’t burst out like she thought he might’ve, gun in hand and ready for assault, so she carried on with her mission regardless. Scooped the lighter one first, put it back into place. Turned her attention again to the one that stretched her arms out tight, too heavy, really, for her to be lifting at all.

Her dedication to correcting the mistake made her miss the door opening, made her oblivious to EZ standing in the frame of it now, half-dressed and rubbing his eyes.  

‘What’s this?’ he asks, voice breaking the silence. Deep, and sleep-trodden, from the step above her. ‘Some sort of reverse robbery?’

‘Shit.’ His arrival makes her jump, grip slipping momentarily. ‘Sorry.’

‘Was about to come out here swinging, Ava.’

Was about to tackle her to the ground, no doubt, demanding to know what she was doing at his place when he’s trying to sleep.

She sighs, standing from her bend, the last dumbbell finally set into the bottom rack. ‘I was trying to get it all out before you…’ The words fade off, replaced by a smile. It doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t have been sneaking up on a Mayan, but the end result is the same now. ‘Peace offering?’ she says, unable to shake the question from the end of it. If he wants her to go, she will. But if he takes the gift willingly, she’ll get to leave with one less burden on her shoulders.

He softens slightly—though with the way he’s squinting into the falling sun, it’s hard to tell. He’d look like he was frowning if it weren’t for the small tweak to his lips. ‘You didn’t have to do that.’

‘But I did.’ She pulls open the tote over her arm, grabbing the bottle from within and holding it up to him. ‘I brought Tequila too.’

‘Tequila?’

She winces, apologetic. ‘I don’t drink beer.’

He laughs, head tilting to the side, like he’s weighing up the idea. ‘Tequila it is,’ he says, stepping back for her to enter. ‘But if you get me wasted, Bish will—’

‘I know, I know, you’re on call.’ She waves him off. ‘I’m very familiar with leading prospects astray.’ Sebastian used to pull the battery from his phone and claim he was out of range, with no signal to answer when el presidente called. ‘We’ll be good.’

She just wants to break the tension for a bit, that’s all. It’s been a few days since he came to get Seb’s things, since she sent him away for telling her what he thought. They haven’t spoken about it—which wouldn’t be too unusual, considering she’s only had his number for a week or so—but it feels noticeably awkward somehow. Like they aren’t speaking on purpose. She’d been at the clubhouse yesterday, and only got as much as a nod from him.

The door shuts behind them, pulled to by EZ. He does’t latch it, but leaves a crack for the breeze, for the glimpse of orange sun each time the gap widens it. ‘You really didn’t have to bring all this over,’ he says.

‘I just wanted to…’ She spins, still clutching the bottle with both hands. ‘I don’t know, I thought it over and I realised you’re right. What you said, it’s fucking right.’

He nods, quiet like he knows there’s more. She follows him with her eyes as he steps past her, reaching for a t-shirt, then pulling it over his head as she continues.

‘So I wanted to say sorry for that.’ She takes a breath. Sorry and can we forget it, she means, can we pretend I didn’t turf you out just for trying to be a friend. ‘But, I also think you were really, really, dumb—’

‘I thought this was an apology,’ he laughs, frowning through it.

‘It is—shut up—you were really dumb for laying it on me there when I was already in a fucking weird headspace.’

His brows dip again, but the smile lingers. The t-shirt settles around him. ‘And you’re sorry because…I was dumb?’

‘Because you didn’t know I have a complex about my dead fiancé’s house,’ she finishes, trying her best to remain sincere, but now he’s smiling, she is too. ‘Sorry. For that. Sorry I didn’t take your advice and sorry I didn’t tell you why.’ She nods, huffs. Relaxes now it’s out in the open.

‘Well, thank-you, and thank-you for the…’ He gestures behind him, in the direction of the weights on the other side. ‘But I’m the one that owes you an apology.’

‘Oh, don’t do that,’ she groans, ‘I’m trying to be the better person here.’

He goes to fight her on it, half-smile lifting in his lips, but then decides against it. Concedes and lets her have this one. ‘Alright, call it even then.’ She knows there’s an apology under there anyway. ‘Want me to get some glasses?’

‘Please.’ She passes him the bottle, ditching her bag on the side, and turning to the—‘Oh.’ She stops herself. ‘You were sleeping.’

The two couches that were there last time have been joined by a third cushion, long and filling the gap in place of the table, making the living room into a bedroom. The sheets on top are twisted, his bed unmade and abandoned from when she had woken him up.

‘Late night?’ she asks, hovering by the end of it.

‘Yeah, sorry, you can just.’ He flits from the kitchen space behind her, abandoning the open cupboard, to waft the sheet free and flat. He smoothes it quickly, tossing his pillow to the opposite end. ‘I can put it away if you want.’

‘No, no, I don’t mind.’ Seeing him fuss over it is making her regret even saying anything to start with. She can practically see his ears reddening the longer he tries to make it presentable, can feel her own doing the same as a result. She should’ve just climbed on in the first place, as if nothing were different. ‘Get the drinks,’ she tells him, ‘I can sit here.’

He lets her past, nodding as she settles onto the end of the bed. She toes her sneakers off, then puts her legs up on the thin mattress and shuffles back until she’s sat against the wall. It’s hard to imagine sleeping here, with no space either side of it, and it being thinner and shorter, much shorter, than any normal bed, but it is cozy. She can picture that. If it were her trailer, she’d have fairy light around the nook it’s in, make the bed a den instead of a camping situation.

‘Here.’ He passes her a glass. ‘I don’t have ice, sorry.’

‘You’re good.’ Tequila is tequila. She doesn’t intend to savour it like he might.

He climbs over her then, opting to sit on her left. When he puts his legs out, stonewash jeans atop the sheet, his feet are a stretch away from meeting the wall on the opposite side. Hers barely reach his ankles.

‘Salud,’ she says, clinking her glass to his.

He matches her, but when they go to drink, hers goes back in one, sharp and potent, while EZ just takes a sip.

‘Jesus.’ He laughs, coughing out through the taste of it. ‘We’re doing shots now?’

‘I am.’ She frowns, swallowing a second time to get rid of the burn. ‘Don’t know how you savour this stuff.’

‘Well,’ he considers it, looking into his glass with a smirk, ‘usually I drink nicer stuff. This is, yeah, it’s pretty rough.’

‘Oh, wow,’ her eyes roll, ‘I’m so sorry I didn’t break the bank for our peace-keeping drinks.’

He laughs, teeth flashing, and she joins him easily, glad to be with someone who can take her sarcasm as it’s intended. ‘Damn, was I even complaining?

‘No, but you aren’t rushing to refill my glass either, so…’

He bumps her, shoulder to shoulder. ‘You’re closer. You go.’

*

She did, and now they’re three shots down, cheeks warm, eyes glazing. EZ still insisted on sipping his, which was pacing Ava in a way she needed but would never have managed herself. Once the first was in, that was it, as careless with liquor as she was in college.

‘Okay,’ she announces, humming afterwards, ‘no more for a bit. You take your time with that one.’

‘Yeah? You feeling it?’

She smiles up at him—because he’s still sitting properly, back straight to the wall, and not half way into the bed the way she is. ‘Just the perfect amount.’

He nods, his own glass balanced on his lap. ‘Alright. Perfect amount.’

Perfect, warming, spinning room, amount. They’re sitting close enough to be touching now, arm to arm, hip to hip. More warmth added to the heat stirring in her chest, and tracking down her throat. This might be the first time she’s enjoyed Tequila in years. Her new favourite way to drink, cooped up on EZ’s three-part mattress.

‘You know,’ he starts, clearing his throat in-between, ‘the other day, I really didn’t mean to…’ He rubs the back of his head, itching the words out of him. ‘I’m worried about you, that’s all it is. Trying to look out for you.’ He laughs. ‘And being a dick about it in the process.’

’S'okay.’ She shrugs, sleeves bunching against his own. They’d already been through this. He was right, she was wrong, the timing was fucking terrible. ‘No biggie, is it?’ She pauses, then decides against stopping there. ‘But…’ she adds, drawing out the word, turning the T over between her teeth.

‘Let me have it.’ He sighs theatrically. ‘I can take it.’

Her hand lifts, elbow on the bed between them, finger waving in his general direction. ‘The trying to look out for me part,’ she says. ‘I get it. You’re a gentleman, blah blah blah, but, please don’t. Y’know, just. Don’t. That’s half the pinche problem with the rest of those payasos.’

He smiles, ducking his chin like that might hide it.

Which it doesn’t, of course, because Ava catches it right away, her brows pulling together sharply. ‘What?’

‘Nothing.’ Another smirk. ‘Just that, well, you’re getting it.’ He takes a sip, hissing it back, then adds, ‘And also, you only ever speak spanish when you’re drunk?’

‘Drunk and bullied by my family,’ she answers quickly, sitting upright and away from the wall to look at him properly. That was beside the point. That wasn’t what he was smiling about. ‘Getting what?

‘How to tell people when they do shit you don’t like.’ He says it like he’s proud, like he wants her to do it again, even if he’s on the other end of the sharpened spike. ‘Now you just gotta times it by like, a thousand, and tell the guys to stop being so fucking weird.’

‘Hm.’ She slouches into herself, smiling. Alcohol or not, he’s right, she had told him—in fact, she’s always told him. It came out easier with him, somehow. Even the argument at her house was proof of it; she never would have told Gilly to leave like that, or Coco, or Angel. There was no Sebastian looming over her shoulder when she spoke to EZ, no old friendship that she had to be respectful of. Just her, just him. A clean slate had never felt so fucking good. ‘I can do that,’ she says, believing it.

‘Yeah?’ His brow arches. ‘You wanna go tell them right now?’

She snorts, loud and uncharacteristic of her. ‘God, no. Fuck, no. I’d say something completely out of order and make everything worse.’

She’d say all the things she’s struggling not to say now, holding back with just a tequila tongue and pure will power.

‘Like what?’ EZ asks, putting one ankle atop the other. Settling in like he expects her to have an entire list of forbidden topics to share.

‘Man, I don’t know.’ She combs through her hair once, detangling it on the exit, fingertips catching in the ends. ‘Honestly? Probably something like…’ She looks down, fiddling with her hands. ‘Never mind.’

‘No, what? Don’t do that,’ EZ bursts, grinning around the complaints. ‘You can’t do that.’

She shakes her head, attempting to dismiss his excitement, his building intrigue. ‘It’s just stupid. Shallow.’ Things she could admit to girl friends and nobody else, especially not him.

‘Try me.’

She looks him over, sitting against the wall beside her. Broad shoulders, soft eyes. A plain t-shirt with a logo she doesn’t recognise. He’s hardly a threat, hardly set up to judge her. There’s no kutte, no sign of the Mayans and all the shit that comes with them, just EZ. Ezekiel Reyes. The guy fresh out of prison, fresh in the club. Just as much of a clean slate as she wants to be.

‘God, okay.’ She sucks a breath in, puts her hands over her eyes like it might be easier to admit in the dark. ‘I think, well, I was going to say, sometimes I actually miss them hitting on me.’

He laughs, loud and deep and genuine.

She should have never expected anything less.

Her hands come down, desperate to defend herself. ‘No, like.’ She’s leaning forward now, a breath away from tapping on his stomach, from grabbing his shirt and making him be serious about this. ‘Listen, EZ, stop it. I can explain.’

‘Relax,’ he says, laughing still, but lifting his hands like he’s innocent. ‘I’m listening.’ The drink sloshes against his glass, meeting him at his lips afterwards.

‘Even when Sebastian was alive,’ she explains, talking through the scorching red blush in her face, ‘they’d try it. Not seriously, sure, but there was some fucking, jokey, acknowledgement that I’m, y’know, a fucking woman.’

He nods, holding back a smile by pressing his lips tightly together. He’s doing his best, he is, and if she wasn’t embarrassed on a deathly level, she’d be laughing with him. Instead, she’s paddling against the tide. Desperate to reach the side where he understands, and he isn’t laughing, and she doesn’t want to be eaten whole by the gap between the trailer’s couches.

‘Stop it,’ she pleads. ‘I know it’s stupid.’

‘It’s not.’

‘But now I’m on the other fucking side of the spectrum, and they act like I’m some wrinkly, old widow.’

‘It’s not stupid, Ava.’

‘Or a mother, actually,’ she continues, talking over him. ‘Like I’m Mom and Dad’s six feet under.’ And the rest of the club are the fatherless kids she’s left with, doomed to forever think she’s more mother than woman, more grief than life.

EZ’s quiet now, sitting back to watch her with a smile he isn’t bothering to hide. ‘Y’know, I can tell Angel to make a move, if it’ll make you feel better?’ A snort comes out of him, head shaking lightly. ‘Think he’d sleep with anyone who asked at this point.’

She recoils, face crumpling. ‘First of all, fucking, ew. Secondly, is that supposed to be a compliment? Am I that unfuckable?’

He laughs, nervous this time, blood rushing to his ears quick enough to be noticeable.

‘God, EZ, if I wanted to be humbled, I’d—’

He cuts her off, setting his glass on the windowsill behind. ‘Alright, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.’ He scrambles for words, palms raised to either side of his head, and then gesturing toward her. ‘You’re obviously, you know.’

She stares. She isn’t above begging for compliments, at least, not in her current state. Hot head, hotter heart. She smiles, prompting him to continue, ‘You know…?’

He matches her gaze, holding it, and her, still and silent for a moment. It’s dark in there now, the sun’s slipped beneath the horizon, just about, and neither of them have bothered to hit a light. The room’s dampened in a cool, blue, dusk. Just the green glow from the microwave clock, and the orange from the streetlamp through the window.

It feels smaller, suddenly. One room, one bed.

‘Sorry,’ she gathers herself, ‘sorry. I’m clearly in the desperate stage of drinking.’

It’s not on him to make her feel better, not about this sort of shit. It’s probably not a good idea, either, to even consider going down that road. Flirting with Mayans was only fun when it was harmless, when it lead to nothing because Sebastian was there, telling them to watch their mouths every time that they did.

EZ hasn’t looked away still, even though she’s looking down at her hands. She can feel him watching her. Brown eyes set.

‘I’m game,’ he says.

Her head tugs up. ‘What?’

He shrugs. There’s a smirk in the corner of his mouth, a glint in his eye. He looks boyish, charming, in a way he hasn’t before. ‘I’m game, if that’s what you’re getting at.’

‘But..’ She hesitates, doubt seeping through the pores. There’s no question in his meaning, from the way he’s looking at her, the way her heart’s beating in response—like it knows before she does, what it all means—but in his reasoning. His motivation. ‘Do you want to?’ she asks, hating how it makes her sound. It strips her back of confidence, wanting or not. ‘It’s not just, y’know, feeling sorry for the lonely widow?’

She’s older than him, and layered with baggage he could never dream of. Drunk and babbling about missing attention, even when it meant nothing at all. Surely he, of all people, has better choices, better options for fun, than a night with her?

His eyes flick to her lips. Just once, but lingering. ‘When have I ever said I feel sorry for you, Ava?’

‘Never.’ The word falls out without her having to think it. He’s never said it, never implied it, either.

‘Mhmm.’ He hums, and then he’s leaning forward, eyes on her mouth again, palm flat on the bed between them. ‘Can I?’

Can he?

She nods.

He kisses her once to test the waters; one hand to the side of her jaw, his lips gentle, careful even. When she doesn’t pull back, or screw up with regret, and guilt, the way he must have expected her to do, he goes again, harder, keener. Hit teeth catch hers as he deepens the kiss, a hot sigh pulled from the back of his tongue. She meets him there, kneeling to get closer, putting his face between her palms.

It’s the first time she’s kissed like this since Sebastian. Hungrily, uncaring of the time or place. Her lips open, wanting, her tongue tracing the edge. She puts a leg over his and then she’s sitting in his lap, all breath and heartbeat, and wild, spinning thoughts.

His hands are digging up her top already, shoving the material up her spine to her shoulders. They break apart long enough to get it over her head and onto the floor, then it’s back to kissing. He moves from her mouth to her jaw, then down to her neck. Puts teeth and panting breaths against the column of her throat.

‘You sure you want to?’ he asks, pulling back to look up at her. His eyes are darker than she expected, not glinting with possibility anymore, but deepening with need, lust.

She nods, chest heaving into his. ‘Yeah,’ she says, and then she nods again, pinching brows as she realises it herself, ‘I think I need it actually.’

She needs to be looked at like that again, to have someone’s palms to her thighs and her ribs and the cup of her breasts. To know that she can be wanted, for herself, for her body. To know it can happen again, now that he’s gone.

‘Will you?’ she asks.

He laughs—light and breathy—but nods, sincere in his answer. When he leans forward to kiss her again, he’s smiling. They both are. Lips to wanting lips.

>>> part four here

[narcolini]

in his shadow - pt. 2

ez reyes x oc: ava gomez, angst, 2592 words

warnings for mentions of grief

for day 16 of whumpril: guilt & ‘i’m so sorry.’

tagging: @drabbles-mc @cositapreciosa​ 

part one here 

Ava hadn’t had guests in a long time. Outside of her family, anyway. Sebastian was the one that liked to host, to stuff the house full of friends and music, to collect people the same way he collected things. Sneakers, baseball cards, vintage jackets he was too precious to wear—that’s part of the reason she doesn’t invite people round now, really. She still hasn’t gotten rid of it all. Hell, she hasn’t even moved the majority of it, only shifting the things she absolutely had to. Just to live. To grow. She couldn’t buy any new clothes for herself, until she boxed the last of his jackets up.

It wasn’t entirely that, though, that stopped her from having people over.

People forgive sentimentality toward belongings. They nod, smile, see the value in holding onto things still. There isn’t a time limit to it. She could keep his sneakers until she dies herself, and no-one would blame her for it. But they’re less understanding of sentiment that you can’t see.

How does she explain that to people? That she can’t host a party, because that was his job. His joy. Can’t have people occupying her couch, because their voices will fill the silence she’s grown used to, and she worries that when they leave they’ll take Sebastian with them. It doesn’t make sense. She knows it doesn’t. He’s in the quiet of it somehow, their home. Theirs. If she opens her doors again, he’ll pour out of the seams, drain away until it’s just her left. Her house, her parties. Her door to stand on the threshold of.

If she explained that to anyone, they’d think she was crazy, probably. But it’s never been a problem before now.

EZ’s coming over, to pick up some of the boxes she’d never bothered to touch. Not because they were Sebastian’s, but because they were the club’s, el secretario’s, and she assumed someone would come for them eventually.

Well, eventually finally came, and now she’s loitering behind the front door, waiting for the bell to ring.  

It’ll be fine. It’s just one person, it’s just EZ. He won’t comment on the museum she’s living in—that she’s sure of—and he’s gentle enough, careful enough, that maybe he won’t make the house feel any different just by being in it. He’ll come in, get what he needs, and go again. Then the house will be quiet, exactly as it always is. And Sebastian won’t slip through the cracks, anymore than he already has.

The doorbell goes; her hand is on the lock before it’s even finished trilling.

EZ flinches slightly when she swings the door open, still in the process of stepping back himself, suddenly brought face to face with her. ‘Hey,’ he recovers quickly, flashing a short smile, ‘I’m here to pick up something for the club?’

He doesn’t need to pose it as a question. Bishop had given her a full explanation already, secretary stuff. Files and files of decade-old documents.

‘Yeah,’ she nods. ‘Come in.’ Put on a smile, seem welcoming. Act like this is normal, and it’ll start to feel normal, right?

She steps aside, letting him enter, eyes on his back as he does so. That’s the first kutte in the house since they’d had the wake. First leathers she’s welcomed in by choice, not obligation, and it sours. Digs up a sharp nostalgia she wasn’t ready for, then an ache of guilt that she doesn’t deserve. She isn’t replacing him. One Mayan for another, she isn’t, she couldn’t.

The door slams behind them both—unintentional on her part, but loud enough to make the pair of them flinch. EZ throws a look over his shoulder, frowning already.

‘Sorry,’ she explains, before he can ask her least favourite question, ‘I’m just. This is a bit weird for me still. First time having someone new in our—what was our space, y’know?’

The correction stings, because it’s for his sake, not hers. A desperate attempt to make her seem better adjusted than she really is.

He doesn’t notice it, or if he does, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he nods, smiles, loosens his shoulders like he’s at ease here. ‘Course, yeah, I get it.’

She believes him. He still doesn’t look at her like the rest of them do.

‘Well, I would’ve brought it over myself,’ she says, unable to relax the way he seemingly has. The sooner they get back to it, the sooner he can leave. She walks past him, down the hall, hoping that he knows to follow. ‘You really didn’t have to go to the trouble of coming yourself.’

‘Ah, it’s cool.’ He’s behind her, hands in his pockets. ‘You know how it is, prospects getting all the shitty jobs.’

She scoffs. ‘Ouch.’

‘No, shit, I didn’t mean—’

‘I’m joking, EZ.’ May as well make jokes now she’s committed to the event. Head first in the deep-end. They reach the living room: couch, armchair, sound system that she still can’t work. She turns to him. ‘I was about when Seb was prospecting. Let me guess, lots of polishing bike parts and taking out trash?’

He nods. ‘Yep. You got it.’

It’s worth it, she was about to say, in the end, it’s worth it. But is it? Was it? She swallows. This is harder than she expected. A week ago, in EZ’s trailer, they were talking about Sebastian freely. Laughing like he’d just stepped out of the room, like he hadn’t died at all. Now, she regrets even saying his name, even pouring him back into her thoughts after allowing him to stray.

She nods once, though neither of them have said anything for a breath, and turns back to the boxes she’d pre-emptively dragged out for EZ. If he wasn’t so patient, this would be all the more painful. He’s just letting her do it, letting conversations die and change direction without fighting it, letting her take back words before she’s even said them.

‘I don’t know why they’ve suddenly decided they need it,’ she says, forcing her voice through the lump in her throat, ‘half the stuff in here must be out of date by now.’

Half of it must relate to people that haven’t been in the club for years.

‘Honestly,’ EZ starts, joining her to peer into the opening of one box, ‘I think they’re just finding things for me to do.’ He smiles, flicking it sideways to her. ‘I get the impression I’m more of a nuisance than anything else right now.’

‘Probably.’ Sebastian spent his first few weeks digging fence posts into the club’s perimeter line. Out of sight, out of mind. ‘It’s gonna take Angel days to sort through all this shit.’

EZ laughs, head shaking.

‘Yeah,’ she takes his meaning well enough, ‘yeah, you’re right. He’s not going anywhere near it, is he?’

‘No, that would be my job,’ he agrees, sighing afterwards. ‘Can’t wait.’

‘If you want, I can tell Bishop I couldn’t find them,’ she throws her thumb over her shoulder, ‘and we can burn it out back?’

He scoffs, then smiles anyway. ‘As tempting as that is, I think I’m gonna have to just suck it up.’

‘Good man.’ She wasn’t even joking. If he’d had said yes, she probably would’ve done it. It could have been their little secret, a sacrifice for all the prospects before him. ‘Speaking of,’ she points at the boxes denting the couch, catching up again, ‘there’s meant to be three of these. One sec.’

EZ nods, and she leaves him to hover in the living room, hands in his pockets again, like he’s afraid to touch anything. To occupy more space than he’s been allowed. She should’ve offered him a seat. She didn’t want to, if she was really being honest, but she should have. It feels like a gift in itself that he didn’t take one anyway.

When she’s back with the third box, thankfully lighter than the rest, he’s moved. Not far, but strayed from the rug in the centre to the corner, where Sebastian’s work-out equipment sits. He’s got one of the smaller dumbbells from the stand, bouncing it in his palm.

‘These are nice,’ he comments, glancing over at her, not long enough to register that she’s frozen in place, but long enough to say, ‘I didn’t know you were this serious about…’

Then it clicks. She watches the realisation settle in his jaw, in the line of his shoulders. Watches him debate, for a heartbeat, whether he should put it down again, drop it like it’s been sat in a fire, or put it into both hands, gentle, like it’s some lost treasure he’s stumbled upon.

‘Shit.’ He looks over again, holds her gaze across the room. ‘They’re his, aren’t they?’

‘Yeah, they were.’ That look, he’s learning how to do it. The weirder she acts about this, the closer it gets to settling on his features. Sympathy. Pity. ‘It’s okay,’ she tells him.

His head shakes. ‘I’m so sorry, Ava.’

He puts it down, alongside its twin, scratching his head afterwards. A nervous twitch, she thinks. Something to stop him from messing up again—not that he has, really. It was a surprise, something she hadn’t expected to see, but it hasn’t upset her.

It hasn’t upset her.

She smiles.

‘I shouldn’t have even been touching your things like that,’ he continues, oblivious to her realisation. ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

‘It’s really okay,’ she says, light with it, because it is. They’re just weights. ‘Honestly, you can have them if you like. They’re only collecting dust here.’

‘No,’ he answers, too quick to be anything but a knee-jerk reaction, ‘I can’t.’ He pauses to look at her again. And she knows what he’s seeing. Her, standing there with a smile, nodding, with the boxes that used to belong to Sebastian, ready to leave her too. It looks balanced, doesn’t it? She looks like she’s adjusting. ‘You sure?’ he asks.

She nods a final yes.

‘Thank-you.’ He allows himself a breath. ‘Sorry, again, I shouldn’t have.’

‘Don’t get weird on me now, EZ,’ she jokes. ‘I still have boxes and boxes of his shit that I’ll never get rid of, so, you’re doing me a favour really.’

It isn’t a lie. Without the opportunity of it, the door he flung open by putting himself directly in it, hands on the things she’d never even moved, it wouldn’t have crossed her mind to donate them. To give them to someone who’ll use them, and someone close enough to feel in reach still. It’s better than giving them to a Goodwill, after all.

‘I’ll take that,’ EZ offers, stepping to have the box from her. ‘Should probably get out of your hair.’

It’s true. He’s already been here longer than she envisioned. His laugh, his voice. The smell of his aftershave. Much longer, and all of it might stick, might overlay what’s already clinging to the edges—what she imagines to be lingering still.

But it doesn’t stop her from talking, somehow, the words falling out as she looks over the clutter of secretarial work. ‘Angel was supposed to come pick all this up when he took the badge,’ she tells him, though he must know it already. ‘I stopped reminding him after a while. Figured maybe he felt, I don’t know. He didn’t want it at first, Seb’s job, I didn’t want to overwhelm him.’

EZ’s brows tug together above his nose. ‘He didn’t?’

She shakes her head. ‘No. Must’ve felt guilty, or something. Got the impression he didn’t wanna be near any of this stuff, or me, so I just left it. Kept it.’

Let it rot in the basement until someone else remembered that it existed.

‘You do that a lot, don’t you?’ he asks, still carrying the box across his chest. It looks empty in his arms. Light like there’s not a single piece of paper inside. ‘Hold onto shit so other people don’t have to.’

Ava laughs, more from surprise than anything else. She never expected him to play therapist with her.

‘I’m serious,’ he continues, with a sturdy expression. Unreadable almost. ‘If you don’t want it, tell them.’

She frowns. ‘But this is the last of it…?’

‘Ava, I don’t just mean—like, the looks, the way they talk to you. The egg shells they walk on.’ He’s picking up momentum as he goes, his words forming hard edges, becoming more direct. It’s like he’s annoyed with her. Frustrated. ‘Why don’t you tell them to stop?’

‘I can’t help how they think of me, EZ.’

‘No, but you can stop putting their grief above your own.’ He scoffs, looking away from her briefly. ‘You think they sit around, coddling each other when they talk about Sebastian? No, they only do that shit to you because you let them.’

‘Alright,’ she stops him, feeling her heartbeat in her eardrums now, ‘that’s too far.’

‘Is it?’ He isn’t relenting, isn’t slowing, because he means it. ‘You’re the only person they get to be fucking sad around, Ava, so that’s what they use you for. You’ve gotta have it on your terms, or you’ll end up hating them for it.’

She’s staring at the floor now. At the rug over the hardwood, the thread pulling free from the outer-seam. He could be right. Maybe he is, maybe she could’ve said something to them, and avoided all the awkwardness. Maybe three years, is three years too long.

‘Look, I’m not trying to be a dick, but—’

‘I think you should go,’ she says, flicking her gaze back to him. She tries a smile but it comes out as a grimace. ‘I’ve got shit to do.’

He sighs through his nose, clenching his back teeth. ‘I just mean,’ he says afterwards, ‘you can make it their problem again. How to act around you. It should be on them to act better, not on you to put up with it.’

He’s been here too long, disrupting the quiet.

She deflates. ‘Please just go, EZ.’ Take the boxes and shut the door on your way out. ‘I really don’t want to talk about this.’

After a long moment, eyes boring into hers, he nods—swallowing whatever arguments he had left, whatever unwarranted life advice he felt fitting to give. She watches him leave with the first box, then come back for the second, and leave again, without saying anything more.

On the final trip, she stops him, hovering by the open front door.

‘It’s not that I think you’re wrong,’ she says, quiet like she’s scared to admit it. ‘It’s that I can’t do it. I can’t throw it back in their faces like that, not with everything they do for me.’

EZ stays quiet, eyes flitting over her face. When she thinks he’s finally about to say something, he just nods instead, leaving with a cold, ‘Catch you later, Ava,’ and nothing else.

Had he accepted it then? That she couldn’t just make people forget about it all, or act like they had? That she couldn’t take his advice, even if she wanted to.

Or did he think she was just too stubborn, and too spineless, to do anything about it?

When she closes the door behind him, it’s exactly as she feared it would be. No home, no her and Sebastian, no ours. Just herself, on her own, in an empty house that doesn’t remember what it lost.

>>> part 3

[narcolini]

in his shadow

ezekial ‘ez’ reyes x oc: ava gomez, angst/comfort, 2119 words

warnings for depictions of grief, talking about dead loved ones

for day 13 of whumpril : blurry vision | support | “i think i need to sit down”

a/n: omg i have made myself obsessed with yet another silly little pairing with my silly little ocs but . realllly enjoyed this and i’m definitely going to be adding more of them throughout whumpril because :( <3 babies

tagging: @cositapreciosa @drabbles-mc​ (let me know if you want to be tagged)

It’s the worst day of the year, every year. Worse than the anniversary of his death, really, because in the chaos of it all, Ava had forgotten the exact date it happened. She can barely even remember which day of the week it was now. Just that it was an afternoon in the Fall, and she’d been working, so they called her office not her cell. She got the news standing at her manager’s desk, staring at the pinboard in front. Could tell you in a heartbeat what was pinned there, which leaflets she read while hearing the worst news of her life, but the date? That was gone like smoke, blown apart by a change in the wind.

His birthday, though, that’s a date she’s known for so long that it’ll never go. It just cycles around instead. Every year, quicker than she expects, it comes, goes, and then it’s back around the Earth to haunt her again.

Last year, she’d spent it doing all the things he liked to do, which involved wasting the night away with the Mayans, drinking everything they bought her—because that’s their way of paying respect—and she regretted it. Big time. Not just for the headache afterwards, but because it felt like he’d died all over again. The way they looked at her, the sympathy behind every put-on smile. It comes from a good place, she knows, but, God, it makes it hard to move on. Hard to celebrate his life, when she’s the focus point for the grief of everyone else in the room.

She planned to keep to herself this year: watch a movie, order pizza, be in bed before eleven. But she didn’t even last until midday before driving herself crazy with it. With the thought of him, the absence of him. She needed company, that was evident now, but she needed the company of someone who doesn’t miss him as much as she does. Someone who never met him at all.

EZ wasn’t home when she knocked, knuckles bouncing off the thin trailer door. He wasn’t in the clubhouse either, but she didn’t hang around long enough to ask why, or where he was. Couldn’t face the questions that would no doubt follow.

You good, Ava?

You need something?

Instead, she’s waiting for him outside, sitting on the dirt by a stack of tires. The trailer’s directly opposite her, door right in her eye-line. When EZ comes back, she’ll be the first to know, the first to catch him. She can throw her offer in the ring, ask him to hang, before anyone else can. Secure herself some company before she truly goes crazy. Wanna get something to eat? Or let me sit in your trailer, while you work out and I talk about my dead fiancé for hours?

If EZ wasn’t the person he is, she wouldn’t dare ask it of him, but he’s probably the only guy for miles that would say yes to both.  

She stretches her legs out, bare calves against the gravel. It’s been nearly an hour now and, God, it’s hot. The sun’s sitting right over her, searing into the parting of her hair, putting beads of sweat across the top of her lip. She should’ve brought a drink with her, stopped at Starbucks on the way for an Iced coffee. But it’s too late now. He can’t be much longer.  

Like she’d summoned him herself, there it is, the rumble of an engine, the gleam of polished chrome pulling into the lot before her. She’s been around often enough to know them from their bikes, the colour of them, the size of the body. It’s EZ, and he parks it infront of her, a stone’s throw from the sole of her shoes.

He kicks the stand down, squinting at her as he dismounts. How he’s managing it, she doesn’t know, all the layers, the leather, the denim. It’s hot enough to roast him alive stationary, never mind riding down the asphalt. He pulls his helmet off, scrubbing the sweat out of his flattened hair, before shooting her a surprised, ‘Ava?’

‘Hey.’ She stands quickly to greet him, too quickly, actually. The blood goes from her feet to her head in a second, vision blacking out so swiftly that she staggers forward a step, toes catching on the ground.

‘Hey—woah.’ He lurches forward, taking her arm to steady her. ‘You good?’

She is, it’s just the world that’s spinning, tipping on axis. Her vision is back now, but swimming with floating specs that won’t blink away. And her body’s cold suddenly, but damp from the heat still, like her blood sugar’s dropped through the ground itself.

‘Ava?’

He’s trying to catch her attention, her gaze, by ducking his head down in front of her, but if she straightens out of the bend she’s adopted to meet him, she’ll collapse—maybe. Will send the blood back up to her head and blind herself again.

‘I think I need to sit down,’ she says, voice shaking slightly.

‘Yeah, me too,’ he agrees. ‘You been sat out here for long?’

Ava nods, glad of his grip on her arm as he starts to walk them towards his trailer. It’s the only thing keeping her upright, the only thing making the floor seem flat and not sloping, spinning.

‘Sit here.’ He puts her on the step—which she falls into clumsily, face pale—then moves back to use his body as shade, angling himself until his shadow is cast over where she sits. ‘Put your head between your knees.’

‘Does that help?’ Her head’s in her hands currently, and that’s doing nothing at all.

‘Find out for yourself,’ he says, talking with a slight smile. ‘Come on.’

She complies, folding to put her skull between her knees, with her eyes squeezed shut. It doesn’t stop the spinning right away, but it does lessen the pressure behind her brows, and the tightness in her chest. Enough of a difference to make her wait there, curled up like a pill-bug on his step.

‘Better?’

She hums.

‘What’re you doing here anyway?’ he asks, happy to do so now he knows she won’t collapse at his feet. ‘It’s like, a hundred degrees out here.’

‘Wanted to wait,’ she churns out, ‘for you.’

He shifts, fidgeting in front of her. She hears the soles of his boots against the dry ground to know that he’s doing it. ‘What for?’ he asks.

And now all the plans she had, dissolve like they were never there at all. There isn’t one suggestion left that feels doable. Partially because she’s made herself sick, from sitting too long, standing too quickly, spending too much time in the sun, and partly because he’s already doing her a favour. He’s already stopped her from passing out in his arms, and now she’s supposed to ask him to act as a therapist?

‘Give me a minute,’ she says, lifting her head slowly. Her forehead is damp, and cold still, somehow, so she wipes it dry with both hands. Rubs her eyes until they’re bleary, then blinks until they’re back to focus. When she finally looks ups to EZ, she’s normal again, just about. Functioning enough to try a real conversation.

He smiles. ‘Welcome back.’

It’s an easy expression to mirror, EZ’s smile. She does it without even realising. ‘You got a few hours to spare?’ Time in your day to keep a widow company?

‘Sure.’ He nods, gesturing for the door behind her. ‘Got some sodas in the fridge.’

*

Inside, it’s surprisingly cool. The white paint of the outside is doing enough to reflect the heat and keep the trailer liveable, heavenly, really, by Ava’s standards. Like stepping out of a sauna and dipping your toes in the pool. The drink is a God send too, cold and sugary, and pouring more and more life into her with every added sip. It’s obvious that she made the right choice already, rocky start or not. EZ and iced sodas is way fucking better than Tequila in the club house. Better company in one, than there are in her entire troop of mourners—on today, at least.

‘So what’s up?’ he asks, after enough small talk has passed that it’s the only question left. ‘You don’t normally come looking for me.’ He ducks his chin, looking embarrassed for a breath. ‘Not that I mind hanging out.’

She sighs, slouching into the bench she’s occupying, her feet up on the one opposite. He’s stood still, leaning on the short counter to her left, waiting with his drink held to his chest. May as well tell him, then. May as well enjoy the luxury of getting to tell someone who doesn’t know already. His relative newness to the club is a gift that won’t last forever, after all.

‘It’s Sebastian’s birthday today,’ she says, ignoring the twitch of acknowledgment he gives. The, ah, makes sense, look he puts her way. ‘And I tried to have a me day, but, I don’t know. I guess I’d prefer some company.’

EZ nods, drinking to stall his response—she can tell. When you have to tell people, time and time again, my fiancé died, sorry, Sebastian passed away, you get used to allowing for that second. That pause while the living decides how to deal with the dead.

‘I gotta say,’ he starts, wiping his mouth dry afterwards, ‘I’m not sure why… I mean, I’m not good with this kind of thing. Knowing what to say.’

She snorts. ‘Good. That’s what I want.’ That’s why she picked him over everyone else, though she knows him the least, and they know her the best. ‘I love you guys, everyone, I really do. The club’s like the only fucking family I have left. But.’ She looks down, picking away at the damp label of her bottle. ‘Honestly, you’re the only one who, y’know, sees me and not Sebastian’s ex.’

It’s not like the others can help it, either, when she’s the walking reminder of the brother they lost. The only bit of him there is left.

‘And they all miss him too,’ she continues, defending herself though he hasn’t said a word against it, ‘I get that, but it’s just a lot. Especially today. I want to talk about him, sure, of course I do.’

Her throat catches. She swallows.

‘But you don’t wanna carry their baggage as well as your own,’ EZ finishes, nodding. ‘I hear you.’

‘Yeah.’ A breath, relief. He gets it. ‘It’s too much sometimes. I see the way they look at me, like they’re sorry for me still. It drives me crazy.’

He stands from his lean, crossing to sit in the couch she’s got her feet on. ‘Y’know,’ he says, ‘at Mom’s funeral, I left before the family could even talk to me.’

‘Really?’

He nods. ‘Same thing, that look. I couldn’t stand it. Was like she’d died all over again.’

She laughs, though it isn’t funny, because that’s it. That’s exactly it. ‘God, do you know how good it is to hear someone say that out loud?’ she asks, unable to swing the smile away. ‘Cause I appreciate everything the club does for me, y’know, the love is there, but, shit. Sometimes I wonder if it’d be easier to just leave and never come back.’

‘Yep.’ He snorts. ‘Been there, too.’

And yet, the both of them are still sitting here, in the trailer on the Mayan’s lot, because that’s the point, isn’t it? The love beneath all the annoyances.

‘You wanna tell me about him?’ he asks, and she can see in his eyes that it’s sincere. He wants to know, to meet Sebastian properly. It’s not just a polite offer to a widow in need. ‘All I know about, is the crazy shit they used to get up to.’

‘Well, that is a good portion of it,’ she jokes, which feels good to do. Feels like unlinking one of the chains wrapped around her chest, to talk about him with someone that doesn’t carry the grief of him. It’s like introducing him for the first time. This is Sebastian, EZ, and he’s the reason we’re even here at all.

‘He would’ve hated this shit, for starters,’ she says, ‘making his birthday a day of mourning.’ But maybe it doesn’t have to be that. Maybe EZ can help her start a new tradition, cold sodas and fresh stories. ‘You ever hear about what he did in college?’

EZ shakes his head, settling into the cushion behind.

‘God,’ she laughs, ‘alright,’ and then she begins, talking as if Sebastian is right there beside her.

>>> part two

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Twenty One.

Your weekly fix of Camille and EZ is here, besties! As usual, thank you so much for following this and offering your feedback :) Enjoy!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen  Nineteen  Twenty

Words - 3,262

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“So, going forward, after our plan has been executed, it would leave the path clear to instead bring in another income. Nothing says we can’t revert back to the heroin trade at some point in the future, but for now, and especially after having your grievances in my ear for the last few months over the growing rate of dead junkies, we need to cease. Stepping back and shutting down the pipeline as well as the LNG will facilitate that entirely. We have to be smart, save us all seeing the inside of a cell for the next twenty-five years to live. I ain’t about to let that happen.”

The figureheads of the various Mayan charters who sat around the Santo Padre table all nodded, everyone in agreement that EZ’s way forward was preferable to the risks they were taking. Much too much heat was on them, with the government sending far too many pairs of eyes in their direction, in order to uncover the supply of fentanyl cut heroin that was causing junkies to drop like flies. Four hundred and eighty-three inmates within the Californian prison systems alone had died in the previous seventy days. They couldn’t continue on that road, which was now ablaze before them; it was only a matter of time before it burned them to nothing, should they continue to ride along it.

The gavel fell, the men all filing out to retrieve cell phones and weapons, EZ, Bishop and Angel remaining behind at the table, the latter smiling proudly at his brother.  

“This was always the way it was supposed to be.” He lifted his chin, nodding. “The way you’re running this club now, using your intelligence, we’re gonna be alright. It was scary for a minute back there, I can tell you. Me and Bish, you had us all kinds of worried when it was your tumour talking.”

“He’s right, mijo,” Bishop confirmed, sinking his drink. “The only thing keeping me awake at night these days is my wife, which trust me, I’m more than happy with.” His wink had them both laughing, the men standing from the table, a sense of relief tying them back together once more, those broken bonds now restitched. His plan, it was flawless. He just had to hope Charming would be on board, since they were the last cog in the machine to get running smoothly once more.  

EZ revealed it all again to a second and third set of ears, in an arranged sit down between himself, his VP, Chibs Telford and Tig Trager four days later, just them present to hash out the initial details they would then take to a vote at their respective tables. The Sons had returned to Teller-Morrow, the clubhouse rebuilt, Wendy selling the garage to the Telford family prior to her departure from Charming, Abigail overseeing the running of it around her other, less legal career.  

It was with a lot of hope for co-operation in mind that EZ and Bishop entered that very clubhouse, getting down to business immediately with a detailed explanation on a way forward.  

“Ultimately, Chibs, it would mean that we of course stop pushing heroin through your turf, which is what you’ve been pushing back against us over, the route of our war. I just need a way to cut the cartel down. What my VP and I are thinking, is that you’re married to that way.”

Chibs leaned back in his chair, his thumb and forefinger slowly stroking his beard. “Aye, lads. If you want decimation, you’ve come to the right place.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled his cell out, tapping around before holding it to his ear. “Darlin’, I need you in church, if you can come up? Got a wee bit of an explosive proposition for ye.”

A few minutes later, and the iron lady of Charming walked through the doors, eyeing EZ and Bishop suspiciously. Looking to her husband, he glanced at the empty chair to Tig’s right, nodding with a smile. Whereas former presidents of the MC would never even entertain the idea of an old lady having a say in the actions of the club, Chibs Telford was different. He realised what a powerful asset his wife was.  

“So, gentleman,” she began, lifting her chin as she eyed them. “I take it my services in eradication are required?”  

EZ nodded, looking to Bishop, who extended the same. If there was one woman within their world, even one slightly on the fringes of such, who they respected without question, it was Abigail Telford. She made Gemma Teller look like a Care Bear.  

“I do, Abi. What I need is for a cartel to disappear, if you can make that happen for us?” EZ put to her, watching the corners of her mouth upturn. Blowing things up was, after all, notoriously her turn on.  

She reached for the pack of cigarettes in front of her husband, taking one out and lighting up. “Aye, lads. It’ll cost you, but I can most certainly make that happen for you. I’ll need a couple of weeks to pull in a few fellas from across the pond to assist me, but just give me addresses and times, and believe me, your little problem south of the border will be eliminated within a blink.”

“Thank you,” EZ began, grateful to her.

Bishop sank his drink, nodding in her direction. “Never has the saying chip off the old block been more appropriate. I met your dad once. I’ve never been so fucking scared of anyone as I was of Michael. Back when my club were importing cocaine through the same port your weapons were arriving in, he met with us to discuss the heat of such, bartering for the Mayans to move our shipments away from the gun porting. Lady, and I mean with the utmost respect, you are all your father,” he spoke, honestly humbled that such a figurehead was willing to help them extract the club from the cancer that had cut into the heart of them.  

Abi smiled, reaching for the bottle on the table, taking a few glugs. “I appreciate your compliments, but truly, I am not my father. Because if I were my da, I wouldn’t be so magnanimous in what I can offer you in return, to boost my business, keep your club in profit, and the Sons clear of the heroin trade flowing through their areas. As you know, the IRA doesn’t involve itself in drugs, it goes against our code, but we can always be open to furthering our weapon trade.  

“Of course, my husband’s club doesn’t have the reach over the border, but you guys do. Take it to the other cartels, reach out and let them know that the Mayans now primarily are movers of arms for our cause, and I assure you, you’ll receive one hell of a discount, and only deal with me directly.”  

EZ leaned back in his chair, side eyeing his VP with a grin. Abi’s thoughts exactly matched his own. He always enjoyed when a plan came together seamlessly, two sides realising how they could join forces to net a substantial profit. Hell, when he thought about it, he could likely move arms for more of a fair cut than pushing the tainted heroin that was causing way too many news headlines for his comfort.  

Life? It was pretty good for EZ as he continued to discuss the finer details, standing to shake hands with Chibs, Tig and Abi before leaving. All he had to do now was survive surgery. Arriving back in Santo Padre hours later, the first place he called in at was the Luna Lounge, giving his girlfriend a very approving whistle as she hung upside down on the pole, just one leg keeping her on, the other extended back, her hand reached to grab it. Sure, she was in hot pink lace that definitely was not the kind of underwear she preferred, or which he liked to see her in, but she looked so elegant to him up there, with a group of rowdy women throwing a paper storm in her direction.  

“God, what I wouldn’t give to offer her a seat right on my face,” one of the women announced as EZ stood next to her. He looked down at her with a soft chuckle, shaking his head.  

“Take it from me, you’d never be happier.”

Her eyes immediately widened as she swigged back her beer. “Jesus! Sorry, man! I didn’t realise she was your girl!”

“S’okay,” he reassured her with, reaching to pat her shoulder. “She’s a cutie, I get it. Believe me, I know how lucky I am.”

“Hell yeah, you are! I mean, I ain’t into dudes, but I can see from her point of view that she’s the same, lucky with you on your arm. Y’all got any kids? I bet they’re beautiful little things if you have.”

Her friendlily delivered words suddenly made something in his chest pull tight. Kids with Camille; it was the future he dreamed of, one day, but would he survive his impending operation in order to actually see it? No matter how confident Doctor Shepherd was, it of course still played on his mind with such risky surgery, being under anaesthetic with his skull partially opened up for a procedure she anticipated lasting for twelve hours at the very minimum.  

“Nah, no little ones just yet. I think I wanna enjoy it being just me and her for a while longer,” he revealed, the woman nodding knowingly.

“Oh yeah, give yourselves time. My wife and I had been together for ten years before we decided to bring kids into the mix. I carried the first, she the second, and they were twins, so we got our hands full!” she chuckled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go put a nice little wedge in your girlfriend’s bra.”  

She patted his back, grinning before taking a fifty from her wallet and scurrying over to Camille, pushing the money in and receiving a kiss on the cheek, beaming while she was danced for. He hung back until she exited the stage, passing her a large diet Coke and kissing her forehead. “Just thought I’d call in and say hey on my way home. Charming went well.”

EZ had decided to do as his brother had and let the girl he was with know everything. It was easier that way, and Camille appreciated him for it.  

“Oh, that’s a relief!” she began as they moved to a free table and sat down, Camille taking her wedge out from her thong and bra, stacking the bills neatly. “So, I get to finish earlier tonight since I worked the afternoon shift, meaning I’ll be at your place for about ten thirty. Want me to bring Chinese food with me?”  

His stomach rumbled at the thought of chicken noodles. “Please. Can I have my usual and a Szechuan pork? I’m fucking starving!”

“And some plain beef strips for little one?” Oh, how Sally would be excited to be given that particular treat.  

“I dunno who loves you more, me or the dog.” He headed off soon after, kissing her fleetingly, promising her many more as soon as she arrived. Once she’d finished, Camille was glad she checked her phone, EZ messaging to increase the other by quite a lot, telling her the guys had decided to stay and hang out, and that beer munchies were required, an extra one hundred dollars transferred to her account to cover the expense.  

“Get it while it’s hot!” she announced after kicking the clubhouse door open, her arms full with the large box of takeout containers, being ran at by several very hungry men.

“Oh, I will!” Bella purred, wrapping her arms around her waist and kissing her cheek with a giggle. “How was work, peachy?”

“Tiring! I made a nice little wedge though, so I’ll be well stocked up to spend some serious cash come out little shopping excursion.” In fairness, it was more of a girl’s weekend than anything, her, Amelia, Nala and Tallulah (unfortunately Mai couldn’t swing it) all going up to LA to stay overnight and get some serious shopping done, Bella needing new clothes for her long-overdue honeymoon. Being signed with a record label just three months after she and Angel had eloped, and then so busy for the following two years, they’d put it on the back burner until then, heading off to Brazil for two weeks.

Their honeymoon clashed with the time EZ was set to head to Seattle for his operation, both of them wanting to push it back in light of such, with the former telling them in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want them to cancel. The three weeks between that night and the moment EZ sat down aboard a plane two days before his operation passed by in a blur, reaching for Camille’s hand as they took off. He was a nervous flyer, and she knew too, how much that was impacting him with his nerves over the surgery, gripping his hand as she leaned against his shoulder.  

“I couldn’t do this without you,” he told her once they were in the air and clear of the nerve-jangling turbulence.

“True, since nobody else would allow you to cut off the circulation between their hand and fingers.”

“Shit.” He loosened his grip, Camille flexing her hand a couple of times. “Sorry, baby.”

“You will be,” she winked. “That’s my hand job hand.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, releasing her hand and resting it to her thigh instead. Throughout their flight, they separately read, listened to music, chatted, and quietly laughed at Bella’s Instagram stories, she and Angel visiting Christ the Redeemer (‘We’re going to see big Jesus!’ as Bella had comically put it) and Angel’s utter ire in the wake of someone thinking that Bella was his daughter (‘Yo, that’s my WIFE, dude!’) the many stories giving them a lot of much needed comic relief.  

“Fucking hell,” EZ exclaimed quietly as they entered their hotel room not long after landing. “You didn’t tell me you were choosing something this nice.” Camille had put everything in order, telling him to leave all the travel and hotel arrangements to her, since he had enough to deal with, being silenced when he’d attempted to object.  

“Well, I figured since we’re going to be up here for two weeks, then we might as well be comfortable, if not a little luxurious.” If the surgery went well, then Doctor Shepherd anticipated that he’d be all set for discharge around five days post-surgery, but wanted him to remain close by for check-ups for a few weeks before she gave him the all clear to fly home. “So, what do you want to do? Just relax, or head out?”

EZ had said he wanted to see a few of the local Seattle landmarks while visiting, the obvious of the Space Needle as well as a visit to the beautiful natural beauty site of Snoqualmie Falls, but with two days until he was due to arrive at Grey-Sloan, they had plenty of time. EZ wasn’t keen to waste any of it, though, it would seem.

“Let’s head out now, shall we?” Camille changed out of her comfy sweats into a pair of jeans and Timberland boots, figuring sensible footwear would be the best choice, grabbing her jacket before they left the room.  

“Oh god, oh my...” The little squeak that preceded Camille’s turning to bury her face into EZ’s shoulder had him laughing, wrapping his arms around her. “It’s so high! I knew it would be, but...” She gasped a little, looking back out over Seattle, her little hands grasped onto his hoodie before she turned back to hide her face once more.  

“Look out over the bay, though, baby. It looks incredible,” he suggested, pointing towards the water.

She emerged for all of five seconds. “Oh yeah, beautiful. And return to hibernation.”  

He laughed hard, hugging her, taking pictures with his free hand. “You’re so fucking silly. You made no mention of being afraid of heights before now!”

“I didn’t think I was, but I’ve never been up a tall building. Well, actually that’s untrue. I went to the top of the Empire State Building when I was two, but I don’t remember it. Apparently, I hid in dad’s hair the entire time, so perhaps I should have seen this coming!”  

For her sake, he kept the visit short after snapping a couple more pictures, taking a few cute ones of them up there too before they headed to their next attraction, taking a boat tour across the harbour. Camille was much better on water than she was a few hundred feet off the ground. Keeping with the aquatic theme, they moved onto Seattle aquarium afterwards, EZ warmed by the sight of Camille watching her favourite fish, the puffers, her face alight with delight.  

She couldn’t help but notice, though, the fact that he seemed to be in a hurry to fit in as much as possible into their afternoon, only slowing in pace once they reached the restaurant that had been recommended highly to them by the friendly hotel staff, taking a seat outside in the beautiful, casual surroundings of Un Bein, waiting on their order.  

“Baby, are you alright?” She noticed thar he wasn’t still, his leg bouncing, his hand twitching, motion still running through him even though sat in place.  

“Yeah, yeah I’m good.”  

She knew by that point in their relationship when he was lying. She’d noticed all the little tells that would have given him away back when he was under the duress of his tumour now that he wasn’t, the way his eyes darted around for just a fraction of a moment before he concentrated on her. “EZ, that isn’t true. Come on, tell me the truth. I can’t understand the kind of nerves you must be going through with what you have looming, but I’ve noticed how you’ve been rushing through today, so you need to share that with me.”

He inhaled deeply through his nose, letting the breath out slowly, reaching for her hands. “I’m trying to fit in as many memories as I can for you, just in case the unthinkable happens. In case I go into that OR and die on the table. I didn’t want to say it in as many words, I know you’ve likely considered it a possibility too, should a complication arise. All I want is to fill these two days full of things you can cherish, just in case.”  

Her eyes become glassy in a second, her emotions rocked by his revelation. “Oh my god.”

“And now I’ve got you all upset, and I didn’t want that.” Getting up, he moved around to the empty chair beside her, pulling her into the comfort of his arms as soon as he was seated. “Come on, beautiful. It’s okay.”  

She cried softly against him, her hand curling around his neck, stroking, emerging from his embrace to kiss him. “It is, and it will be okay, but hearing that you’re doing this for me is more touching than I can even begin to explain. I love you so much.”

She didn’t need to explain either. EZ felt it strongly in every single moment that passed with her. He just hoped he would have years ahead of him to experience many, many more.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Softer Pleasures - An EZ Reyes/OC One Shot Story.

Just a little smutty offering I had revolving around in my head. Enjoy!

Words - 1,104

Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!

“What is it,” she began, sighing as his tongue rolled in a slow circle, “about going down on me that you love so much?”  

He didn’t reply at first, but the raised eyebrow said enough, looking up at her as he sucked gently on her clit. “I’ve never been asked that before.” He continued to suck upon her, laughing a little, entertained that she should ask him such a thing, right when he was in the middle of doing it. “You’re expecting a reply, aren’t you?”

“Mmhmm.”  

“Hmmm.” His tongue flattened against her, dragging over her bud slowly. “Alright, well it feels amazing, tastes amazing, fucking turns me on like you wouldn’t believe, and then there’s the way you react to it. How wet you get, and those little moans. Fuck. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to put my mouth back to making said moans happen rather than talking about them.”

The heat of his mouth had her gleaming as he laved at her once again, the nectar of her cunt saturating his tongue. In truth, words alone couldn’t describe how it made him feel, to pleasure her like that, his heartbeat quickened, skin tingling as little wells of contentment poured through him. And then she moaned again, a seraphim’s symphony to his ears, a summer sonnet of lust, thumbing her clit to gently drag the hood back, the tip of his tongue tracing tight circles, the song of her arousal filling his ears again.  

Pleasure draped over her like the swathe of silk, each flicker of his tongue making her arousal bloom, like summer flowers kissed by the first sun, awakened and reaching towards the light. Each lick was an ember ignited, heat winding and coiling low in her, his breath a hot tempest as his hands stroked over the soft round of her tummy, fingertips flexing as he drove the simmer through her.  

Her panting escalated, her lips parting on a soft cry. “EZ, please, I need...” Her words were cut short by the pull of his lips sucking upon her, the tip of his tongue pushing against her clit, increasing the pressure as she keened against him, her nails flexing against his shoulders. “Yes, like that, just like that!”

He peered up at her, cheeks hollowed, moaning low in his throat, the vibrations from such only adding to the bonfire of ecstasy that crackled up her spine, the burn of pleasure then settling low within her, her soft thighs writhing against his face as his eyes shone gold, his cock throbbing with the need to fill her.  

She drew a breath through gritted teeth, her walls in spasm as her fuse flickered and crackled, primed to explode, his mouth working her hungrily before the desire grew too strongly within him, sitting up and pushing her legs back, her knees pressed to her chest as he skimmed her folds with the head of his cock. He teased her a little before sinking in slowly, spreading her around him, his hands stroking the soft of her thighs.  

He was slow to begin with, enjoying the soaking heat that gripped him, almost every inch of him dragging through her in gentle trawl, his heart thundering as he watched the way she loved it, loved him within her, parting her legs to lean down to her, his lips finding hers. “Fuck, that pretty little pussy is heaven, I swear. God... ahhh.” He was always so overcome to be inside her, and the novelty never wore off.  

It was all languid, like a sensual drip of honey, thick and sweet, their mouths locked as tongues swirled, breath hitched, and moans poured like wine from one mouth to another, her hands stroking the thick planes of muscle that ridged his shoulders. She gripped onto them when he sank into her deeper, gasping against his neck, her teeth laying a soft bite as lightning struck through the marrow of her, EZ sitting up again as speed replaced the slow trawl. 

His gaze fell to watch his cock emptying and filling her, glinting in the low light, creamed with the silken satin of what sheathed him so well, moving his thumb to press her clit, rubbing sweet tingles, his mouth tilting into a grin as she cried out shrilly.  

She tightened around him, a velvet, vice-like grip that began to pull the waves building within him to greater strength, his mouth falling open as he panted hard, rutting into her with more urgency. She began to quake ardently, feeling sparks skittering along her spine and down her legs, moaning contently as he folded to kiss her sternum, moving upwards slowly until his mouth was returned to hers, offering kisses of voracious want.  

Their bodies pushed against each other in heated sync, her legs moving to hook around his waist and grip tightly as she panted against his mouth. Everything became fervidly uncontained, her hands gliding down his well-defined back, the plush velvet of her cunt pulsing around him.  

An upward tilt of his hips as he shifted slightly had her gasping, the hardness within her slick walls nudging different spots and prompting ebullience as she started to glow. His mouth dipped to suck her nipples in turn, a rumbling groan permeating the air, the heat of his cock delicious as she rolled her hips up against him, loving him pinning her there beneath his weight.  

“Ahhh, fuck!” he gritted, driving into her centre in frenzy, teeth grazing the column of her throat, his hips shuddering with effort as lightning struck through him, her own release gathering momentum.

Being unselfish, he kept going until he knew her wails were the siren song of her cresting, her body shuddering against his as she glimmered strongly, wailing into his shoulder. The illumination of golden sunshine gilded her, rays surging through her veins, lighting her up like the darkened horizon at dawn as he quivered against her, cock twitching, pulsing endless, hot waves of cum into her, his groans all grit and gravel before his body slackened, lying breathless in her arms.  

“You know how I detailed why I love going down on you so much?” he asked a few minutes later, still on top of her, stroking the side of her neck as he rested his head against her chest.  

“Uh-huh,” she breathed, still a little spaced out.

“I think I love this more, just lying here with you like this.”  

Truth was, he loved everything about her, every moment, every touch. She knew it, too, lifting his head and cradling his face, offering soft kisses as she hummed with happiness.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Nineteen.

I’ve decided to nuke the unlock feature on this besties. It was an idea to maybe try and coax those who usually wouldn’t comment or reblog to do just that, but all it did was prompt all you lovely people who are faultless in doing such to participate more, and if shouldn’t be left to you lovely souls, you do enough! :) So yes, I’ll update once weekly going forward. Huge thank you to all of you who have engaged with this story and are still with me enjoying it. You make me smile!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen  Eighteen

Words - 4,093 

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“I’ve been looking for you all morning.” The words of her sister-in-law were what roused Amelia Shepherd from her long, complex train of thoughts, looking at the scans that had arrived the evening before, for a patient Doctor Conrad Knight from St Michael’s Hospital in Santo Padre had deemed inoperable. “My god, that mass!” Meredith then continued, coming to her side and squinting a little at the images. “Meningioma?”

“Glioblastoma,” Amelia confirmed, “with a growth period of fourteen months.”

Meredith’s jaw virtually hit the floor. “Fourteen months, and it’s reached those margins? Holy cow.”

She snorted softly. “Holy cow, indeed. The patient has received six weeks of radiotherapy, but it’s done little to shrink it. That beast is aggressive if nothing else.”

“I’ll say! Anyway, I was looking for you to confirm you and Linc will be at Zola’s recital tomorrow. I have to let the school know how many of us are attending and as usual, I’m late in getting back to them.”

“I’ll be there,” she confirmed, her eyes flitting back to the scan images, “but Linc has surgery, so just put me down.”

“Okay. Good luck with that, too.” Nodding in the direction of the scans, she raised her eyebrows. “You think you can do anything?”

Amelia pressed the tip of her pen against her pursed lips, studying it, slowly beginning to nod. “It’s risky, being that this portion here is pressing so heavily against the temporal lobe from its growth through the frontal, but the rest I think should be a clean removal. I’m going to call Koracick for a second opinion, but yes, I think I can get it all. If not, then at least another round of radiotherapy should be able to kill off the remainder of it, should I deem it too risky once I’m in there and can physically see it.”  

Meredith left her to it, impressed as ever by Amelia’s grit, her confidence in herself over what other surgeons would have tiptoed into with much greater caution. She was one of the best in her field for a reason. Zooming in closer, Amelia muttered to herself, beginning to scribble notes, her mind working speedily. “Two millimetres onto the temporal, hmm... could affect his memory... possibly wouldn’t... if I came at it from... hmm, no... wait... yes! If I... yes!”

One phone call to her mentor later, sending the images for him to study, both discussing it from all angles, and Amelia was able to return to her office and make another call before she was due in surgery. “Miss Smith? Hello, this Doctor Amelia Shepherd from Grey Slone Memorial. Okay, so I have some news following our preliminary discussion. Is Mr Reyes with you currently?”

“Hold on one moment, Doctor Shepherd. I’m upstairs and he’s outside.” Camile raced, barefoot and flat out down the stairs, through the clubhouse and into the yard, finding EZ hauling large quantities of metal into a large container, after stating he felt well enough to actually be useful, for once. “Okay, go ahead.” Putting the call on speaker, she walked with him back inside, taking a seat as the doctor began to explain her thoughts.  

“Of course, before we really get into it, I would like for you to fly up here for an appointment, also so I can have you scanned here at the hospital, since we do boast much superior equipment. I will be in a much better position to know how exactly to proceed surgically after that, but at this moment, I am saying yes. I feel confident that I can remove it. If not all, then most of it. The surgery would not be without its risks, however, but we can discuss that in greater detail once we’ve actually met to begin our preliminary discussions. Now, I have free appointments commencing as of August 17th. When is good for you, Mr Reyes?”

He chose as soon as possible, scheduling with her for August 17th at 10am, thanking her for her call and more so, even considering his case viable in the first place. Camille hung up, trying to bite back her grin, not able to read him for a few moments, his face blank, eyes a little wide.  

He cleared his throat a little. “Did she... did she really just say she’s prepared to do the surgery? I’m not imagining it; this isn’t a dream? She really wants to attempt to remove it?”

Reaching for his arm, she pinched him upon his dragon tattoo. “You’d wake up about now if it was, baby.”  

“I feel... I feel like I shouldn’t be happy about this, like I should proceed with caution, not get my hopes up too much, I...”  

She saw it in him, the need for optimism, that he wanted to at least be a little bit relieved that finally, there was good news, and that such should be celebrated. “EZ, this is amazing news, of course you get to be happy about it. That tumour, up until now deemed inoperable? We just found a surgeon who is stating otherwise!”  

Her bright enthusiasm pulled him out of the veil of pessimism he’d partially slid back under, EZ shaking his head as he stood, beginning to laugh as he pulled her into his arms, lifting her from the floor, swinging her around. Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel had been turned back on. Finally, there was hope. “I can’t believe she’s willing to try! I mean, I just... fuck. It might all just be okay.”  

She held his face in her hands as he set her back onto her feet, beaming brightly. “It will be okay. She’s in Seattle. It’s a sign, a clear sign right from your mom. She told you in your dream that’s where you’d find your answer. It’s too spooky to be pure coincidence. You’re gonna be fine, I know it. I just know it. You know I’m not wrong about these things.”

It was true, she wasn’t. What Camille felt with her gut instinct was always correct, that sixth sense she seemed to have. After all, she’d been the only person in his life to know that while he was putting her and everyone else close to him through hell in his altered state, he was still in there, buried beneath the duress of the tumour. The tumour Doctor Shepherd was certain she could remove.  

“Morning, guys,” Hank spoke brightly, beginning to smile as he saw the happy faces that greeted him. “Ain’t seen you looking so happy for a while, prez.”  

“Well, I just got some good news,” EZ began, walking to him. “We found a surgeon, well no, Camille did, this is her win, and she’s prepared to operate on me. She thinks she can get the tumour out, if not all of it, then most.”  

Hank shook his head, grabbing EZ’s face and pulling him close, kissing his forehead before bear hugging him tightly. To have him so elated touched EZ to tears, since he knew that he’d been especially cruel to his enforcer in particular during the months where he wasn’t himself.  

“Damn, you’re gonna have one hell of a badass scar,” he rumbled, EZ laughing and hugging him again just as Bishop entered the clubhouse to be told the same thing, he and EZ embracing, the VP absolutely elated for him.  

“We gotta celebrate this, mijo,” he announced. “We gotta do something, get everyone down here. Hey, it’s Bella’s birthday celebrations this weekend, isn’t it? I doubt she’d mind sharing.”

“Yes, this Saturday. I know because I’m on at the club but then coming back here with all of you to party, and she’s already requested I give her a lap dance,” Camille confirmed, suddenly having three very interested pairs of eyes on her.  

“Oh really?” Bishop rumbled, his grin widening. “Can you do that for a small audience?”  

“Single clients only, no audiences,” she confirmed.

“Damn,” he exclaimed with a little nod of his head, suddenly brightening. “Can you do it again when we all get back here?”

“Bishop, is this just a ploy to see my tits?”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Maybe.”

“Yeah, but if she even so much as flashed you, you wouldn’t know what the hell to do with yourself,” EZ joked, giving Camille a little nudge and an eyebrow raise that said one thing loud and clear. ‘Do it, it’ll be hilarious.’ It wasn’t a secret that Bishop had somewhat of a small crush on her, or as much of one as a happily married man could.  

“I’m going to work now, see you later, love you,” she spoke kissing her boyfriend before going to get her bag from upstairs, coming back down and turning back at the doors. “Hey, Bish?” Grabbing her top, she lifted it, flashing him speedily before turning and heading out, the three guys in hysterics at her antics.  

“Jesus Christ,” Bishop exclaimed, licking his lips, still laughing. “God damn, those are beautiful tits.”

EZ nodded, winding an arm around his shoulders as they began to walk towards the doors. “And guess who had his dick right up between them last night?”

Hank exploded laughing behind them, Bishop throwing a playful glare. “Oh, I hate you.”

“Envy don’t look good on you, carnan.” Going back out to the yard, they continued to work until the others showed up, EZ sharing with them his news, having his brother in tears as he hugged him, Angel overcome with relief.  

“I gotta call B and let her know, she’ll be fuckin’ over the goddamned moon, bro. And yeah, she ain’t gonna have a problem sharing her day.” When the day came, Angel made it so special that Bella had no problem sharing it with anyone, especially not after she saw her gift from her husband.  

“Can I take this thing off yet?” she asked, her vision obscured by the black bandana Angel had tied around her head, leading her across the yard to where her birthday present had been stashed.  

Coming to a stop, he beamed, excited for her reaction. “Okay, now you can look.” Taking off her blindfold, Bella nearly died on the spot to see her dream car, a Range Rover Sport black edition, with a big bow stuck on the roof. Her scream? Deafening.  

“Oh my god! Oh my bloody fucking bloody god! Oh bloody hell, you got me... you... it’s... oh my god, I love you so much! Thank you, big sexy!” she squealed, throwing her arms around Angel, showering his face with kisses.  

“You’re welcome, baby.” Sometimes, it paid well to not be able to put large chunks of cash in the bank, Angel deciding to spend a huge amount on at least half paying off a near brand-new car for his wife in cash, the rest on monthly credit to an amount he could comfortably afford. It was her twenty-first, after all. She deserved something fancy, and it still kept him under the radar. Large, fancy purchases of course were a strict no-no because of the attention they drew from certain governmental department eyes, the greater push of heroin making each of the guy’s very comfortable financially, but also on the radar.  

Camille came down from the front of the clubhouse, presenting Bella with a big bag of gifts and a huge hug and kiss, having no idea what to get her as a big present, so deciding on lots of little ones. Inside resided all her favourite British candies and snacks and a pair of large hoop earrings with little cherry amber gems, and a pendant that matched, Bella excitedly taking out her current pair to put them into her ears along with all the rest.  

She and Angel left shortly after, Bella jumping behind the wheel of her new ride, pulling a wide eyed, wide mouthed face of utter excitement after starting the engine and giving it a few revs, Camille cracking up before waving them off, heading back inside. She’d booked the Saturday off for a change, wanting a little bit of downtime since she’d been busy between the salon and the club, needing nothing but to spend time with her man. When he was awake, that was.

Gone now were the days of nausea and headaches plaguing him now he was managing to keep his medication to combat both down, but the other most prominent after effect of the radiotherapy was still beating his ass, EZ sleeping on average twelve hours a day, sometimes more. When she arrived upstairs, though, she found him awake, looking through his phone as he did upon waking, Sally curled up at his side.  

“Was that engine I heard starting up Bella leaving in her new toy?” he asked, Camille slipping her feet from her dark grey fluffy slides (or the dead muppet slides, as EZ loved to call them in tease) and moving to lie down beside him, Sally thumping her tail happily and moving to lick her arm.  

“It was, and she absolutely loved it. Angel’s taking her for breakfast, and then I think the plan is for you guys to meet here at 7pm before you all head over to the club,” she spoke, EZ nodding, looking down at his stomach as it rumbled loudly. “Want me to sort that out?”  

“What?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “The rumbling stomach, or the morning wood?”  

“Both?” Sally was nudged from the bed, both falling into kisses, a very hot, quick morning session enjoyed before they showered, EZ shaving while Camille went to sort some breakfast. It was while she was scattering granola and a variety of seeds over the banana yogurt and fruit that she turned to see him, leaning against the bathroom doorframe, smiling, but with something there in his eyes that made her question it. “For a man who just blew his load all over his girl’s boobies, you look a little troubled.”

He shook his head, scratching the side of his neck as he laughed softly. Pulling the t shirt he held in his hand on, he approached, taking the coffee cup she handed him with thanks. “It hits me at times, just how lucky I am to have you, after all the shit I put you through. I would have never blamed you for walking away if you had, especially after I hit you.” He dropped his head, staring at his bare feet. “It still haunts me. If Bish hadn’t gotten in the way, I know I’d have kept going, too. I dream of it sometimes, these nightmares that swirl in my head, imagining losing control, bad things happening.”

It was the kind of turn Camille hadn’t expected the morning to take, her boyfriend placing his coffee down and covering his face with his hands for a moment, taking a deep breath, pulling himself together again. How easily she could have been Gaby. How fortunate he was that he’d had people there to halt him before his tumour had dictated she be another body of a beautiful soul he made quietly disappear.  

“Nightmares aren’t real, and I’m not naïve enough to know that it could have gotten much worse, should we have been alone that night, but it isn’t going to happen again. Doctor Shepherd is going to make sure of that.” Handing him his breakfast with a kiss, she squeezed his arm, moving over to the small lounge area and taking a seat. “Come on, this is meant to be a happy day. Bella’s finally at legal drinking age, you’re celebrating the fact we found the aforementioned surgeon, so turn your frown upside down.”  

The sweet simplicity she showed, how she’d taken it all in her stride, it still amazed EZ. For someone who could be so unguarded, soft and trusting, there was a side to Camille that was nothing but raw strength, her faith unshakable. Her faith in him unshakable. Lesser women would have run from much less, and he counted himself so very fortunate to have her there by his side still. “I mean it, you know. No more lamentations. I know you get a little melancholy about it all from time to time, but I don’t want you to be. I just want you to love me.”

He kissed her cheek, nuzzling her softly, licking a little yogurt fleck from her top lip. “There’s no danger of me doing anything less than love you completely.” Such words left her feeling nothing but glowing, kissing him again before they finished eating, spending the rest of the day relaxing, EZ napping too so he’d have enough energy to enjoy what was to follow later that night.

They arrived at the Luna Lounge at just gone 7:15pm, Bella being greeted by a big bouquet of flowers and balloons from Camille, a free drink too since it was her birthday, the bartender also doing some shots with her, which too were on the house. After that, she was swiftly led away for her birthday dance, emerging just under ten minutes later, her face an absolute picture. For Angel, it could have cost him ten times more than it did, and it would have been worth every last cent.

“Are you alright there, B?” he asked, his voice rippling with a current of laughter as he viewed his wife, Bella grinning widely.

She leaned close to him, giggling in a way that had him snort laughing in a second. “I think I’m bi, because bloody hell, the full-on lady boner I have right now.”  

That was it, Angel was gone, completely cracking up in hysterics as he put his arms around her, kissing her hair. “I swear, she amped it up just to be a tease! I mean she... she... I...” she floundered, only reducing him to further hysterics. “Blimey!”

“I can’t... I can’t fucking breathe,” he hissed. “Best sixty bucks I’ve ever spent, shit.”  

Bella then turned to EZ, her face making him crack in a second. “And you get that woman, all over you, on a nightly basis.”

“I do,” he confirmed, swigging his beer.

“I think you’re gonna have to share her with me,” she nodded, sipping her drink. “It’s only fair I get to take her home at least one night a week.”

“Yeah, and let me watch, damn!” Angel exclaimed.

“Oh no, there’ll be no pimping of my lady to you! You keep your pussy to yourself, B.”

“What if I save you a seat next to me for the viewing?” Angel asked, EZ pausing lifting the bottle to his lips, his grin suddenly widening.  

“I’ll give it some thought.” When Camille joined them, she found the whole thing hysterical when it was relayed to her, swiftly being asked for another private dance from the group, Gilly deciding he wanted one. For Amelia. She did wonder why none of the guys asked her for themselves, until it swiftly dawned on her that it was a respect thing, being that she was El Presidente’s girlfriend, of course they wouldn’t. Samuel and Jonah, the two newly patched in members of the MC were taken care of by Tallulah and Raven, though, Nestor finding himself led away by Mai for the same, who excused herself briefly to whisper in Camille’s ear.

“This dude I have here, is he single?”  

Camille nodded. “Oh yeah, and he has a big thing for Japanese chicks.”

Mai straightened, fluffing her hair, her grin suddenly wide. “Ding, ding, ding! Jackpot!” Thanks to the Santo Padre charter of the Mayans, the girls walked away with a very tidy wedge that night, Mai and Tallulah in particular, Bella and Amelia getting them to give their guys a dance each, too. When Angel sat back down beside his wife, it was all she could do not to pee her pants at the look on his face.  

“Happy, are we?” she asked, Angel grabbing her, pulling her onto his lap.

“I got me the hottest woman in here, and she’s cool with buying me a lap dance. Happy don’t quite cut it. Imma show you just how happy you make me as soon as we get back to the yard,” he vouched, Amelia suddenly leaning into their space.  

“Bathroom out for ten minutes again?”

He sneered playfully, prodding the end of her nose. “You’re just salty that it ain’t you I’m giving ten minutes of heaven to, Garcie.” They left at close to 10pm to continue the party back at the clubhouse, Camille able to duck out early since Mai was covering for her by staying on late. Once back, firepits were lit, drinks were poured, and more people piled in, Bella screaming in delight at the surprise that was her old friends from the salon arriving, racing to hug Bridgette, Gloria and Ruby in turn.  

“Shit, who's the tall black chick hugging your wife?" Nestor asked, Angel giving him a double take.  

“That’s Ruby,” he began, his grin widening. “And she’s a drag queen, bro.”

Nestor dropped his head for a second, quickly straightening with a thoughtful face. “Hm. Maybe Bella isn’t the only one wondering how bi she might be tonight.”  

Angel blew out a mouthful of beer with the force of his laughter, doubling over, Nestor in fits at his reaction. “You horny, French braid bitch, shit.” It was a scene EZ witnessed, one that he was glad of, his brother seemingly over his dislike of Nestor enough to actually be welcoming of his place in the club more than he had been before. His attention was then distracted by another arrival, or more precisely, Angel’s loud, drunken reaction to it. “Marge! Marge is here!”

He had a huge soft spot for the diminutive redhead, getting to know her better when she’d called in the previous week after having car trouble, Camille telling her to take it down and get Bishop to look at it for her, who was the resident automotive genius. While waiting, she’d sat talking to the elder of the Reyes brothers, becoming just as fond of him as he was her.  

“Hello honey. Oh, that’s a very big hug,” she laughed as he ran to her and wrapped her in his arms, somewhat smushed against his chest. “Where’s wifey? I have a little gift for her.”  

Angel was touched by that gesture, only ever having met Bella once before, but obviously being told that the celebration she’d been invited to was also for her birthday as well as EZ’s news about the surgery. “Up here, come on.” Taking her hand, he led her back to where their little group was sitting at the front of the clubhouse, throwing himself down on the couch, Marge passing the gift bag to a delighted Bella, kissing her cheek.  

“Marge!” she exclaimed, pulling out a gorgeous, huge jar candle from the bag, opening it up and giving it a sniff. “Oh, that smells beautiful! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome, honey,” she nodded, moving to greet EZ.  

“Hey, ma,” he chirped, standing to hug her, Marge touched by his use of the term ma to refer to her as. “No John?”

“No, sweetheart. He has a migraine, but he sends this for you.” Opening her bag, she pulled out a bottle of Casamigos Blanco, EZ’s favourite tequila. “And I am instructed to do shots with you, so go fetch some glasses.”

“No need,” he began, before calling out to Anton, the newest hopeful looking to join the ranks of the MC. “Hey, prospect! Shot glasses!”  

Marge turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “It’s good being king, huh?”  

He grinned, wrapping his arm around her. “It’s never dull, I’ll give you that.” Shortly after, they were joined by Camille and Amelia, who’d been locked in conversation with Gloria, who coincidentally Camille knew from beauty school, Gloria a former part-time tutor there on the hairdressing course, the women often crossing paths while the former was training to be a beautician.  

As he sat back, doing shots with his girlfriend and her mother, the party in full swing, EZ took a moment to pause as he watched it swirl around him. This Doctor Shepherd they’d found, well, she’d better be as good as she seemed, because no matter his past wobbles, his resignment to his fate, this was his life, and he loved it. He didn’t want to check out at thirty-five, no way.  

He had way too much good there to live for. All he needed now was to further cut out the bad.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Eighteen.

Thank you so much for all your engagement, guys! I’m thrilled at how well received this has been. Now, this is the chapter I’ve been dying with excitement to bring to you, because it reveals my very first fandom crossover! I shan’t say which particular fandom will enter the story, but fans of the show will know instantly when they see the name mentioned at the end of the chapter. As ever, 40 notes to unlock the next. Enjoy! :)

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen  Seventeen

Words - 4,000

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“How’s that now, any better?” Camille asked, watching her boyfriend stub out the joint he’d just finished, blowing the smoke down his nose. She’d never seen him partake of weed before, but he revealed that he did smoke it very, very occasionally, this now being one of those rare occasions.  

“I don’t know whether I truly feel better, or whether I’m too stoned to care,” he admitted, chuckling softly. “Shit, Nestor’s weed always blows my damned skull off. He can’t just be a little bit stoned; dude has to be annihilated.”  

From the smell of it, she was inclined to agree. “Want me to leave you to sleep?”

He nodded gently. “Please, baby.” Sitting up, he kissed her softly, nuzzling her nose with his. “Thanks for taking such good care of me.”  

“Anytime.” She’d been there every day since they’d gotten back together, packing a large bag of her stuff and virtually moving in with him, taking time off from the club so she could be there for him at night, when he was lamentably always at his absolute worst. Luckily, she could afford to hand her shifts over to a few of the other girls, and Martin understood after she’d explained the situation to him.  

Leaving him to it, she went downstairs and got herself furnished with a drink, giving Nestor a smile when he appeared behind her. “Your weed has just kicked my boyfriend like an angry donkey.”

He snorted softly, wrapping an arm around her. “Yeah, it tends to do that. You should have seen the state of Bella one time, smoked half a joint and ended up lying on top of EZ’s old trailer, singing Elvis songs at 3am, refusing to come down because she said that the stars needed to be serenaded. Angel had to climb up there to get her down again because she was too stoned to move.”  

Camille snorted at his story, laughing as she sipped her drink, heading on outside, watching the lady herself approaching the clubhouse.  

“Oh, Jesus fucking bloody Christ,” she winced, slowly lowering herself onto the couch at Camille’s side, puffing her cheeks when she finally made contact. “Alright mate! How are you?”

Receiving a hug and kiss, Camille raised her eyebrows. “Better than you, I’d say!” Nodding at Bella’s lower half, she hazarded a guess. “Squats?”

“Angel. He was on me all last night and I swear, I am not complaining at my husband or his level of horny, but shit the fucking bed, I feel like I’ve been blasted straight up the cooch with a fire hose.”  

It was an unfortunate moment for Camille to have sipped her drink, a fine spray of rum and diet coke exiting her mouth as she laughed. “Fire hose, huh? Well, isn’t he like his brother.”

“And you know what kills me most, Camille?” she began, eyes wide, reaching over her head to take the beer Hank passed her, blowing him a kiss before he went back inside. “He says I’m the one who’ll end up breaking him one day, but as soon as he gets to six beers in, the raging, overly horny sex demon happens. I mean, he’s bad enough when he’s sober, but fucking hell!”

She was in soft fits at hearing her friend’s words, Bella lighting a cigarette and wincing as she got comfortable. “Yeah, EZ is usually the same. Except for right now as he feels like death most of the time, my poor honey. He used to get night horny, about 11pm and if we hadn’t already done it or weren’t in the throes, I’d get hauled off. Now, morning is his horny time, before he starts feeling really ill.”

“How’s he doing today?” Bella asked, swigging her beer, suddenly throwing up an aggressive middle finger with a silly scrunched face at Gilly, who was giving her the same, a small dance included.  

“I’m going to pick up Garcie, so you three can hold your little coven meeting,” he informed them.

“Yay! Tell her to bring a cauldron!” Bella yelled, laughing, turning back to Camille. “Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured her, rubbing her wrist, raising her eyebrow at the red marks she noticed.  

“I got cuffed,” she confided, poking her tongue between her teeth. That somehow didn’t surprise Camille to discover, that Angel and his wife were kinky. 

“So, EZ,” she began, crossing her legs and placing her drink down. “He’s the same, he’s good for the morning, but worsens as the day goes on. It’s the more food he eats, that’s what causes the nausea and inability to keep the anti-nausea drugs down. He’s currently only managing to keep breakfast in most days, and thankfully the medication for his seizures is only once daily, so we have those under control now. He had one the other morning, don’t tell him, but he nearly ended up crushing me until I managed to scramble out and get him onto his side.”

Bella nodded with sympathy, drawing on her cigarette. “One more week and then here’s hoping it’s worked. Seeing him go through this is tough, I keep thinking about if it was Angel and it just moves me to tears every time, so I can’t imagine what you must be feeling.”

“I’m okay, most of the time,” she revealed. “I’m just holding onto the hope that the radiotherapy has shrunk it enough to safely operate on him. I can’t even think of the alternative right now. I can’t.”

She sank into Bella’s embrace with a wobbly sigh, having a little cry in her friend’s arms, a friend who silently vowed to take her mind off it for the rest of the evening, between Camille heading back upstairs to check on EZ every so often. He actually surprised them mid-way through the night by coming out, sitting with her, Bella, Angel, Gilly and Amelia, feeling better for the weed induced sleep, and a little less sick.  

One more week and hopefully, he could put the treatments behind him at least, even though he’d been told that the side-effects would likely last for a while after radiotherapy cessation. After his last treatment had been given, he was sent for a scan prior to his appointment with his oncologist, Camille there with him too, Doctor Ruiz taking a seat at her desk.  

“Okay, I have your scans here, Mr Reyes. Unfortunately, they aren’t what we had hoped for.” Immediately, his heart sank. “The glioblastoma remains more or less at the same size as it was prior to commencement of treatment. I’m going to recommend putting you through another round of radiation after a rest of a month in order to give your body time to recover, but with that I cannot guarantee that it would work. The dose we gave you already should have impacted the tumour’s size more than it did. It seems we truly did not realise just how aggressive it is. I also want to change your medication to slow the growth, as I can tell by the parameters that your current combination isn’t having the desired effect.”

“That’s because I can’t keep anything down for long enough,” EZ snorted darkly, his hand squeezing Camille’s.  

“Well, if that’s the case, we can look into you perhaps being given the option of injection, this is entirely possible. We can arrange for someone to come out and administer this for you at home, or visit your local doctor’s office. Alternatively, I can recommend a liquid alternative, as I have found they have a higher success rate at absorption much quicker than the pills do. Let’s try that first, actually.”

“So, what does this mean long-term, if another round of radiotherapy does nothing to shrink it? What would his options be next?” Camille asked, feeling her bottom lip quivering at the look on Doctor Ruiz’s face.

“Then lamentably there would be nothing more we could offer. The only thing we could do is make Mr Reyes as comfortable as possible in the time he has left. I’m so sorry.” The rest of the appointment passed by him in a blur, EZ almost feeling as if he’d gone deaf, Camille showing the kind of strength she truly possessed by taking over, answering for him, making notes on her phone.  

“It isn’t over, baby,” she began as soon as they were seated within her car. “Who knows? Another round of treatment could begin to work, she couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t.”

He sniffed, picking at his thumbnail. “She couldn’t guarantee that it would, either.”  

“But you can’t lose hope, EZ. It might...” she began.

“I’m fucking dying, Camille!” he suddenly burst out with, punching her dash. “I’m not going to survive it! If all that radiation did nothing to shrink it successfully then I can’t fucking see how any more is going to, can you?” Inside, he was crumbling, facing the reality that he was thirty-five, and likely to never see his next birthday. Here it was, his ending, and it loomed over him forebodingly, like a buzzard stalking a dying animal as it dragged itself along, using its last strength in a futile attempt to escape it.

There was no escaping his buzzard.

He shut his eyes for a moment, feeling bad that he’d lost his temper, turning to reach for her hand before gazing out of the window. “I’m sorry, I’m just... fuck.”

She nodded, wiping her eyes. “I know, I know. Listen, do you want me to call mom and cancel? I get it, if you’d rather just be alone.” They were scheduled to go right from the appointment to her parents' house for lunch, Marge and John wanting to see him to offer their support in the wake of his news and recommencement of his relationship with their daughter.  

“No, no it’s fine. It’ll be good to see them.” He nearly added ‘while I still can’, but for her sake, swallowed the words. Dark humour upset her, and he knew that while it was him only looking at another six months left to live, Camille was in it, too. His death would break her heart. “I love you. Thanks for being here for me.”  

She leaned into his space, kissing him, her hand cradling his cheek. “Takes more than a brain tumour to get rid of me. It’ll take more with you, too. This isn’t over. I really think you should look into getting some second and third opinions.”

He seemed to tense up then, Camille regretting her gentle pressing. His eyes were warm when he looked at her, though. “I dunno. Is it even worth it?” He spoke again before she could reply, saying that they should get going, or they’d be late.  

When they arrived, he took a few moments, resting his head against her shoulder, Camille stroking his face lovingly, kissing him atop his head. She wanted to tell him it would be okay, that something would rise up and block the path of the fate he’d resigned himself to, but she knew he’d reject such platitudes, so opted instead for silence. Noticing her mother appear at the front door, though, she knew they had to leave the car.

Taking his hand, she kissed his palm, stroking his knuckles. “Come on. Let’s see how well those new anti-nausea meds shape up.”

As she watched them approach, it hit Marge hard in the chest, to see him looking so ill. “Hold it together.” She whispered to herself, yet when she saw him up close, she cracked, her mouth trembling as she tried to hold the sob in, stepping out onto the porch and throwing her arms around him.  

“Oh, Jesus. I thought such awful things about you, but knowing now that you couldn’t help the way you were, oh, my love. I’m so sorry for thinking that of you.” she completely broke down in tears at that point, feeling stupid, crying when it was him going through it, the pain of it all, the treatment, the mental anguish, the uncertainty that he’d even survive it. “I know you lost your mom, and I can never replace her, I know this, I know. But if you want me to be, I’m your mom now, too, honey. I am. I’m here for you.”  

EZ felt like someone had pulled his heartstrings to the very parameters of what they could withstand, hearing that when he was exhausted from treatment, low and aching with the weight of what he’d been told that morning. And there it was, what he needed most. A mother’s love.  

“Thank you. That means more to me than I can ever tell you with just words,” he replied, hugging her tighter, the comfort he felt from her staggering. The hard woman, descended from a man steeped in bloodshed, bullets, misdemeanours, blood on his hands and a code that had ultimately led to his demise, more so than he hoped he would ever understand had embraced him as her own, opened her heart and given him the love he so desperately needed. Camille was his loving girl, but Marge, she was now his surrogate mother. He couldn’t help but think Marisol would be nothing but approving, in lieu of being able to be there herself to offer him the tenderness he so needed.  

“Come on, come inside. I made lunch, but if you’re not hungry, I have Patron. Lots of it.” He laughed softly, kissing her forehead, Marge grasping his hand in hers and leading him inside. There in the hallway, he was equally emotionally touched when he saw John standing there waiting, opening his arms.  

“Son,” he spoke, hugging him, slapping his back softly before one hand moved to gently cradle the back of his head. “We’re gonna get you through this. We will. I heard what Margie said, and I know you already have your dad still here with you, but you got another right here for you, you hear me?”

EZ was so touched, it took everything he had not to cry there in John’s arms, nodding as they parted, not able at that moment to share his bleak news, John touching a soft fist to his jaw. “That tumour ain’t gonna know what’s hit it. You’re a tough kid, you’ll damn show it who’s controlling who. Now, I got a chicken the size of Encino on the barbecue. Come help me get it off in one piece while our ladies mess around with salad and stuff.”  

They all laughed, EZ gripping his arm fondly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, John returning the gesture as they walked out to the backyard, Camille and Marge heading into the kitchen, where the former immediately burst into tears.  

“It isn’t working, mommy,” she sobbed, clutching her mother tightly. “The tumour isn't shrinking, and the medication is only just about working in keeping it from growing. His doctor doesn’t think it’ll even work for much longer, with how aggressive the glioblastoma is.”

“Christ, Camie,” Marge tremored, her arms tightening around her. “So, what’s next? What’s your plan, here? I’m of the opinion that it’s worth getting a second opinion on this. Here, you slice, I’ll mix.”  

Passing her the scallions she’d washed, Marge took a large spoon to the couscous salad, adding diced apricots as Camille began to chop. “It’s something I’ve been looking into, yeah, should the results of today not be what we hoped for, but EZ, he’s starting to lose hope, resigning himself to not surviving it after what Doctor Ruiz told us earlier.”

“Well, I’m not about to badger him about that. Christ, he looks so tired. If you want me to help you research neurologists quietly from the side lines, though, I’m right there. Let’s try and lift him up this afternoon. I know that sounds trite, but fuck, the poor guy needs it. I’ll nudge daddy to go fetch his smoke box, if he partakes?”

“He doesn’t usually, or at least not often at all,” she confirmed, scooping up the sliced scallions and adding them to the bowl. “He has been more of late, though, since it helps him sleep. Mind you, the stuff one of his guys in the club gets could floor a rhino, so sleep is about all it’s good for.” Grabbing a bowl each, they headed outside, Marge discovering that her husband was a step ahead of her, EZ sitting with a joint in his hand, looking very happy.  

“Don’t tell Nes, but your dad’s weed is way better. I feel nicely high, rather than five seconds from unconscious.” John beamed, handing out the plates and cutlery, taking a small puff on the joint before handing it back to EZ.  

“There’s some crazy chronic out there, man. I prefer a mellow high these days. I’ll call my guy, have him hook you up before you leave. You gotta see this dude, EZ. He looks like one of those Duck Dynasty guys, but all in tie dye. It’s like the seventies had a hold of his wardrobe and didn’t let go.” John’s statement was mildly funny, but the way EZ began to laugh, anyone would have thought he’d just been told the world’s funniest joke, Camille looking over at her dad. ‘Thank you’, she mouthed. God knows, her beloved needed his mind taking off what ailed him.  

A few hours after lunch, and he was lying in John’s hammock with Camille, Marge watching the scene as she sat in the shade with her husband, drinking some of his homegrown nettle tea.  

“Hey, what’s all this, my Margie?” he asked softly, moving to wipe her tears on the back of his hand as his wife began to cry softly. “Where’s my tough Jersey girl gone?”

“I’m sorry,” she began, fanning her face as she took a deep breath. “It’s just that sitting here with him this afternoon and seeing how he really is beneath that fucking tumour, oh god, John. He’s the sweetest kid, he’s bright, smart and funny, humble, too. And Christ, how he loves Camie, and now, now he might not survive it. She told me when we were in the kitchen earlier, the treatment isn’t working. The radiotherapy has only partially shrunk it and the medication is only just slowing its growth.”

John sat up a little straighter, combing a hand through his hair as he knitted his fingers through hers. “Well, he can be put through for another round, can’t he?”

“I don’t know, she didn’t say, but mother Mary, the amount of radiation they’ve already pumped through him, and it hasn’t worked? Who’s to say another round will do it. Look at him, he’s so pale and tired. What if they do put him through it again and it knocks him around like that, and it’s for nothing?” she sighed shakily, John rubbing her hand with his thumb.

“Come on, baby. This isn’t you. Where’s my fighting girl at, huh? We gotta be strong for Camille, she’s gonna need us while she gets him through this. There’s gotta be another way. There just has to be. He’s too young to die. Ain’t his time yet.” John vouched, sighing softly and picking up his phone, beginning to do a little research, moving to Marge’s side so they could look together.  

While they did that, EZ lay back in the shade, feeling comforted for his girl in his arms, a belly full of chicken and fresh vegetables he’d managed to keep down thanks to his new anti-nausea drugs, and his love lying against his chest.  

“I think I might nap for a while,” he spoke, stroking her hair, Camille looking up at him, stroking his chest as she idly let his pendant chain snake over her fingers.

“Yeah, good idea. Mom and dad always make the kind of lunches that need sleeping off, add that to you being stoned out of your tree and I can’t say I blame you.” She kissed his cheek as he chuckled softly, both of them settling down, Camille more snoozing than anything as the soft breeze fluttered over them, the hammock swaying gently, while EZ fell into a much deeper sleep.  

Looking all around him, he knew he was dreaming, suddenly going from being in John and Marge’s back garden to walking through the lounge at his dad’s home, hearing a familiar humming coming from the kitchen. Walking through the doorway, he had it confirmed.

“Mijo, I’ve been waiting for you! Is Angel with you? He’s always late, that boy.”

“No, mom,” he spoke, feeling his throat tighten. “I think he’s on his way, though.” God, how he missed her. All the way through his prison sentence, grieving her, unable to attend her funeral, he’d fallen asleep every night hoping, praying that she would visit him in his dreams. She never had, but now, when he really needed her, there she was.  

“Okay, well call him if he isn’t here in ten. Here, eat, eat!” Furnishing him with a bowl, he looked down to see his favourite. He often tried to make huevos rancheros for himself, but it never quite tasted the same as his mom’s.  

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” he began, pushing the dish away, Marisol coming to take a seat in front of him.  

“I know, my love. I know. I have answers to your questions, too. Well, just one.” Reaching for his hand, she leaned forward in her seat, everything so real, he could even smell her perfume, the faint scent of bluebells fluttering under his nose. “Seattle, Ezekiel.”

He frowned in confusion. “Seattle?”

“Yes.” She confirmed her statement with a nod. “Your answer is in Seattle.”

Before he got chance to ask anything else of her, what on earth she meant when she’d referenced Washington state’s largest city, his eyes fluttered open and he was back in the hammock, looking down at where Camille snored softly on his chest.  

“Little piglet.” he whispered fondly, kissing her hair. They stayed until the early evening, EZ glad to be feeling well enough to stop for a light dinner on the way home, pleased that the new medication meant he could have a little normalcy returned to him, able to partake in something he’d never take for granted again, the basic act of taking his girlfriend out for a few hours, without worrying that he’d spend most of his time in the bathroom.  

He also mentioned his dream to her, Camille thinking it lovely that Marisol had appeared to him like that, although she had absolutely no clue what on earth the significance of Seattle meant, both of them chalking it up to the randomness of dreams.  

He had a great time, being able to enjoy the simple things, sitting talking with her while having a couple of beers, until the tiredness got to him, going straight to bed as soon as they arrived back at his place, Camille sitting up, watching the TV on low, Sally curled up in her lap.  

It was as the second episode on a documentary about unsolved mystery disappearances was beginning that she received an email from her dad, Camille smiling fondly as she read it.  

‘Hey kid, great to see you and EZ today. Listen, while you guys were napping earlier, mommy and I sat and did a little digging. Below is a list of all the top neurosurgeons in the country. We think it might be worth reaching out, see if any of them feels any differently about EZ’s case. You never know. Love you x.’

Scanning the list, she began to look through each, but it was one above all who caught her eye significantly, Camille sitting up as she read up on the surgeon. It was not her accolades – and there were many, the doctor extremely accomplished in her field – that caught her eye most, though. It was her location. 

Doctor Amelia Shepherd, head of neurosurgery. Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital, Seattle, Washington.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Fifteen.

I wanted to update this yesterday, but I had to go into hospital to be checked over (don’t worry, I’m fine, just tired as I was there until 12:30am) so here, apologies for it being a little late! Again, 40 notes to unlock the next chapter. Don’t let me down!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen

Words - 3,506 

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Sit, good girl. Spin, good girl! Alright, speak. Yeah, you’re smart as hell. Give paw, yes! Here you go.” Sitting in the afternoon sun two weeks on from his diagnosis, EZ enjoyed the simple pleasure of going through Sally’s tricks repertoire with her, feeding her little mouthfuls of chicken as a reward. With his medication now coursing through his system, he felt clearer headed than he had in a long time, the darkness within him caged off, the beast placated, no longer running rampant through his brain. Gone. All gone.  

Well, except for the dark passenger that remained. The dark passenger he hoped his impending radiotherapy treatment would be successful in shrinking enough for it to be removed via surgery, EZ fresh from his early afternoon appointment with Doctor Ruiz, his oncologist. She was very confident that an aggressive schedule of radiotherapy would see results, but had warned him that because of the fact they were upping the dosage of radiation to as high as safely possible in an attempt to thwart the tumour’s size and progress along with the drugs, he was likely going to feel like hell.  

The course would last for six weeks, his treatments every day for five out of seven days. Because of the fact that he was likely going to succumb to the side effects, and also was forbidden from riding or driving while going through his treatments, he’d put control of the club into Bishop’s capable hands for the duration, his VP vouching that he would run things smoothly, and all he had to concentrate on was getting better.  

Now that he’d actually decided to do so, now that he realised his life was worth fighting for.

That fight, it was less for himself and more for the family who had pleaded with him to reconsider, seeing his father moved to tears, telling him that he couldn’t bury his son, Angel and Bella also tearfully speaking of their love for him, and unwillingness to let him resign himself to something that wasn’t set in stone. Also, the little slither of optimism that if he lived, he could begin putting the wrong things right that he’d had come to him while he was in the hospital was a voice that had eventually grown so loud, he couldn’t ignore it. Dying wasn’t an option at this point.  

Still, though, he was set in his stance over one person in particular, which was a conversation he found himself having with his sister-in-law, watching her pull up in the yard, Sally wiggling with excitement over her arrival, making happy chirruping noises of delight once she saw Bella climb from her car.  

“Go get her!” Letting go of her collar, Sally hurtled over, Bella cooing ‘my sweet baby!’ while bending to lovingly stroke her face and ears. “How the hell you drive in those heels, I’ll never know.”

Bella looked at her feet and back at him. “Natural bloody talent.” Reaching him, she leaned to kiss his cheek, EZ returning the gesture before she sat down at his side. “How’d your appointment go?”

“Not bad,” he said with a slight shrug, Sally settling in at his feet. “They’re starting next Monday, if you’re still alright to take me there and run me back again? I realise you’re busy with writing, so if you can’t then don’t stress, I can get a cab.”

Bella had offered to take him for his treatments, since she had little in the way of physical commitments other than her twice weekly meets with the band to brainstorm and rehearse their new material. “Of course, it’s alright, you daft lump!” She nudged him with affection, stroking his forearm. It was lovely to have the brother-in-law she remembered back again, but Christ, it was at such a cost. “What time do we have to be there?”  

“8am. I know it’s quite early, but at least it gets it out of the way and means you’re free for the rest of the day then.”  

“Oh, your brother is going to be so pissed off. That’s his horny time,” she chuckled, EZ arching an eyebrow.  

“Surely with Angel, that’s any time he has sex on offer?”

Her snort laugh had him smiling in an instant. “Yeah, I suppose that’s true!”

“So, how’s your day been? And shit, how’d you get that? Looks sore.” Pointing to the bruise he could see forming on her inner elbow, he winced a little.  

“I’ve been taking pole dancing classes with Camille. She doesn’t charge me, and I get to do it in an environment where I don’t feel embarrassed by my thoroughbred knees, like I would in a room full of other people, so Amelia and I go to her house twice weekly around her work. She isn’t in today, so we had a morning session and then went for lunch.”

At hearing his ex’s name, his heart jumped sadly in his chest. “How is she?”

Pulling her cigarettes out, Bella lit up before replying. “I ain’t gonna sugar coat it, mate. She’s sad without you.”  

His response had left the tip of his tongue before he could process it, delivered on a soft snort. “She shouldn’t be.”

“Well, she bloody is,” Bella affirmed, trying not to be too abrupt in tone, failing somewhat. At least now she knew she wouldn’t get her head bitten off for it, being able to relax a little and not have to watch what she said, or be cautious of the tone of her delivery, save antagonising him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap, but she’s so in love with you. All she wants is for you to go back to her.”

“Bella, I can’t.” He dropped his head, looking down to where his fingers stroked swirls into Sally’s coat. “I lied to her, I cheated on her, I hit her, and I manipulated her. I know it wasn’t me, but I still did it. I don’t deserve someone as pure and beautiful as she is. I don’t. I’m not worthy of her.”  

Cocking her head until she caught his eye, she rested her hand on his forearm. “Don’t you think that’s for Camille to decide? Tell her your truth, and then let her be the judge of whether she wants to be with you.”  

He saw that there was a certain amount of sense to her words, her reasoning quite fair, but he remained resolute. “Can’t do it. Because if it is a worst-case scenario – and I’m not saying it definitely will be – but if it is, I don’t want to cause her any further pain. She’s too good for it.”

She nodded, but couldn’t help but offer another little nugget over her friend’s current state of mind regarding him. “She’s in pain already, EZ. Being without you.” Seeing her husband turning the corner in approach, she squeezed his shoulder before getting up, meeting Angel halfway with a kiss, while EZ felt like he’d just received a particularly acute punch to the gut. He could have done without hearing that, but held no grudge against Bella for revealing it. Being his family, but also friends with Camille, he could see she was trying to be loyal to them both.

While he sat in quiet contemplation, Angel and Bella headed out for lunch together, the topic of discussion eventually landing on what she and EZ had been speaking of.

“Well, I think he’s insane, having a sweet, gorgeous chick like that still wanting to be with him, but that’s EZ all over. He fucks shit up and then acts like one of those, what do they call them…” Trailing off, he snapped his fingers, frowning with concentration. “Those dudes who like pain inflicted on ‘em.”

“A masochist?” Bella offered, spearing a cherry tomato from her plentiful salad with her fork.

He clicked his fingers again, pointing at her. “Yeah, that’s it. Thank you for being the thinking part of my brain when it’s being slow-moving, my darling.”

“Hey, that’s my husband you’re bad mouthing,” she spoke through a mouthful of tomato and spinach.

“I know I ain’t the sharpest knife in the damned drawer at times, B. Besides, nobody has it all, and I got the gorgeous face, the hot body and the hella big dick, so I ain’t too pressed.”

She snorted on giggle, winking and sipping her wine. “Yes, you absolutely do, big sexy. I’m adamant in my stance that you’re smarter than you think.” Leaning across the table, she gave him a kiss, stealing one of his fries and receiving a slapped hand for it, Angel muttering something about her never ordering them as a side but always happy to steal his. “Anyway, we were talking about EZ and Camille.”

“We were,” he began, glaring when she stole another fry. “God damnit, woman! Quit it!”

“What? It was only two!”

Catching the eye of a passing server, he beckoned her over. “Can we get a side of fries here, please? Before I take my wife and throw her into that little fountain you guys have out front.”  

The server looked entertained, Bella poking her tongue out at Angel. “Sure, sir. Regular or truffe?”

“Ooooh! Truffle, please!” she confirmed, Angel exclaiming in annoyance further.

“And now I can’t steal any back because truffle tastes like burned plastic!”

She giggled, sipping her drink again. “So, back to EZ and Camille. I think he’s mental too, to be fair. I mean I get that he’s going through a hell of a lot, I honestly do, but having her there for him, supporting him while he goes through it, I can’t see why he’d turn that down, why – as you put it – he's being somewhat masochistic about it all and punishing himself for something he couldn’t help.”

“Because he thinks it’d be selfish, and he’s been like that enough towards her as it is.”  

Bella pursed her lips a little, nodding slowly. “Yep, you’re right. Thinking on it, that’s exactly what he’s doing. I wish he wasn’t, though. For his sake and hers.”  

Angel shrugged, resting his hand atop hers. “No matter how crazy we think he is, I guess we just gotta respect what he wants. Even though he’s hella wrong.”  

The four days between then and EZ’s treatment beginning seemed to pass by in a blur, until the night before was upon him, EZ taking Sally for a two hour walk before returning to an empty clubhouse, figuring the guys likely thought he needed the peace and quiet of his own company, leaving the space vacant.  

The truth was, he was looking for any distraction he could. He was nervous. Who wouldn’t be at the prospect of having something that - in greater, less contained doses, of course - killed people, burning their skin and internal organs, and left entire cities poisoned and inhabitable when unstably released into the atmosphere.  

And it was being beamed into his brain, almost every day, for a month and a half.  

“So long as it shrinks the fucking thing, I suppose.” he muttered while scrolling through the menu of the local pizza shop, before remembering that his buddy Horace had recently branched out into deliveries. Oxtail, rice and peas and hard food it was. With a side of festival. He was starving. It was surprising he had an appetite at all, but then reasoned he hadn’t for most of the day, only fuelled by coffee and the few swigs of apple juice he’d had, plus a handful of almonds.  

“Might as well eat while you still feel like doing that.” Loss of appetite had been noted as one of the possible side effects, and if not that, then he knew the most common, the nausea and vomiting would likely mean that sustenance would fall to the bottom of his priorities list. Well, at least it wouldn’t hit him at once. Doctor Ruiz had advised it would likely begin to affect him after the second or third week.  

When the morning came, he was remarkably calm, leaving Sally sleeping on his bed and heading outside the yard to meet Bella, who was a few minutes early. Getting the first treatment over and done with was the easy part, he found, the nurses all lovely, the radiographer absolutely hilarious, setting him at ease with his infectious laugh and similar humour.  

“So, you got your music for me?” he asked, EZ pulling his cell out. He was told that he could make a playlist that the radiography team could play while he was undergoing treatment, Doctor DiMarco taking his phone from him and snort laughing at the name of the folder.  

“Chernobyl tunes,” he hissed. “Oh my lord, you’re a funny one, Ezekiel. Okay, you just lie there and get comfortable, a nurse will be in shortly with the mask you’ll have to wear for the duration of the treatment to keep your head nice and still, and off we go, my friend.”

Lying back on the table, EZ felt quite composed, giving the nurse a big smile when she came in, fitting him with the netted looking mask, EZ still being able to see through the thousands of tiny holes within it, being told that the treatment would begin momentarily before she left the room. Hearing the opening bars of the song Protection by Massive Attack filtering through the speakers, EZ closed his eyes as the machine above him began to hum.  

He’d chosen that song because prior to his relationship with Camille, he’d never heard of the band, but spent many evenings lying in her bed listening to them as they talked, EZ now wishing with everything he had that those moments had been more genuine from his perspective. She truly was wonderful.  

A few more minutes passed as he continued to think of her, a realisation hitting him; those moments, even steeped in the fact they’d come from a dark place, they must have been more genuine, for him to be sitting there drawing comfort from them now, remembering lying with his head in her lap as she’d stroked his hair, laughing at something he’d said, listening intently to him, being her wonderful, beautiful self.  

Maybe it was why it hurt so damned much now he had chosen to be without her, because while his intent hadn’t always been genuine, his love for her very much had been.  

Now he could separate between his true self and the changes that were because of his dark passenger, it made it worse in a way for him, to know just what it had demanded of him. If he could press a knife into his own head and cut the damned thing out himself, he would. He’d bleed rivers of blood for it to be gone, for it never have hampered him in the first place, to have never hurt Camille as badly as he had. It was a regret he knew he’d live with for a long time, or at least until he got over her, what he’d done to her, too. He was still emphatic about them not getting back together.  

The first two weeks of his treatment went by smoothly, everything fine until he hit the tail end of the third, the fatigue suddenly smacking into him like an out-of-control truck.

“EZ?” A hand gently shook his shoulder, waking him with a start. Turning, he saw Bishop, casting his eyes upwards as they sat together in the clubhouse. “Go to bed, hermano. You need rest.”  

He nodded, getting up and stretching, Biship giving his arm a supportive squeeze. “We got everything handled, don’t worry.” They’d been having an informal chat about how things currently lay with their endeavours, EZ trying hard to remain awake, and failing miserably. He trudged upstairs, stripping down to his boxers and flopping onto the bed, asleep within moments. He managed three hours, until the churning in his stomach awoke him, running to the bathroom to expel the contents into the toilet bowl.  

It was like that for the rest of the night, turning him into a zombie with a raging headache by morning.  

“It isn’t like it could hit me in waves, oh, fuck no. It had to all come at once, like bam, let’s fuck him up,” he complained mildly with laughter as he sat with Nestor the next morning, just him and a few of the girls who worked the bar there, the latter taking in the alcohol delivery, while he and the former drank coffee at a table.  

Nestor raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. “I’m surprised you’re even out of bed, jeffe. I’d be burrowed in my pit if I were going through all of this.”  

He shrugged lightly, scratching his jaw. “Eh, I might go back up in a minute. I... I...” Suddenly, he felt strange, like something was slipping from him, his vision blurring, the last thing he was aware of being Nestor racing out of his seat, catching him as he toppled from his chair. Dark... strange sounds, Nestor’s voice... the taste of blood...  

“Hey, you back with me?” He attempted to focus, Nestor gently pulling his hand from beneath his head. “Seizure.”  

He’d been told he might suffer those more too, the pressure from the swelling upon his brain upping the risk, especially since he’d begun having them as a result of the tumour prior to the treatment beginning. He guessed he needed to let his doctor know, so they could up the medication he was on to prevent them. His oncologist had warned that they might need to re-examine the dosage, should the seizures begin again during the radiotherapy course.  

“Yeah, yeah I am,” he confirmed, rubbing his eyes, still feeling a little dazed, the side of his tongue sore, realising he’d bitten it in the throes of the convulsions. “Thanks for catching me.”

Nestor helped him to his feet, bracing a hand between his shoulders. “No problem.” He went back up to bed shortly after, managing to get a little more sleep, until the nausea awoke him. It was like that for another week, EZ worsening the further he went into his therapy, his anti-nausea meds only actually working if he could keep them down long enough for them to get into his system. More often than not, he couldn’t.  

Week four was agony, his headaches chronic, his mood low and irritable, being left alone for the most part, only his brother coming to regularly check on him, sleeping on the sofa some nights when he was really bad, just so he had someone there with him. Along with not being able to keep the anti-nausea drugs down, the same went for the whole other barrage of pills he had to swallow, including the drugs which assisted with controlling his seizures, Angel terrified he might collapse and hurt himself, swallow his tongue, anything.  

Eventually, he managed to map his sickness, knowing that early morning was a good time to be able to keep something in, so taking the pills he could on an empty stomach. The doses he took later in the day after food, though, when his nausea was rampant, usually didn’t last long enough to take effect. He was tired, he was sick to his stomach, his head continuously pounded in pain, he ran on little sleep, and everything was just too much.  

“Hey, oh, love. You look so poorly,” Bella cooed softly, stroking his shaven head as she sat down on his bed, EZ curled into a ball, feeling like death. Once the radiation had affected his hair, meaning it had begun to fall out in patches, he’d decided to do away with it completely, shaving his head clean, his facial hair remaining intact save for a little patch beneath his chin. “Is there anything I can do for you, anything you need?” she asked. He looked delirious with exhaustion and pain, yet the word EZ croaked as he lay there was clear as a bell.  

“Camille.”  

He managed to fall asleep with Bella lovingly stroking his head, but when he woke up, it was the hand of another who offered such affection, turning onto his back and opening his eyes to see her there, returned to his side.  

“Hey sleepy,” she whispered, EZ feeling tears pool in his eyes, tears of fatigue, of gratitude, of love, of remorse.  

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, Camille stroking his head, shushing him softly.  

“So am I.” Leaning to him, she kissed his cheek, her scent so comforting, the zesty notes of her perfume mixed with gardenia filling his nose. “I’m sorry you didn’t ask for me sooner, so I could have been here for you. At least I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded weakly, turning to push himself into her arms. “Thank god.”  

There was much, much more he needed to say to her, but at that moment, all he needed, all they both needed, was the comfort of being reunited. Anything else could wait.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Thirteen.

Okay guys, as promised, the next chapter is here! It would have been a few hours sooner, but I had an important nap date with the dog, hahaha! As usual, 40 notes to unlock the next chapter. Don’t let me down! Oh and just in case anyone is late to this, do not read on if you haven’t read chapter eleven yet, or you’ll spoiler yourself!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve

Words - 3,357

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

It was a whirl. The ambulance ride, the fact that EZ had come round but not known what on earth was going on, unable to speak, his pupils blown, his nose continuing to bleed, a second seizure, Camille going out of her mind with worry as the medics worked on him, asking her questions she had few answers to, wheeling him away at speed once they arrived at the hospital.  

She was left standing in the entrance to the ER, shaking like a leaf after they’d taken him to get him assessed and stable, being told someone would be with her once that had happened. She felt lost in it all, standing there alone, a nurse asking her to move out of the way as another ambulance came in, sitting down on a bench outside. It seemed like hours before her mom arrived at her side, having asked what hospital they were taking him to, of course wanting to be there for her daughter, despite what she felt for her boyfriend.  

“Hey chickadee, you alright?” she asked softly, seating herself beside her.  

“I, I don’t know. That’s never happened to him before, and he’s never mentioned having epilepsy either,” she spoke, her voice quiet and bewildered.  

“Perhaps he was embarrassed? Some people might see it as weakness, you never know. What I do know is that the kind of verbal fracas we got into can be triggering for people who do suffer from epilepsy, and maybe that’s it, or he didn’t take his meds?” Marge suggested, still feeling the edges of her temper smouldering after what had gone down at the table.  

She knew there was a time and a place, though, and right now was not the time to voice that her daughter shouldn’t exert an ounce of worry over the scumbag who’d just been stretchered into the ER. As much as she hated it, Camille loved him. She knew she had to respect her stance there.  

Camille leaned into her, Marge wrapping a comforting arm around her, like a mother bird taking her baby beneath her wing. “Maybe, hopefully. Because if it isn’t, then what the hell is going on with him, that an otherwise healthy thirty-five-year-old man just drops down and succumbs to a horrific seizure? He hit his head so hard too, when he crashed down. And he had another seizure in the ambulance. Oh god, what if he doesn’t wake up?”  

The words no great loss came to Marge, but she bit her tongue. “Hey, don’t think like that. He’s in the best place he can be. Just think positive, alright?”  

They shared silence for a while, Marge stroking her arm as she hugged her tightly, Camille going between teary and anxious, getting up to pace, sitting down again.  

“Shit, I need to call his brother. Well, his sister-in-law, as I don’t have Angel’s number.” Going to her bag, she pulled her phone out, scrolling through and hitting Bella’s name with her thumb, her shaky hand meaning it took three attempts. “Hey, Bella? No, no I’m not alright. I’m at the hospital, it’s EZ. He collapsed and had a seizure. We’re at St Michael’s... okay, I’ll see you soon.”  

Camille went in and out of the hospital a few times, asking for news, being told that they knew nothing and couldn’t tell her anyway since she wasn’t a family member, Marge attempting to reason that she was his girlfriend and as good as, always there to back her daughter. After half an hour, though, a cab pulled up, a very tall, dark-haired man and a gorgeous young woman exiting, the latter running straight to Camille and throwing her arms around her.  

“Hey, I’m Angel. EZ’s brother,” he greeted her with, offering his hand and leaning to kiss his cheek. “You Camille’s mom? You got the exact same eyes.”

“Yeah, Angel. I’m Marge. It’s a pity we’re meeting like this, but what can you do?” Instantly, the vibe she got from him was entirely different to that of his brother.  

“I hear you. Look, imma go inside, see if they know anything,” he spoke, greeting Camille warmly, hugging her tightly and kissing her head a few times.  

“They won’t tell me anything,” she sniffed, drying her eyes.  

“Alright, don’t worry.” He went in, leaving the women to sit down, Bella reaching around Camille to introduce herself.

“Hi, I’m Bella, Angel’s wife.”

“My god, you’re a baby!” Marge couldn’t help but blurt out, shaking herself quickly. “I’m sorry, it’s just you’re so fresh faced, and much younger than your husband. I apologise, I didn’t mean to sound like I’m judging.”

Bella waved her hand, shaking her head with a little smile. “I’m used to it. Angel is twenty years older than I.” A few minutes passed before Angel came back out, Camille looking expectant.  

“Well, they got him stable, but they’re worried about how hard he hit his head when he fell down, so they’ve stitched him up and are taking him for a scan, he’s having issues focusing and shit and he ain’t quite with it, so they wanna make sure his brain ain’t swollen. It’ll take a while, they told me, so we’re in for a wait,” he spoke, pulling out his cigarettes and lighting up before offering the pack forth to Bella. “Marge, you smoke?”

“No, honey. I quit those things twenty years ago and never looked back. Feel free to blow a little in my direction, though. Take the edge off.”  

He smiled, winking. Charm existed in shades in the Reyes brothers, she noted. Also, she noticed something else when he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, a tattoo there upon his forearm. He was one, too, a Mayan. The family was entrenched in this world, a world similar to the one she’d gotten away from, left behind her back on the east coast. She’d done it so mainly her eventual children wouldn’t be tempted to enter it, should any of them wish to follow in the infamous footsteps of her father, and now here was her eldest daughter, surrounded by it.  

It wasn’t the mafia, but by god, it was close.

She was becoming lost in her thoughts when Camille’s soft voice roused her. “Mommy, you can head home if you like. I know you’ve got to be up early for work. I’m fine here with Angel and Bella.”

Despite her concerns, Marge felt confident that she would be just that. “Alright, chickadee. You call me if you need me. Call me anyway, let me know how he is.” Truly, Marge didn’t give a rat's ass how the complete asshole currently being scanned was, but she made nice for appearances sake. Leaving her with her friends, she sighed, hoping that her daughter would come to her senses soon enough over EZ, but realising as a grown woman, she had to let her find her way out of it in her own time, learn from her mistakes, and she couldn’t interfere in that.  

It was Camille’s life, not hers. All she could do was advise from the side lines and be there in the wake of what she knew would be everything coming crashing down. She just had to hope that the inevitable crash wouldn’t include her baby getting herself into any further danger. Turning back, she witnessed Angel crouching before her, wrapping her in a hug, Bella cuddled up at her side, stroking her hair. They seemed like good people, and for that she was thankful in a situation that caused her nothing but ill ease.  

Going inside, the three sat in the waiting room for what felt like hours, waiting, waiting. Meanwhile, a much more lucid EZ was sitting up in a bed, the doctor with him, checking him over again, glad to see that he was a little more focused, the medication administered assisting with his equilibrium becoming more balanced.  

“Okay, Mr Reyes. I have the results of your scans,” he began, his face giving nothing away as he put the x ray up over the light box, pointing with his pen. “We went in there to assess any possible swelling from your fall, but what we found was something altogether much more disturbing, and the likely cause of your seizure. If you see here, this white mass upon your frontal lobe. You have a brain tumour. I take it that this was something you weren’t already aware of, from the information your girlfriend was able to provide the medics with?”  

Inside, EZ felt as if his guts were being slowly pulled down a drain, a blade edged waste disposal unit, cutting him to shreds as he sank. A brain tumour? He began shaking his head, his face feeling both hot and cold, his entire body tingling unpleasantly. “No. I had no idea.”  

“Was tonight the first seizure you’ve experienced? Have you suffered any headaches, changes in sense and smell, blurred vision?” the doctor went on to ask.  

“Yeah, yeah I’ve had headaches, nosebleeds too. Also, I haven’t been myself for a while, I’ve been acting out of character, sometimes aware of it and sometimes not. Or rather, I’ve been able to control it at times and others, I haven’t,” he explained quietly, the gravitas of it hitting him again and again, like a bomb that kept on exploding.  

The doctor nodded knowingly. “Personality changes are a very common indicator, nosebleeds not so much, but certainly for some types of tumours, they can be.”

“Is it malignant?” he asked, the sudden horror over whether that thing growing within him was cancerous or not washing over him like another cold, sharp wave.

“We won’t know until we get the results of your tests, Mr Reyes. Doctor Knight, our head of neurology is in surgery at the moment, but I will send him along once he’s done to speak with you further. Your family have arrived, would you like for me to send them in?”  

He nodded. “Please.” Once the doctor had left, he sat and felt it hit him in waves. A brain tumour. A fucking brain tumour, and from the white mass he’d seen, a sizeable one at that. “At least you know you’re not going crazy now.” he laughed to himself, somewhat darkly. That was what it had been the whole time, his dark passenger, the mass growing upon his brain, changing who he was as it had silently and with deathly stealth, turned him into someone he no longer knew.  

His silence was broken when the door opened to reveal his family and Camille, Bella hovering, explaining that it was only two people allowed in at a time and waving from the doorway, blowing him a kiss.  

“Hey man, how you doing?” Angel asked, him and Camille taking a seat at the bedside, both looking at him expectantly, but with trepidation in their eyes.  

“Not good. They found out what caused the seizure, it’s also the root of the problem over my personality changes as well.” He paused to breathe, having to steel himself to speak the words that would make it all the more real. “I have tumour on my frontal lobe.”  

Camille gasped, covering her mouth with her hand, reaching for his with her other, EZ squeezing her fingers tightly while his brother sat there, utterly stunned.  

“What, like cancer? Is that what it is?” Angel finally asked, unable to believe his ears. He was expecting to go in there and be told that his brother had been diagnosed with epilepsy, not this. Never, ever this.

“They don’t know, not until they get the results back. All I know is that it’s a fucking big tumour, I saw it on the scan results.” It continued to wash over him, cold and prickly, his head a mess. It was a further forty minutes until they were joined by the head of neurology, who brought with him more news that nobody was expecting.

“Good evening, Mr Reyes. I’m Doctor Knight, but please, call me Conrad,” he began, offering his hand to Angel and Camille as well. “Now, I’ve thoroughly viewed your scans and as a result of such, so I know what I’m dealing with, called down to the lab and asked for your test results to be fast tracked. These results show that the tumour is benign but aggressive, known as a glioblastoma, but I’m afraid with that comes the bad news. Personally, I am not confident that surgery would be possible because of the parameters of the tumour, the sheer size of it. It’s roughly the size of a clementine, I estimate, which is a substantial mass, and because of its location I personally deem it inoperable.  

“Now, going forward, we can offer radiotherapy in an attempt to shrink it, but this treatment would be aggressive, with no clear way to know whether it would work or not in decreasing the mass down to a size that I would feel confident in removing via surgery. We can attempt to slow the growth with medication, I also want to prescribe you something to balance out your mood swings, since I see from the notes Doctor Cortez made that you have been under the duress of such changes in personality.  

“I understand that this is a lot to think about, Mr Reyes, so unless you have any questions, I will leave you for now. I want to assess you over the next twenty-four hours, after which I hope to be confident to allow you to be discharged.”  

“If it can’t be shrunk enough to operate, can the drugs control it enough long term? In other words, will I be able to carry on living, or is it eventually going to kill me?” EZ asked, his eyes flitting to Camille, in tears, Angel holding her close.  

“From the aggressive growth that we anticipate has been progressing over a period of around fourteen months, I would sadly say it is doubtful that drugs alone will keep the growth at bay. They will merely slow it,” Doctor Knight explained, thin lipped, hating that he felt there was very little he could do for the young man before him, and what he could, would all be dependent on time, seeing how the tumour reacted to the kind of radiotherapy that in all honestly, would be hellish.

“And if it doesn’t shrink enough for you to be able to operate, and the drugs do nothing to slow the growth, how long do you expect I have?”  

Doctor Knight sighed, scratching his jaw. “I would say six to eight months at best. But I will do everything in my power to prevent that if at all possible, and give you more time if I can.” He left them alone then, the shock of his words absorbed by the three people sitting there, Angel blinking tears down his cheeks, Camille a mess at his side, pulling gently from his embrace to seat herself on the side of the bed, pulling EZ into her arms gently.  

“I don’t know what to say, EZ. Shit, I don’t know what the fuck to say,” Angel spoke quietly, placing a soft grip on his brother’s forearm.  

“Neither do I,” he replied quietly, breathing in Camille’s scent. Out of everyone, she’d known something wasn’t right, refusing to believe that the darkness within him was truly him, and she’d been right, but god, how he wished she’d been wrong.

“I’m gonna go tell Bella what’s going on. I’d call pop, but he’ll be asleep by now, so I dunno, you want me to call him in the morning?” Angel sighed as he rose from his seat, feeling like he’d aged ten years in ten minutes.  

“Yeah, if you could.” Nodding he bent to kiss his brother’s forehead, squeezing Camille’s shoulder and leaving them to it. Looking up at his girlfriend, he stroked her face, his eyes blinking tears down his cheeks. “You knew. You knew all along it wasn’t me, and you were right. And you stuck by me, no matter how awful I was to you. I can’t even begin to thank you for that kind of devotion, Camille.”  

She looked at him softly, stroking his face with her thumbs. “You don’t have to thank me, EZ. You’re my guy, my love, my heart. I’m not going anywhere.”  

His next words to her negated such, though, rocking her to rubble. “Yes, you are. I’m not going to bind you to me, a man who, unless this treatment works, only had six to eight months left. I’ve caused you enough pain over the last six months, and you don’t deserve any of it, and you certainly don’t deserve to shackle yourself to a guy who is likely dying. You heard what the doctor said, this tumour is aggressive, and I don’t think he truly believes the radiation will shrink it, or the drugs will halt its progress, so I’m letting you go.”

She shook her head, her eyes widening. “No, EZ. You don’t have to do that. I can’t abandon you now, not when you need me!” she exclaimed softly, EZ taking her hands in his. “I’m not leaving you.” Her words were emphatic, but so were his. His mind was made up.  

“Then I’m leaving you. I love you too much to drag you to all of this. Go live your life, without me burdening you further.”  

“EZ, please, I,” she began, her voice trembling.

“No. You won’t change my mind. Go.”

“But...”

“I said go, Camille!” he yelled, hating himself for it, but realising he had to. She looked upon him with pleading eyes, but he didn’t soften. He refused to. He would not drag her further into this. “Go.”  

Every fibre of his heart burned with sadness as he watched her slide off the bed and walk quickly from the room, wanting nothing but for her to stay, to feel her love, her comfort, but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to her. She deserved more.  

Hurrying down the hallway, Camille’s eyes were too swimming with tears to see where she was going, knocking into a table, before soft hands reached for her shoulders.  

“Oh, sweetie. Angel just told me. It’s awful, just awful, but not all hope is lost,” Bella stated, pulling her into a hug, her hand stroking her back soothingly.  

“It is for me,” she croaked. “EZ just broke up with me, said he didn’t want to bind me to him further.”  

“What? Oh god, lovely.” She didn’t know what to say, but as her husband approached, she was thankful he had the right words.  

“He don’t mean that, babe. He’s just had the biggest shock of his life since mom died, he’s all mixed up with it, he ain’t thinking clearly. Give him some time, a couple of weeks, let his medication settle in too, and he’ll come back to you. I know he will.” Angel spoke with conviction, resting his hand to the back of her neck, giving it a little squeeze.  

Inside, Camille felt like she had some kind of dark spell taking a hold of her, poisoned by the words of the doctor, and even more so by the words of her now ex-boyfriend. She wasn’t convinced by Angel’s words, but nodded all the same. “I have to hope so, but I won’t hold my breath. B, I’ll see you on Monday as planned, though.”

They plus Amelia were heading out for dinner on that night, Bella surprised that Camille had even remembered in the wake of the shocking news she’d received, compounded by the fact that EZ had swiftly broken up with her. She had no idea how the hell she was even standing up. “Okay, mate. I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you.”

She received a tighter hug, exchanging a cheek kiss with her lovely young friend. “Love you too.” With that, she walked away, her entire body wanting nothing more than to return to EZ’s side, be there for him, comfort him, love him.  

She’d never felt more alone as she walked from that hospital.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Twelve.

Okay besties, because I just know that this is going to make you all like “WTF is happening??” when you get to the end, I am prepared to release the next chapter as soon as I notice this one pass 40 notes, rather than leave you waiting until after the weekend! You want it? You know what to do!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven

Words - 3,988

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Yeah, look at the way you take it, god damned sexy girl. That’s the best cock in the world, isn’t it? Mmm, no one gives it like I do, do they?”

Slow, slow, quick, quick, quick, slow. With a slight hip rotation on the slow, while holding her leg to his chest, head dipped to kiss her ankle, his thumb dragging sparks at her clit.

Yes. EZ Reyes was the fuck the century to Camille, who he was making a continued huge effort with. That effort mostly consisted of keeping her so damned dick drunk and in a permanent state of love bombed that his need for control flew right under her radar. She did, as she had many times before, mistaken these actions for adoration, rather than manipulation. He also continued this by visiting with her family, making friends with her father, who seemed to adore him, Marge a little cooler, EZ planning to charm her into some warmth.  

For that moment, though, it was her daughter who was his sole focus.

“Yes, yes it is! Ahhh, fuck I love you so much, you and that perfect, big cock.” Her words of confirmation had his self-satisfied grin broadening, leaning to kiss her with ember and honey edged passion, panting hard as he felt the edges of himself catching fire against her. “Tell me I’m your baby, tell me you love me.”

“You’re my baby, and fuck, how I fucking love you.” His body fell to cover hers then, railing her into the bed, the viscid clench of her cunt tightening on him as she wrapped her legs around his waist, crying out as white-hot pleasure crashed over her, her very bones glimmering, EZ filling her with cum as his own release charged through him like wild horses.  

They lay curled around each other, both sleepy with bliss, pleasure ebbing away slowly, wishing they could just lay there and return to slumber. Unfortunately, with it being a Monday morning, Camille had work to get to, and EZ and appointment with Ramona Sanchez, his therapist, whom he’d been visiting for the last month in order to get a hold on his issues.  

The diminutive psychologist was incredibly proficient at her job, but unfortunately for her, she had no clue that the only thing she was facilitating the help of was EZ being able to somewhat keep his darkness more covert, the techniques she was teaching him for getting a hold on his anger being directly applied to his shadow self, to keep it hidden more cleverly.  

One of the things she was teaching him was how to control his reaction to what had triggered him, and whether the triggering stimulus was truly an accurate assessment of reality. “In these moments where you feel yourself losing control from a reactive point of view, it is imperative that you stand back and question the justness of the reaction. In doing so, a calming place can be achieved, which is what you must focus upon, Ezekiel. Finding the calm means that the anger does not win, and you thus regain your control of the situation. Our goal is, as ever, to supress the urge to choose anger.”

She had also been assisting him in finding the root cause of said anger, which, in his more candid moments, he did find honest interest in getting to the bottom of. Well, truly, he knew why he became so angry, it was triggered by his loss of control in a situation, but understanding why he needed that control in the first place was something he found to be beneficial.

When the darkness within him allowed for it.

While he was doing the whole journey of discovery bit, Camille was on one of her own, too, but hers was to do with outward aesthetics rather than inner workings of the mind, and not her own either.  

“Okay, smile really wide for me,” she spoke, Tallulah doing just that. “And keep smiling even though I know this is going to suck!” In the needle went, her friends smile turning to more of a grimace as the botox was syringed into her smile lines, grumbling and gritting through the pain.  

It had been an appointment Camille had been putting off for three weeks, on account of the fact she didn’t want anyone to see her so up close after the damage she’d been left with in the wake of EZ punching her. The bloodshot eye alone had taken four days to calm down and turn back to white, and the rest she’d hid under heavy makeup, taking time away from both jobs so that she wouldn’t be asked any uncomfortable questions, explaining her absence on a sprained ankle. Very few people knew about the incident, just the guys in the club, Amelia and Bella.  

She intended for it to stay that way as well, because she knew only too well what people like Tallulah and Mai would have to say about it. They’d question her sanity in staying with a man who had displayed controlling behaviour over the course of their five-month relationship, and one who had now turned physically abusive as well. She just had to hope that the incident could be chalked up as singular, because if he did it again, she was gone. Her mind was made up there, but shit, how she did not want that ever to be the decision she had to make, hopelessly in love with him that she was.  

He was trying now, though, really trying. He no longer left her hanging on him for one thing, usually always getting back to her quite quickly if she’d called and he hadn’t answered, making more time to see her, being attentive and present. A lot of it was to bring her back under control, although he did acknowledge that some of it was because he did genuinely love her. But, sadly for Camille, there were some bad habits he had absolutely no intention of putting behind him.  

“Missed me, didn’t you?” he asked, Dina bouncing on his cock, having met her back at the clubhouse after a morning of outlaw endeavours.  

She gave him a smouldering look, leaning down to kiss him with filthy heat. “God, yes. You know I always miss you. I dunno why you have that other girl, you know. You could just be with me. I know you like me better.” Because he could, that’s why he did.  

“I don’t, but nice flex, babe.” He was all sarcasm and ego, because again, he knew he could be. Dina wouldn’t say anything about it, because if she did, he’d stop fucking her.  

“Then why do you keep coming back between my legs, EZ? What is it that I have that she doesn’t? I mean, come on. There has to be something. I know I’m better than her.”

He snorted, hands gripping her hips. “Wanna know why I fuck you? Because you let me, that’s why. You’re a means to an end, that’s it. As for being better? Don't kid yourself. You’ve seen Camille. Do you honestly think you’re anywhere close to being in her league? She’s a knockout, and you’re gutter trash with a decent pussy. That’s it. I mean, I can sit here and bounce you on my cock while insulting you to hell and back, because you won’t stop me. Nobody has dick swinging game like I do.”

He grasped her throat when she went to protest, his eyes darkening, chuckling to himself. “You’re a whore, that’s your job, so shut up and do your job.” She did, and it fed his ego beautifully, EZ getting off on the fact he had complete control over her, his hand grasping her throat tighter, pulling her down so she was level with his face. “And if you ever dare tell her, I’ll make you sorry. You’ll only be sorry once, too.”  

Dina gulped, knowing the connotations very, very clearly. He was president of an MC, after all. He could make her disappear with minimal effort. She felt sick at the way he smiled at her all the way through, frightened by him truly for the first time, of what he could do to her, what he would do to her. As soon as he was finished, she was off him and out of there before he’d even had chance to pull the condom off.  

He could have dictated she didn’t get to leave, but he was bored of her by that point. He’d only needed something warm and convenient to blow his load in, his preferred source of that working until late at the salon and then going out with her mom. He had his own affairs to iron out that evening, him and the guys riding out to deal with some further shit thrown at the by the Sons. Meanwhile, Camille was having a lovely time with her mom.

“So, Candie called me this morning, and I don’t know how abreast you are of the situation, but her professors have all stated she’s on track for her PhD once she’s finished her bachelors. How amazing is that?” Marge revealed with pride, her eldest’s eyes widening.

“She was always the smartest, and I’m so thrilled for her. I really am,” Camille enthused, Marge reaching for her hand with a little frown.

“Hey, now listen,” she began, a gentle hand touched to her cheek. “All three of my kids are smart, you hear? Candiace is the academic, you’re the business brains in money making, and Cody is anything relating to tech. I won’t hear you put yourself behind her, just because you chose a different path. Not on my watch, Camille Teresa Smith.”  

She nodded, but still, her inferiority to her younger sister shone through. “Yeah, but Candie is doing it in the way that makes you and daddy proud. I can’t imagine my route has filled you with quite so much of the same.”  

Marge’s frown deepened. “You stop that right now. True, daddy and I were a little concerned when you began dancing at the club, but I’ll tell you this, my girl. You walk out of that place some nights when the going is good with over a thousand dollars in your back pocket, and for what? Giving a few guys a fantasy, a bit of a tease. You hold the power, and that shows you’re smart.  

“So, you flash ‘em a little T and A, so what? It isn’t forever, you have your dream and you’re working towards that. Also, how many other twenty-five-year-olds out there drive such a gorgeous car and only have twenty years left on their mortgage, huh? Pretty soon, you’ll have your salon as well, then your chain, and you’ll be doing all you’ve ever dreamed of.”

Her mom always had a way with her words, to reassure her when Camille felt a little less than. Marge had seen it in her always, though, the way she automatically felt inferior to others, having issues with her confidence. “Speaking of the club, I have to ask. What does the boyfriend think about you working there? Some guys, they can be a little... unenthusiastic, shall we say.”  

“Well, since that’s where he met me, he’s always known what I do for an extra income and been fine with it,” she began, sipping her drink. “We had a, ah... a heated exchange about it once, but that was more because he was upset that I’d decided to go in on a day I’d booked off to spend with him in order to help Martin out.”  

Sharp as she was, Marge detected it, a tiny little play on her daughter’s face that revealed a lot more than her words did. Whatever that heated exchange had consisted of, it had stayed with her. She knew Camille wasn’t a fighter, though, and hated conflict of any kind, so put it to the back of her mind. For then, at least.  

They’d just finished their desserts when Marge suddenly saw her daughter’s face light up, feeling a presence behind her.

“And how are the most gorgeous women in Santo Padre this evening?” EZ questioned with his usual charm, Marge turning with a smile, making the effort. There was still something she felt from that was off, but she knew she had to be friendly for Camille’s sake.

“If I see them, I’ll ask,” she quipped, welcoming him with a little hug, returning his cheek kiss. “How are you?”  

“Tired. I did plan on going home and getting an early night, but I saw Camille’s car outside and quickly remembered the name of the restaurant she said you guys would be at as I was on my way back, so thought I’d show my face.” Sitting down, he greeted Camille with a kiss, stopping a passing waitress and ordering a round of drinks with her. They eventually moved into the bar area when the restaurant needed the table back, all the while with Camille ignoring her persistently ringing phone, not wanting to be rude.  

“Might be important,” her mom nodded, when it rang for the sixth time.  

Camille still looked bad as she pulled it from her bag, polite to a fault as she was. “It’s Martin. I won’t be long.”  

Marge noticed right away, the change in EZ’s demeanour, his chest widening as it stiffened, watching his girlfriend intently.

“Really? God, that much for just a lap dance? And that’s all I have to do, no schmoozing with the party or anything?” Continuing to listen, she nodded, excusing herself to Martin when EZ pressed a hand to her shoulder.  

“What does he want?”  

“Erm, I’m...”

“Camille? We’ve talked about this before, that guy thinking he can call you up at the last minute and make you drop your plans.” Instantly, Marge saw it, her eyes darting between them. Fear.  

“Martin, I’ll call you back.” she hung up quickly, turning to her boyfriend, taking his hand. “There’s a party in tonight, and one of the guys is a regular, a wealthy one too, asking for me specifically. Marting explained that it was my night off, but he’s adamant that he wants me. He’s offering me five hundred for a private dance. I’ll be in and out of there, so it seems like too much of a good offer to pass up on. Mom, do you mind?”

Marge shook her head. “Not at all, chickadee. Five hundred bucks is five hundred bucks. You’d be a fool to turn down that kind of quick cash.”  

“I mind,” EZ began, his words delivered emphatically. “You can’t just go running when he whistles for you, Camille. You need to set some boundaries on your free time.”  

“But baby, it’ll only be a short time,” she reasoned, EZ not looking pleased at what her stance was appearing to be.

“I had hoped you’d come back to mine tonight.”  

Marge sat back and viewed it, thinking that the guy who had the problem here wasn’t Martin at all. Camille needed to excuse herself to one person. Her. The person she was out with. EZ had only popped by because he’d happened to be passing.  

“Well, I still can. After I’ve called in at the club,” she spoke fairly, trying hard to placate him. “Don’t be mad at me, baby. Hey, come on. Remember what you’ve been discussing with Ramona.”

His glare made Marge stiffen, her body on high alert. “Do not mention that in front of your mother. Don’t, Camille.”  

“Hey, EZ,” she interjected with, wanting to de-escalate the situation. “I don’t know who Ramona is, or what you’ve been discussing with her, but what I do know is that I won’t sit here idly while you’re being so sharp with my daughter. Now, the only person she needs to excuse herself to is me, since I’m the one she had the plans with, plans that we are more or less at the end of now. She can still go over to your place afterwards, so I fail to see why you’re getting pressed about her taking a few minutes out of her evening to go and earn herself a tidy little wedge of cash.”  

That dark glare was then directed right at her. “Stay out of it.”

“No.”  

He raised his eyebrows. “You really, really should, you know.”  

“EZ, freakin’ cool it!” Camille exclaimed, rubbing his arm. “Don’t talk to my mom like that!”

Marge merely leaned forward in her seat. “Is that a threat? I don’t threaten well.”

He gathered himself then, realising the control he craved was slipping. “I apologise, Marge. I just have your daughter’s best interests at heart, but perhaps I overreacted.” He nodded, turning to Camille with a smile. “Go tell him you’ll be there. I can wait a little longer for you to get to my place, it isn’t a big deal. I’m sorry if I made it out to be.”  

She excused herself to go outside and call Martin, the restaurant loudening as a birthday cake was brought out, the huge group of people beginning to sing to the woman sitting with her hands over her face. As soon as Camille was gone, Marge eyed EZ sharply.  

“I appreciate the apology, but what I do not appreciate is you trying to control my daughter like that. She mentioned earlier to me that you’d gotten upset in the past about her being called in at short notice. I don’t understand why you consider that to be a problem. It doesn’t affect you at all,” she stated, not prepared to leave things where they were.  

Marge Smith never let it go, if someone was hostile with her for no reason. Even if they had a reason, she still defended herself if she knew she wasn’t the one in the wrong. In this case, she was defending her daughter, too.  

He paused for a few seconds, feeling the dark wave within him rising. To his credit, he actually did try and supress it. Not hard enough, though. “My reasons are my reasons. Now, I advised you before to stay out of it. That’s what you need to do here.”

She leaned forward in her chair, her blue eyes staring at him unflinchingly. “Or what? You know when I said I don’t threaten well? I don’t scare easily either. Don’t think you can frighten me into submission like you probably do with my daughter.” A little twitch of his eyebrows gave it away. “Oh yes, that’s right. I’m perceptive. I know control when I see it.”

“You don’t know shit. Back down. And believe me, I should frighten you.” His anger was only inflated more by Marge’s entertainment, laughing softly, completely unshaken.  

“Ezekiel, have you ever heard of the Beneventi crime family?” she put to him, her smile widening.

“Of course, I have.”

“Good. It’ll spare me a long explanation, then, as I know Camille won’t have told you, we don’t advertise it. My father, Vincenzo Randazzo, was underboss for that family. You might have heard of him, then again you might not unless you’re a mafia geek. Anyway, I digress. Tragically, I lost him to that world, it’s the reason why I moved out here, to get away from it all after what we think was his murder. Of course, we’ll never know. Mob hits don’t tend to be publicised. All I know is that one day my dad was there, and then he wasn’t. So yeah, I grew up in that life, and believe me, I know scary.  

“Those guys, they’re the real deal, shoot-you-as-soon-as-look-at-you types of mean, cold, Italian American gangsters. You? You’re a thug with a Harley, a semi-automatic on your hip and a real fucking big chip on your shoulder about showing everyone who the boss is. You ain’t no boss, son, if you think trying to control a naïve twenty-five-year-old with a soft heart is how you go about flexing that authority. And threatening me because I stood up for her? Please. Don’t make me laugh.”

He reciprocated her lean, nearing her, his face twisting into a smirk. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, Marge.”

“Incorrect,” she spat quietly, never blinking, never flinching, reaching into her purse beneath the table. “I know exactly who you are, Ezekiel. But you? You have no idea who I am. Wanna know who I am?”  

He scoffed, the gold in his eyes seeming to burn red. “Tell me, other than a bored housewife with a flimsy link to a crime family she ran away from.” That’s the moment he felt the unmistakable press of a gun against his knee.  

“My surname might be Smith now, but buster, I’m Marjorie Randazzo to my very bones, and if you so much as harm a single hair on my daughter’s head, I will find you, and I will finish you. Don’t think I won’t serve serious time for any of my kids, because that’s the kind of mother I am. I’m also my father’s daughter, and you? You’d do very well to remember that.”  

EZ saw it in her eyes, the fact that she had his number, and no, she truly wasn’t afraid. This was somebody he could not control, but Camille? She was different. He was out of his seat without further word, heading outside, making a turning motion with his finger when he saw Camille coming back in.

“EZ, what’s wrong?” He was all agitated vexation; she could see it clearly in the way his jaw muscles flexed and tightened.  

“Your mother just threatened me. I don’t fucking take kindly to anyone poking their nose in my relationship with you, or holding a gun to my knee beneath the table. Go do what you have to do, and I’ll see you back at my place. And tell your mom to keep her goddamned opinions out of our relationship. I fucking apologised, I did right, and she pulls that shit?” Reaching for his face, he wiped a trail of blood from his nose, grumbling to himself. Another stress nosebleed.  

“She what?” Camille yelled, trying to halt him. She knew her mother carried a firearm with her at times, especially in instances like that night where she’d be driving home alone, but honestly, she hadn’t expected her to pull something like that. “EZ, wait.”

“Just go and do what you have to do Camille!” he roared, jogging over to his bike, looking a little shaky on his feet. Just then, her attention was distracted by her mom coming out, her eyes wide and pissed off.  

“That man, Camie? That’s a bad, bad man. I see it in him, and I’m telling you, get away from him now, while you still can.”  

That wasn’t what she did, though. She couldn’t, after turning back to see him suddenly fall to the floor, shaking violently.  

“Oh my god!” She ran as fast as her boots would take her, across the road, dropping to her knees by his side, the horror of seeing him in a full-blown seizure making an Antarctic chill rip right through her. “Mommy! Help me! Call an ambulance!” she screamed, having no clue what to do, stroking his head, remembering somewhere from something that those under the duress of a seizure ran the risk of swallowing their tongue, just about able to turn him onto his side as her mom arrived with her, gently stuffing her jacket under his head while she gave the 911 operator their location.  

“I don’t know if he has epilepsy, but he’s on his side and I just put my jacket under his head,” Marge spoke, looking to Camille.

“He doesn’t, no,” she confirmed, turning back to him. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here, it’s alright.”  

But it wasn’t alright. Before the night was out, they’d all find out just how far from alright it was, too.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Ten.

A big thank you to everyone for your feedback! I’m going to push the boat out a little and say this time, it’s 40 notes to unlock the next chapter, of which you can accumulate with your likes, but most importantly, comments and reblogs. Don’t let me down with the engagement, now!

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine

Words - 3,154

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Hey, Garcie,” Gilly spoke, entering the garage of his home, which he’d converted into a workshop so Amelia could have a place to run her business from and work on her leathercraft items in plenty of space, her hands currently pushing a piece of black suede through her sewing machine. “Listen, I brought Camille back with me, she’s in the lounge. Something, um... something bad went down tonight.”

She ceased her sewing immediately, taking her glasses off and turning in her chair. “Is she okay? What happened?” In her heart, though, she knew. She just knew that whatever it was, it involved EZ.  

“She and EZ got into a fight, and he slugged her. Knocked her out cold.”  

Immediately she gasped, pausing to hug him and kiss his head before exiting her seat at speed.  

“I know I said we shouldn't get involved, but...” he trailed off, Amelia halting.

“You did the right thing.” He knew he had, knowing she shouldn’t be alone, especially since he didn’t trust his president not to turn up at her home and perhaps do something else heinous, where she wouldn’t have anyone there to protect her from such. He’d attempted to get out to her before they’d left, Bishop hauling him back, telling him to ‘get inside and leave her be’ as he’d worded it, stating strongly that he’d done enough.  

“Sweetie?” she spoke softly, Camille emerging from within her hands, her cheek already turning an angry shade of purple. “Oh, love. Come here.” Seating herself beside her, Amelia pulled her into a hug, letting her cry in her arms, stroking her back, Gilly coming back in through the side door and making a motion with his hand that he’d fix them both a drink. Luckily for Camille, his girlfriend was also a fan of rum, going over to the small bar in the corner of the room and grabbing a bottle along with two glasses, and a beer for himself from the mini fridge.  

“I can’t believe he did this,” Amelia began, Camille straightening, thanking Gilly for the drink he slid across the large, glass coffee table towards her, his girlfriend picking hers up and sinking it in one, topping off both their glasses after she watched her friend do the same. “Is this the first time he’s hit you?”  

She nodded, but then made a face that alluded to more, looking a little uncomfortable. Gilly read the room quickly. “I’ll leave you girls to it. I got dragons to slay on Skyrim.”

“Nerd,” Amelia joked, poking out her tongue, chuckling softly when he raised a middle finger. “Love you!”

“You’d better.” Exiting the lounge, he headed into what used to be the dining room, he’d carved out the space as his man cave, giving the girls the privacy he sensed they needed. They both moved further back onto the big, comfy couch, sitting cross legged as they faced one another, Amelia holding her hand.  

“He hasn’t hit me before, but... he, he has scared me by being overly physical,” Camille stated, Amelia nodding. “When we were having sex once, he gripped me around the throat and called me a whore, and I’m not the kind of girl who likes that. I mean yeah, dirty talk and throat holding is great, but he was close to throttling me. I tried to get away from him, but he wouldn’t let me go. As soon as he saw me crying afterwards, though, he was completely different, so apologetic and loving, and I don’t understand it, how he can be so lovely to me one minute, and then... then...”

“Abusive the next,” Amelia finished, sighing, her worst fears confirmed. “Because that’s abuse, Camille. And you shouldn’t have to tolerate it. It isn’t acceptable, no matter how much you love him, or how much he says he loves you.” They were silent for a time, the weight of her words sinking into Camille’s head, the truth she’d been so desperately trying to ignore. “What triggered him tonight, what was it that happened that lead to him hitting you?”

Camille sighed, knocking back her drink, Amelia quick to top up her glass. She was so thankful, to have fallen on her feet with finding such lovely new friends in the shape of her and Bella. She guessed it was easier to confide in them somehow, because they saw it too, they knew of the duality in her boyfriend. They had insight to offer. “I booked tonight off to spend time with him, but my boss called me and asked if I could come in at short notice as he was two girls down, both testing positive for covid. I said I would, but when I revealed that to EZ, he went ballistic.”

“He just turned, and this time it was worse than before. His whole personality, it shifts sometimes, and so rapidly, but tonight it was something else. He started by saying that, oh, I can’t remember exactly now, something about him having to be cool with me going to grind on someone’s lap, and I tried to keep my cool and remind him that it’s exactly how he first met me. He’s never, ever had an issue with the fact I dance and strip, ever, but now I’m thinking he must’ve had something brewing away, and tonight it just exploded.  

“I said to him that he was the only guy it had ever gone further with, and he immediately told me that he didn’t know that for sure, and for all he knew, I could be taking guys out back and fucking them. Then he accused me of doing that with my boss, too! That was it, I was out of there after hearing all of that, but he wouldn’t let me leave. He grabbed me and said he wouldn’t let me go and hoe it up in that place, as he worded it, so I slapped him for it. The next thing I knew, I had a fist in my face.” 

“Oh god,” Amelia exclaimed shakily, running a hand through her hair, the other tightening its clutch on Camille’s. “What the fuck is wrong with him? He was never like this! I’m sorry, babe. I’m so sorry he’s put you through all of this.”  

Camille nodded, sniffing as tears prickled her eyes again. She couldn’t believe it either, feeling like she was a magnet for bad guys, whether they’d always been bad or not. She couldn’t discount it, though, that beneath the considerate, loving boyfriend he was, there was something very, very dark festering within. What she hated more? The fact that all she wanted was to fix him, because she knew, even though she’d only been with him for four months and known him for just under five, this wasn’t him.  

She was shaken and scared after being on the receiving end of his fist, but she wasn’t blind to wondering what the hell was wrong with her in all of this, that her first instinct wasn’t to run as fast as she could in the opposite direction of her abusive boyfriend. True, she had no desire to see him right at that moment in time, but in her mind, she at least wanted to hear what he had to say, to explain it, indefensible as it was. She wanted to get to the bottom of it all with him, because she was emphatic in her stance that it wasn’t truly him.  

Sitting there, she detailed all of these thoughts to Amelia as well, her friend nodding, her face creased with concern. Inside, she felt very frightened, that being knocked out wasn’t enough to make Camille see that if she stayed with him, she remained very much in danger of the same thing happening again. However, she also knew as a grown woman, she couldn’t tell her what to do.

“Look, I can’t sit here and tell you how to live your life, or be governing over the decisions you make, but all I will say is that if you remain with him, it’s gonna set a precedent, it’s gonna tell him that hitting you isn’t the final straw for you. In other words, he’ll know he can do it again and it won’t change anything, you’ll still go back to him.” Biting the corner of her lip with nerves, she had to wonder if she’d said too much, Camille’s face twisting, sighing heavily, sinking her drink in one gulp.  

“Right now, I don’t know what I want, Amelia,” she began, unclipping her mountain of curls and running her fingers through them, setting the clip down on the table. “My better judgement is telling me it can’t continue like this, and I hear what you’re saying, but there’s something I feel so deep down, something that’s yelling at me that this isn’t him. I think he needs help, someone to bring him back to himself, and that someone is me. I know it sounds like wishful thinking and that I’m making excuses for inexcusable behaviour, but I feel it so strongly.”  

It did. It was exactly what it sounded like to Amelia, her concern growing. If being knocked out didn’t frighten her away from him, what on earth was it going to take? While Amelia sat there having no clue how to guide Camille into safer waters, the storm she wanted so desperately to protect her from was being placated by large measures of alcohol, just the two of them remaining in the clubhouse.

Pouring a bourbon, Bishop slid it across the bar, the glass scraping against the wood from the jerky movement it had been passed with. EZ took it, glancing at his VP, his jaw tight and twitching.  

“Thanks.” He knocked it back, the glass snatched away again, anger still cording the muscles in the arms of the man who refilled it, sliding it back once more. “I’m kinda surprised you’re actually sitting here drinking with me, though. I have to say.”

Bishop’s tone was biting, frostier than a Siberian chill. “Oh, I ain’t doing this out of any feelings of brotherhood. I’m doing it to get you so wasted that you’re incapable of getting on your bike and riding off after that poor girl to start round two.” His nostrils flared, sinking his drink and refilling it, a rasped sigh echoing his throat. Bishop Losa had few lines he drew in concrete, ones that he considered too much to ever cross, but striking a woman who had done absolutely nothing to deserve it was at the very top.

So, she’d slapped him. For what he’d yelled at her, it was the very least he deserved, Bishop thought. He’d caught the same from his wife in the past, after coming home drunk and calling her a complaining bitch, Julia leaving a sizable handprint upon his cheek. Even near blackout drunk, he’d realised he’d been in the wrong, and very much deserved that ‘come to your senses, you absolute mess’ slap. EZ was sober, and so far, not verbal at all in admitting any wrong.  

“You have a problem,” he began, knowing now was the time to voice it, what everyone had been thinking for months. “And it needs to be addressed. Your behaviour, EZ, it’s spiralling. You’re spiralling, carnan, and if no one pulls you up, pretty soon, ain’t nobody gonna be able to reach you to help you stop spinning.”

EZ bit down on his tongue, suppressing the urge to speak from sarcasm about Bishop stating he wasn’t there for brotherhood, only to offer words that reflected it.  

“What is it?” he spoke, the statement delivered a little gentler than the sharp cut of his words to him so far. “What the fuck is causing you to behave like this, together one moment, only to descend into unhinged, reckless asshole territory the next? You have virtually everyone in your life walking on eggshells around you. It’s like dealing with a mine field with you. Nobody knows where the hell to step, save being blown the fuck up.”

Looking at him, Bishop finally watched some of what he felt on the inside play across his face, EZ closing his eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t know, and if we’re being candid, that’s the truth.”  

Straightening, Bishop topped up their glasses again. “I think we’re way past anything less than total candidness, don’t you?”

“I do.” The words slipped from his mouth on a sigh, sinking his drink, refilling it himself. “Sometimes, I have control of it, other times, I don’t, but I can see myself doing it. Sometimes not in the moment, actually most of the time not in the moment, and it feels soothing when I am, when I’m acting in a way that dictates I have to have a stranglehold on every single aspect of my life. The club, my friendships - or rather what little is left of them - and then of course, Camille. I’m sure I can’t count her now, after what I did to her.”

Finally, he had the good grace to look ashamed.

“You can’t carry on like this, mano,” Bishop stated, lighting a cigarette, the air filling with blue-tinged smoke.  

EZ shifted uncomfortably. “I know.”  

“So, what are you gonna do about it?”

“I don’t know.” And it was the truth. He didn’t have a single clue over how he should begin putting himself back together again, sewing up whatever gaping hole had been torn into his psyche that allowed the free-flowing darkness to keep creeping in and poisoning his entire life. Suddenly, he didn’t feel quite so prepared to discuss it further, simply turning, sliding from the bar stool and heaving himself up the stairs, feeling heavy, his shoulders slumped, his head starting to pound.  

The only thing that could improve upon this was sleep. It was, as he anticipated, completely unattainable, though. His bed felt cold and vast without Camille next to him in it, and he didn’t know how to undo the kind of damage he’d done that would prevent him from feeling her warmth within it again, or even if that was possible at all.  

What was worse? The fact that it wasn’t hitting him as profoundly as it should have. Yes, he knew it was wrong to punch his girlfriend straight in the face, even more so to knock her out, but it didn’t cut him deep. He was more irritated by his complete loss of control than he was at the fact he’d hurt someone he loved.  

That was, until he saw her the following day, Gilly arriving with her on the back of his bike so she could collect her car while he was out in the yard, throwing a ball for Sally. Sitting on the steps, he saw the bluish-purple bruise as soon as she took off the helmet, handing it to Gilly and kissing his cheek before she slowly walked towards him. Her steps grew slower, the fear of him palpable, swirling around her, her arms folded as she stopped in front of him, EZ viewing the damage close up.  

“Jesus,” he whispered, dropping his head after seeing it, the darkly bruised, swollen cheekbone, her bloodshot eye, and absolutely no sparkle left. “I’m so sorry, and I know that’s not enough, I know it isn’t. I know I’ve lost you now, because how the hell could you ever still want a fucking monster like me after I did that to your face?”

When he looked back up at her, he had tears streaming down his face, reaching for her, wrapping his arms around her thighs, hugging them tightly. Eventually, Camille rested her hands to his head, her nails trailing his scalp softly, biting her lip before she spoke.  

“Because I know you’re not a monster. I know that underneath whatever it is that causes this, there’s a good guy. Don’t ask me how, but I just know. I feel it. I’ve seen him. He’s the man I’m in love with. If you want me to stay with you, though, you need to get help. Go see a therapist, get to the bottom of your anger issues, because you can’t go on like this any longer, and neither can I. Do something about it, or I’m gone.”

Suddenly, he felt scared, very, very scared, both sides of him. The one that saw the control he had over her slipping, but even more so, the man who was in love with her, and didn’t want to ruin what he had with her when it was good, and then be without her. The thought left him terrified. Looking up at her, he felt icicle cold in the pit of his stomach, Camille stroking his cheek before dropping down to sit astride him, beginning to cry. “Please, please don’t let me down.”

Looking at her, stroking her face gently, her tears wetting his fingertips, he nodded, kissing her forehead. “I’ll try. I will. I don’t want to be like this.”  

And he meant it. For how long, though, neither of them knew. That was the thing about inner darkness; it overshadowed everything, whether the person afflicted by it wanted it to or not. With EZ, he was at about fifty fifty. Unfortunately for them both, the pendulum that was his fragile mental balance would only continue to swing further into the shadows. Luckily in that moment, though, his keel remained even, standing up with her in his arms, carrying her inside, Sally running in after them.

Taking her upstairs, he lay down on his bed, stroking her fondly, telling her the same thing over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”  

“I know you are.” Pushing herself up, she rested her head on her hand, her other stroking his chest. “However, things won’t go back to how they were, at least when they were good, until I see you starting to really try here, not giving in to your anger. Your arms used to be the place I felt safe, untouchable. I don’t any longer, no matter how much I love you.”  

His face crumpled, shifting to prop his head beneath the pillows, both eventually moving so they lay side by side. “I understand that, I do.”  

And he did, he knew it would take time before she trusted him again, he understood that.  

And the darkness? It smiled. Because it knew it held all the cards. The side of EZ that wanted to remain in control of it, though, it tried like hell to fight it. The last little spark of the man he used to be didn’t want it, to be so in tune with his darkness, and that’s what he knew made it so difficult. Dark felt good. Dark felt right, but then again, so did lying there holding Camille, telling her over and over how much he loved her.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Eight.

I’m going to be working all weekend (UGH.. but MONEY!) so I shan’t have chance to update then. Here, have it early, and please do remember to comment and/or reblog! Huge thanks to those of you who do, you are so lovely to me <3

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven

Words - 4,160

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Oh, oh fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Her voice was pinched tightly, her legs pulled back wide, with a very, very thorough mouth right between them, EZ flicking his tongue back and forth over her clit, panting hard against the saturated slick of her folds.  

After taking her out for lunch and drinks as promised, he felt like enjoying something a little sweeter, so had taken her back to his place in order to facilitate it. It was a Sunday and barely anyone was around, and wouldn’t be until later that evening, so he enjoyed the peace of the afternoon by getting to enjoy every last inch of her.  

And lord, what an amazing job he was doing of it. Then again, Camille had never known any other man to be quite as skilled with his tongue as EZ.  

He tipped her into heaven with his mouth, groaning against her folds, tasting the dew of her pussy thoroughly as her hot little hole slicked his eager tongue, dragging steams of that wetness back to her clit to continue circling. His hands travelled her shuddering thighs, his cheeks hollowing to suck upon her, coaxing her winding undoing. Each ardent lick had her ascending further, her hands tight in their grasp upon his thick forearms, softly mewling at the surges of heat that flickered through her fluttering walls.  

Tiny lightning strikes bounced over her as the warm tempest burned, her cries shrill as he ate her to a complete ruin, leaving her a spent, breathless wreck in the middle of the bed, sitting up to slide every inch of his thick, hard cock into her, leaning to kiss her with a long, deep groan.  

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, kissing her, sinking a little deeper into her. “Those blue eyes, I dream of those eyes, you know.”  

And that was the last time he was sweet with her, the tone of the sex they shared changing quite swiftly after a short time, EZ turning her onto her front, railing her savagely from behind.  

“Oh... fucking god damn, you take a pounding so fucking well!” he gritted, spanking her again, fucking her so hard that the bed shook beneath them. “Yeah, you got me soaked in that dripping little cunt, baby. Is that how you like it, huh? Like it when I’m fuckin’ rough with you?”  

“Yes, yes!” she squealed; her ass pounded again by the furiously hard slap of his hand, the other tightening in her hair, yanking her head back hard.  

“Yeah, you do. You like it nasty, my sexy, dirty little whore.” Pulling her up by her hair, he released his grip, his hand clutching at her throat instead, his grasp hard as his sweat-soaked chest slithered against her back. Camille felt something cold run through her at hearing his words, coupled by an action that was maybe a little too rough for her tastes.  

“Please don’t call me a whore, EZ.”  

He groaned in her ear, tongue tickling the lobe. “I’ll fucking call you whatever I like, you understand?” The clutch of his hand at her neck got tighter, making a prickle of fear lick her insides. It was a darkness within him she’d never encountered before, and she didn’t like it one bit. She fought against him, but the harder she struggled, the tighter he squeezed, fucking her voraciously. “You’re mine, Camille. Now, be a good girl and stop fighting it.”  

She did. Against all her better judgement that she’d suddenly found herself in a situation she didn’t like, or wholly consent to, she ceased fighting back. Her brain screamed at her to fight him off, but her body sang a different melody entirely, her arousal still skittering through her, his free hand reaching down to rub at her clit, his mouth kissing the side of her neck, his grasp softened slightly, but not by much. “Yeah, gorgeous girl. Cum for me, let me feel that perfect pussy milk my cock.”  

Her body responded, a soft moan escaping her lips as she came, EZ pushing her back down to the bed, gripping her hips and hammering himself into her as he reached the cloudy bliss of his own undoing, Camille pulling away as soon as he’d stilled within her, moving to the corner of the bed with her head in her hands, her shoulders starting to shake.  

“What’s wrong, mamas?” he asked, moving to sit behind her. Immediately, her whole body stiffened.  

Sniffing through her tears, she tried get her words out evenly, communicate with him that what he’d just done wasn’t acceptable. “You... you scared me. You held my neck way too hard, and you called... me a whore. I don’t mind my neck being grasped, but EZ, you nearly throttled me! And... calling me a whore? That’s what the douchebags at the club call me, the drunks who grab me or treat me in other disrespectful ways! Don’t you ever, ever call me that again!”  

Immediately, he folded his arms around her, stroking her nakedness. “I’m so sorry, baby. I just got caught up in it, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Inside, part of him felt bad, but the darkness wasn’t far from circling around it, annoyed by the fact she’d tried to take control back from him, admonished his actions, and now she had a nerve to make him feel guilty for it. He knew he had to cover his tracks, though, lest lose any further control, taint her opinion of him.  

He began by simply holding her, apologising over and over before lying back with her once she was composed, holding her in his arms. In the days that followed, he continued to show her what she thought was sincerity in apology, being hugely attentive, sending messages, taking her out, surprising her at work, with either gifts or his presence. By the time a week had passed, she was feeling restored once more, which was about the time EZ began to pull back and leave her hanging again.  

As always, though, he did it in a way where she couldn’t be mad at him.  

‘Family stuff, again!’ I’ll call you soon x.’

Truth? No family stuff at all. He was having a good time in bed with two girls he’d picked up.  

‘I’m so sorry. Work has me by the balls, but I’ll have much more time next week. Miss you x.’

Truth? Work was quiet, and his outlawing manageable. He just didn’t want to be too available for her, his need for control greatly soothed by his actions in pulling her close, only to push her away again. What they had, it was all on his terms and timeframe. Of course, because he’d made the effort to sweeten her, Camille took it all gracefully, too, never suspicious, always trusting and accepting. In removing himself from her a little, it always left her wanting him all the more. He knew how to play the game.  

While Camille might not have seen that game, others did.  

“I’m concerned,” Mai began, one very slow evening at the club, eating a sandwich on her break in the dressing room, just her and Tallulah in there. Jerking her head in the direction of Camille’s dressing table, she then pointed to yet another huge bunch of white roses. “It all feels a bit... hmmm, what’s the term?”

“Like he’s love bombing her?” Tallulah offered.

Her nod was rapid, dusting crumbs from her fishnet clad legs. “Yes! That’s it. He showers her with attention and affection, and then she doesn’t see him for like, a week or more, him cancelling on her, not answering his phone, messaging back late. From what she tells us, I’m getting a picture of this EZ fella, and I don’t like it. The final painting is not a good one, Lu.”

Tallulah raised her eyebrows. “I know, babe. I know. He’s gorgeous, charming, engaging. I mean, when he came here a few weeks ago and I met him, he was just everything you’d want in a guy, but I get this sense from him that he isn’t genuine. There’s something rotting beneath the surface, and he does it so covertly that I can’t even call him out to her about it. She complains that she misses him, that she sometimes feels pushed away, but all of his excuses for not seeing her, they’re reasonable, valid. And then he makes up for it triple fold, so she forgets it all again.”  

Resting her sandwich on her legs, Mai sighed, carefully rubbing her eyes so as not to smudge her makeup. “Shall we say anything to her?”  

“I think we should, but shit, where do we even begin?” She raised her hand up, dropping it into her lap, drumming her nails off the can of soda she held in her other. “I think we have to wait until something happens with him and she comes to us about it, rather than let her know what we suspect so far. She’s a grown woman, and I know she can be naïve, but she likely won’t take kindly to the fact we think her boyfriend is controlling.”  

“Sadly, I think you’re right. I still want to punch his teeth out, though.” Mai finished the last mouthful of her sandwich, washing it down with a mouthful of Fanta before reapplying her lipstick, giving herself a few more moments to relax before heading back out to the floor again. While they were worrying, Camille was having a great night, the patrons of the club seemingly having a bit of a blonde fetish, since it was only she and Kellie who appeared to be getting any interest in the way of private dances.  

By the time she finished, she’d walked out of the club with an amazing six hundred and forty dollars in her bag, greeting a waiting EZ with a huge kiss.  

“You look very happy,” he commented, handing her the spare helmet.

“I had a very good night!” she confirmed, kissing him again before pulling it on. “So, where are we heading?”  

“How about we go back to the clubhouse? Everyone is there tonight, so you get to meet all the people you’ve heard about. And I get to introduce my gorgeous girlfriend to them all.”

She looked stunned for a moment. “You’ve never called me your girlfriend before. Your girl, yeah, but never girlfriend.”

He grinned, rubbing the apple of her cheek with his thumb. “Not to your face, I haven’t.”  

Climbing on the bike behind him, Camille saw these as more positive signs that their relationship was heading in the right direction. He’d legitimised her by calling her his girlfriend, and now he was further enforcing that by taking her to meet his friends in the MC. They’d been dating for three months by that point, and finally, she felt like she was being included a little more in his life.

Walking in hand in hand with her, he took her to the bar, first introducing her to Gilly and his girlfriend, Amelia, Bishop and Hank next. Nestor wasn’t currently there (‘he took some chick home about a half hour ago’ Gilly explained) but his brother and Bella were, EZ and Camille heading over to where they sat.  

“So yeah, this is my girlfriend, Camille. Camille, Angel and Bella.”  

“Hi! Oh, you’re so pretty!” Bella announced, standing up. “Are you a hugger, because I am!”  

“Oh, big time. Bring it in!” Camille announced, the women embracing with soft laughter, taking to one another’s energy immediately. “And you’re from London! I can tell by the accent, very unmistakable.”  

“Camille, you just made her day. Not only could you identify her home country, but the exact city she’s from,” Angel began as Bella sat back at his side, resting her hand on his thigh. “Three days ago, she had two women think she was Australian. She’s only just stopped being all mad about it and shit.”  

“Flippin’ silly mares!” Bella snorted.

“Oh god.” Angel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Here we fucking go again!” Looking up, he grinned, putting his arm around her and kissing her cheek. It was the beginning of a number of little displays of affection that showed Camille loud and clear just how in love they were, which was most definitely at odds with the picture EZ had painted of his elder brother, who she could already see seemed to be nothing short of besotted with his wife.  

Much to her joy, EZ seemed to mirror it with her, too, resting his hand on her thigh, being attentive, seeming to open up a lot more and relax as he and Angel shared stories from their childhood. It wasn’t that he had any issues being affectionate with her in public, but in this environment, he seemed a little more relaxed and down to earth. For Camille, it certainly smoothed few of her frayed edges regarding his less than desirable behaviour. Also, she seemed to have made herself a new friend.  

“So, what’s life on the road like?” she asked a time later, sitting outside with Bella, enjoying the cool night breeze. It had been an unbearably hot day from sunrise until sunset. They’d been chatting about her career, Bella playing Camille a few little samples of her music. It wasn’t what she was into, being a fan of mostly soul, motown and hip hop, but she could appreciate the talent possessed by the young Mrs Reyes.  

Bella stretched her legs out, circling her ankles around within the pair of her usual, perilously high heeled boots. “Tough, to put it bluntly. You live out of a bus on junk food, sleep in a tiny bunk and miss all your family and friends for long periods of time. It comes with the territory though, and this is what I wanted to do. At least when I toured over here, I got to see Angel every other week, too. He’d fly out and join me for a couple of days, so I didn’t miss him so much.”

“You two seem very content, I must say,” Camille observed, watching Bella beam.

“We are, we really are. I mean, we can piss one another off sometimes, but we have a bloody fantastic marriage. We always come from a place of honesty with one another, since that was a huge issue for us in the beginning, something I did wrong that ended our relationship for a while. We moved past it, though, and now we’re stronger than ever,” she explained, not going into specific details. “So, how long have you and EZ been dating, then?”

Camille felt a little twist internally, unpleasant and tight that it seemed EZ hadn’t mentioned her to his family. Then again, she reasoned that apart from her mom unexpectedly meeting him recently, she hadn’t been forthcoming in telling hers about him either. Was she just being overly sensitive, she wondered? “About three months now. I met him where I work at The Luna Lounge.”  

“Oh wow, you’re a dancer? That’s awesome. I have two left feet; my dancing consists of comedy jigging around purely to make people laugh!” Bella managed to hide her surprise to hear how long they’d been dating with keen interest to learn her profession, since in the two weeks she’d been home, she’d personally witnessed about three different girls make it upstairs to EZ’s apartment. Maybe they’d only recently become exclusive, maybe they weren’t at all, she didn’t know, so kept schtum.  

“Dancer by night, beautician by day. Nails, tanning, waxing, facial treatments, exfoliation, massaging and most recently, botox and chemical peels. I do the full array of services. It’s why I’m still working at the lap dancing club, actually. I have designs on opening my own salon, so I’m saving up,” she revealed brightly, wanting to show to the obviously very confident and career driven woman at her side that she too had her own aspirations. She did get the sense that Bella wouldn’t have judged her if she didn’t, though, that if all she ever wanted was to twirl a pole for a living, then that would be no cause for judgement.  

“That’s a good ambition to have.  As I understand it, beauty is a lucrative industry to get into if you own. I used to work at a hair salon on a Saturday back when I first moved over here, and the owner had a small chain. She earned some serious bank.” Just then, they were joined by Angel, who sat down behind his wife, Bella leaning back to receive a forehead kiss.  

“I need the two F’s, baby.”

“Ahhh, feeding and fucking?”

He grinned. “Exactly that. Come on, let’s go.” They both hugged her goodbye, telling her it was nice to meet her, Camille heading back inside while they made their way towards Bella’s car.  

“He’s gone upstairs, sweetheart.” Bishop told her, pointing to the staircase at the rear of the room. She thanked him, heading on up, finding EZ scratching his dog behind the ears as she got settled in her bed.  

“Hey, sorry I didn’t wait around. I have a shitty headache, so told Bish to tell you I’d come up here to hide.” Moving to the coffee table, he picked up the fresh rum and coke he’d poured for her before absconding, passing it to her with a smile and a kiss. “I had a great time tonight, introducing you to everyone. I knew you and Bella would get along well, you’re both quite similar.”  

“Yeah, I thought that, too. She’s really nice, I like her.” They moved over to his bed, Camille kicking off her shoes as EZ stripped himself out of his kutte and shirt, flopping down. She took another sip of her drink before placing it down on the nightstand and joining him.

“Mmm, that’s better. Just me and my girl. And quiet.” Turning over, he wrapped her in a hug, stroking her back beneath the little crop top she wore. Before long, he sought out her lips, kissing her with longing, his fingers moving to begin undoing her shorts. Immediately, she froze. He was confused for a moment, before it hit him. The last time she’d been in that bed with him, he’d scared the shit out of her.  

“Why is she still thinking about it? Dumb bitch, I said I was sorry!” This thought didn’t match the words that came out of his mouth, though. “Hey, it’s okay. I promise you right here and now that what happened the last time we were here won’t happen again. You have my word, Camille.”  

“Do I, though?” she blurted, unable to prevent the words from tumbling from her mouth. Despite the fact she’d had a nice night with him, there were nagging doubts in her mind that this time, she just couldn’t make settle. For one thing, it bothered her that EZ had seemed to lie about the state of his family issues, alluding to the fact that Angel was some kind of tearaway husband when in fact, the man she had witnessed truly seemed nothing but perfectly in tune with and doting on his wife.  

Something else that didn’t add up to her either was when Gilly and Amelia had come over to talk before they’d left, hearing the guys speak of how quiet the yard had been of late. She’d felt EZ visibly stiffen at her side, since for weeks he’d been telling her how busy they’d been.  

Another thing was that she perhaps learned more about EZ’s past from the others than she actually had from him, and a lot of it just didn’t seem to match up with the person she knew. Him not being present all of the time, or seeming only to be available to her when he wanted to be was something that bothered her much more than she let on, waving it away, happy to believe his excuses. The thankfulness that she at least got him for some of the time was a frequent statement she told herself, and she knew, she knew it was wrong. It shouldn’t be like that.  

“Of course, you do,” he began, Camille uncharacteristically cutting in.

“Because EZ, I feel like... what we have isn’t real, or at least, it’s only real for a fraction. A fraction of time, a fraction of you. I feel like you’re hiding something from me. What, do you have another girl or something? I just... it’s been three months, and I’m not expecting the romance of the century, I know real life isn’t like that for the most part, not everyone gets the amazing whirlwind that your brother and Bella had, for example, but I just expect a little more consistency from you. I also expect a level of consistency in your behaviour as well, and the last time I was in this, bed, the man who was inside me, I’d never seen him before, and he frightened me, because I don’t know if that’s the real you, or what! I don’t know any more and I’m scared, because I know what I feel for you is very, very real!”  

There it was, her truth, all out on the table. It had taken her by surprise more than anyone that she’d spilled everything within, everything she’d tried to ignore and stuff down, every little fear and worry she’d been only too happy to allow EZ to placate by gifts and declarations of fondness. She knew she needed more, though.  

As for the man himself, he sat feeling the two sides within him at war. The darkness dictated that he immediately take the control back, but the tiny voice of reason that seemed to grow quieter every day, it screamed at him to not ruin it. After Gaby, he thought he couldn’t ever love someone again, that if he was capable of killing her, then what the fuck else would that mean for him going forward, when he was truly rotten to the core. Here he was again, with another sweet girl who had an unsoiled, beautiful soul, and if he didn’t pull himself up and correct all of this, he’d lose her.  

“You don’t need to control her; you don’t need to act this way. What’s wrong with you, why are you doing this? She’s right, she sees what you’re doing to her. Just be real with her.” These words tumbled around in his head, EZ opening his mouth to speak as he sat up, suddenly jumping off the bed, needing space, needing something, the darkness prickled, wanting to pull him under again, needing to feel soothed by the actions that had led to Camille voicing her complaints in the first place.  

Control. Control felt normal, calming. But what if the truth did, too?  

His head burned with the anxiety of duality battling, EZ sniffing, wiping his nose, a trail of crimson slick and shiny upon his finger. A stress nosebleed, he figured, and he was bringing it all on himself. Camille saw it, climbing off the bed and quickly going to the bathroom, pulling some toilet paper from the roll and approaching him, holding it to his nose.  

“Hey, what is it? What’s wrong, EZ? Why do you keep running from me, hmm?”  

Oh god, she was just so beautiful, so pure and light.  

He took a deep breath, dabbing at his nose, the little bleed now ceased. “Because I’m scared, too. Scared I’m going to ruin this before it’s even properly begun. Scared of losing another woman I love to who I’ve become.”

Reaching for his face, she stroked his lightly stubble flecked cheeks, her heart beating out waves of compassion. “I sense very much that there are two Ezekiel Reyes’s, and I’m not sure why that is, but please, please, just show me the kind one, the thoughtful one. Because it’s that one I love.”  

And so, he did. Falling into a kiss, he tightened his arms around her, taking her back to his bed, upon which he gave her the kind of sex that completely erased the previous time from her mind. Loving, attentive, passionate, and rough in the way he knew she could handle, the way that aroused her out of her mind rather than frightening her out of it, telling her all the time the three words he thought were beyond his emotional capability.  

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He meant them, too. Or at least he thought he did, but then if that were true, why, as she slept soundly at his side afterwards, was he tapping out a message on his phone. Why, half an hour later, was he walking around to the rear of the clubhouse, and why, five minutes after that, did he have Dina bent over, piledriving her from behind while the woman he loved was asleep upstairs in his bed?  

Why?  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

The Dark Passenger - Chapter Seven.

Thank you to everyone for your interactions! I have noticed these dwindling of late, though, just 18 notes for the last chapter. Surely we can do better? If not, I might have to bring the unlocking system back and only release a new chapter when the previous one hits a set number of notes.

Previous chapters - One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six

Words - 3,212

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

“Is that a birthmark?”

She thinned her lips, trying not to laugh. “Nope.”

“Sock mark?”

She shook her head, EZ eyeing her ankle again. “Okay, I give in. What is it?”

“Fake tan cling.” The face he pulled had her in soft fits. “I know, I know! It’s shameful, given that I do these professionally. I got a rub from new shoes and then after it had almost healed, I didn’t want to exfoliate and knock the scab, but my tan needed topping up and I don’t do the sunbeds or sunbathing, so yeah. Sorry, that was probably as boring as watching paint dry for you.”

He cocked his head, kissing the side of her foot. “Little bit.”

She gasped, mock aghast. “You’re not supposed to admit it!”  

“Hey, at least I don’t lie!”  

Except he did. All the time to her, Camille having absolutely no idea, either. At least in that moment, though, EZ was actually having a sincerely good time without resorting to any game playing, somewhat wedged in her bath, sat at the opposite end, rubbing her tired feet for her. These moments did happen, where he didn’t feel overwhelmed by the need for control or manipulation, when he just enjoyed Camille for who she was, how he felt when she was with her, and not the hoops he could stealthily make her jump through.  

“Damn, you girls have so much stuff, I swear. What, do you get a product discount at the salon or something?” he remarked, eyes touring the bathroom, especially round the outside of the tub as he began picking things up. “Exfoliating face polish, exfoliating body polish... are they not the same things? Little bits of grit suspended in some kind of perfumed goo?”

“No, they’re different,” she began, taking the face one from him. “This one is finer, because body polish is too harsh for the face, the gritty bits you speak of are smaller, so it’s kinder to the more sensitive skin. This stuff is really, really good though. Here.”

Squeezing some out onto her fingertips, she reached for him, EZ recoiling. “Nope, I don’t need to be buffed, no!” He lifted his chin, resisting as she moved onto her knees between his legs, trying to apply it to his face. “Camille!”  

“Oh, sit still and let me pamper you!” He grunted with begrudging acceptance, scrunching his eyes tightly shut while she massaged the scrub over his face. “I thought you said the stuff for the face was finer?”

“It is,” she hummed, working it along the sides of his nose.

“It’s like being sandblasted!”

“Oh, EZ!” she snort laughed, fingertips working along his jaw. “For someone who has a scar on his abdomen that I suspect came from a bullet, you sure do complain.”  

He grumbled in mild complaint as she picked up a washcloth and began wiping down his face, EZ further crumpling his features. “I’d rather be shot again.”

“So dramatic,” she teased, bobbing her tongue between her teeth, giggling at the dark look he gave her.  

“No, dramatic is my brother,” he stated.

“Does his wife attack him like this too, then?”

“I have no idea, but she waxed his chest once and he screamed so loud, I swear, he nearly blew the clubhouse doors off,” he explained, beginning to laugh. “She’d been shopping with Gilly’s girl, and got these waxed paper things, so they’re sitting there doing their legs, and Angel being Angel said it couldn’t be that painful, so she stuck one on his chest and ripped. He nearly died! Said if she ever came near him with one again, he’d divorce her, and he was sticking with a razor.”  

“Yeah, it can be painful! You should let me do yours some time, though. It lasts longer than shaving,” she offered, EZ raising an eyebrow and shaking his head.  

“Absolutely not. I don’t get much anyway, just a small patch in the centre I shave off when I’m in the shower. I’m not like my brother, if he let his grow he’d look like a Persian rug.” She cracked up at his statement, her giggles escalating.  

“Bit like your balls then, huh?”

“Oh, screw you, Camille! I trim, I’m tidy!”

“What with, a weed whacker?”

He scowled, her giggles escalating. “Now you’re really gonna get it.” He lunged for her, blowing raspberries at the side of her throat as he tickled her beneath the water, water that sloshed out all over the floor as she scream laughed. What began as silly fun quickly gained heat, EZ lifting her from the water, carrying her soaking wet body to her bedroom and throwing her down onto the bed, diving on her with hunger. Pretty quickly, though, she was the one to top him, in a way that had EZ absolutely out of his mind with arousal.  

“You look very content down there, I, ahhh, I have to say,” she purred softly, watching his eyes burn gold in the dim light coming from the many candles she’d paused to light, his tongue dragging through her folds as she grinded herself against it, his hands stroking her thighs as she sat astride his face.  

“I have a mouthful of my favourite thing in the entire world, of course I am.” Her hips gyrated in serpentine, tender, wet folds dragging over his plump lips, his chin, his nose, getting herself off on the angles of his face, just as he wanted, soaking him with her dew. His tongue darted out again, catching her sensitive, swollen clit, her mewl filling the room as she continued to rock back and forth, back and forth.

She whined, and it was the most beautiful sound to him, Camille utterly lost in the tempest of the moment, slow and winding, her nails flexing upon his powerful forearms, his tongue swiping through her folds as she purled forth again, drowning him in the slick gush from her hot, pulsing cunt, like a honey pot dripping into his eager mouth. “Yeah, my gorgeous baby. Get me wet. Fuck, you taste incredible.”

Every word uttered had her pulse throbbing madly, her pleasure ascending, EZ pulling her down closer to him, lifting his chin as she moved back once more, her gaping opening stimulated by the press of it, his tongue pushing within, grunting as he felt her muscles pulse against it. He let her ride it, circling, his nose nudging deliciously at her clit before she slid up once more, shaking, overcome.

“Oh fuck, I’m gonna cum!” she wailed, his lips enveloping her clit and sucking until the lightning struck home, her tingles wild and tempestuous as her pussy melted into his mouth. “Oh my god, that was amazing!” What followed, though, well...

His many inches of thick, hot heaven stroked pure ebullience against her sensitive walls, her dainty fingers clutching at her breasts as he held her thighs apart, fucking her frantically, sexually decimating her insides, giving himself with keenly delivered thrusts. Actually, keen was not a word that could be used to describe the utter pounding Camille was receiving.

What he gave was all-out sexual brutality, the headboard banging against the wall, her body sliding back only for the clutch of his powerful hands to keep hauling her back, anchoring her to him, forcing her to take the brunt of it entirely. And that brunt, nothing could feel better. Nothing did feel better than EZ, fucking her with all the power of a turbo charged jackhammer. Nothing.  

His body was an absolute masterpiece to her lust blown eyes, all thick, tattooed and smooth, covered in a sheen of sweat as he railed her mercilessly into the bed, his thumb beginning to stroke at her hardened clit as the punch of his cock drew lewd noises from within her soaking walls, pleasure crackling through her, the swell skittering through her veins and down to her bones as she wailed helplessly, at the mercy of him entirely.

“Look at you, fuck. You look so fucking beautiful, split around my dick.” he growled, grasping her legs and hauling them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to lay kisses and little bites at her ankle, adding to the teeth marks he’d left over her already, the brandings from a man near out of his mind with carnal fury.

He then slowed, each plunge into her fluttering centre given in all-in, all-out thrusts, teasing her aching core, chuckling at her frustrated little mewls as he panted hard. “EZ, please! Fucking give it to me!” she demanded, nails raking his arms.

“But I am, querida. Just not the way you want it.” he winked, laughing further at her vexation, the circles at her clit rubbed so slowly, lightly and tightly that she almost forgot to breathe, his cock popping out again, pausing, arrowing back to her summit as he groaned, her slick muscles contracting on him tightly. He leaned forward, her knees touching to her chest, bearing his weight down through his pelvis right into the very plush of her, kissing her throat before gently clutching her jaw, turning her head to look at him. “Alright, my little dove. I’ll give it to you.”

And god, how he did, sending Camille to the edges of heaven, the way he arrowed into her without even a hint of control, long, hard, barbarous thrusts delighting her entire body, her screams filling the room as lava began to bubble and pool at the base of her spine, the release set to erupt, his thumb circling at her bud faster.  

His teeth crushed at her neck, whispering a string of cusses as his undoing possessed him, like a demon vying for release, her entire body tensing as with fury, longing and fire, she came undone spectacularly beneath him, seeing stars, breathless and sweaty, and oh so very satisfied. Such was the measure of that satisfaction, they both fell into dreamy slumber soon after, pleased that neither of them had anywhere to be the following morning.  

It was just coming up to 10am when a noise from the front door awoke EZ, his head shooting up, senses on high alert. Camille might have lived in a decent neighbourhood, but you could never be so sure. Pulling his boxers on, he picked up his gun from where he’d left it upon the dresser, toeing the partially ajar bedroom door open and waiting, hearing someone walking down the hallway. He stepped out at speed, gun primed, the air filled with a scream.  

“Oh Jesus Christ!” Marge yelled at suddenly being confronted by a huge, barely dressed, gun toting man, dropping the hessian bag she’d been carrying onto the hallway floor, resting a hand to her chest as she heard a scrambling noise coming from the bedroom. Immediately, EZ lowered his gun.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he began, Marge feeling like she’d just birthed her own spleen. “Camille didn’t tell me you were coming over. You’re Marge, right?”  

“Yes, at least I was until ten seconds ago. I’m now Marge’s ghost. And you are?”

“EZ.” He offered his hand, Marge shaking it just as Camille appeared behind him.  

“Sorry, I should have mentioned that mom sometimes comes over unannounced,” she spoke, kissing his shoulder as she slid past him, EZ nodding before excusing himself to dress. Thank fuck they hadn’t been partaking in anything even remotely similar to what they had prior to falling asleep, or her mother would have gotten a different surprise altogether, one distinctly more embarrassing, too.  

While EZ dressed, Camille ushered her mother into the kitchen, closing the door behind them, Marge setting her bag down before turning back to her daughter, her eyes wide, jerking her head towards the door. “That’s one tall drink of water.”

Switching the coffee machine on and tightening the silky tie of her floral robe, Camille nodded, grinning. “Isn’t he?”  

“And how long have you been with him for? I take it this is new, since mommy here knows nothing of him?”  

“A few months now, but it’s going really well.”

“Alright, and tell me, why does he carry a damned semi-automatic handgun?”  

Marge Smith was nothing if not extremely direct, Camille beginning to feel a little uneasy. “Protection. He lives in the lesser nice area of Santo Padre. Besides, mommy, you carry!”

“Yeah, but I’m five two and stumpy. Women like me get car jacked, I’m a target. He’s no damned target!” They shared laughter there, Marge continuing. “And what in the hell kind of name is EZ?”

Oh, she was on form that morning, the spritely redhead beginning to unload the bag she’d brought with her, freshly baked bagels placed on the counter, a tub of cream cheese following.  

“It’s short for Ezekiel,” Camille informed her, pulling coffee cups from the cupboard.

“I like that, yeah, that’s a good name. Very biblical.” She paused, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “Quite the contradiction, since the body on him is built for nothing but sinning.”

“Mommy!” Her daughter’s cry had her in soft fits, Marge pulling homemade jam and some smoked meats from the bag, her purchases from the farmer’s market that morning up in La Jolla she’d decided to spoil her daughter with.  

“Well!” Taking the package of prosciutto over to the fridge once she’d pulled out a few slices, she playfully smacked Camille’s arm with it, her smile full of menace. “You really gonna tell me you were up playing dominoes all night with him, hmm? I saw the nail marks on his chest, my girl.”

“You are not like other mothers,” she sighed with a smidgen of embarrassment, taking the ground coffee and pouring it into the top of the machine.  

“No, I’m a realist. Always have been. I’ll leave thinking you’re still a sweet little virgin princess who’s saving herself for marriage to daddy,” Marge spoke, picking up the jam jars and placing those in the fridge too, Camille mouthing her thanks for the grocery treats. “You’re welcome, chickadee.” Giving her a hug, she kissed her cheek, humming softly. If Marge Smith lived for anything at all, it was her three children, Camille the eldest at twenty-five, Candiace next at twenty-one, and Corey the youngest at seventeen.

Marge was mid-way through toasting a stack of bagels when a freshly showered EZ walked in, thinking he could be courteous enough to not reek of the fact he’d been banging the woman’s daughter for half the night, since he was set to sit down at a table with her.  

“So, EZ,” she began, handing him a plate with a cream cheese and prosciutto smothered bagel and a smile. “Tell me about yourself.” He did as they sat, of course leaving a lot of details out, Marge spotting it instantly, but also wondering something else much more prevalent.  

“You seem a smart kid, I gotta say it,” she began, EZ looking a little entertained.

“At almost thirty-five, I’m not really a kid any longer,” he snorted softly, his big grin still in place to indicate no offense was either meant or taken.

“I’m fifty-two, so to me, you’re a kid still. Deal with it,” she spoke through her kind smile, EZ noticing just how forthright and direct she was, but friendly with it. Camille was very different to her mother in that respect, much timider. “Anyway, as I was saying, you’re smart. What the hell are you doing working at a scrap metal yard with those brains?”  

Camille noticed him stiffen a little, but wondered what his response would be. He was articulate and bright, it was obvious he’d paid attention at school and likely gone to college, too. She wondered the exact same thing, in all truth.  

“Well, I was on a completely different trajectory. I did two years at med school, training to be a doctor until suffering a traumatic event that resulted in the death of my mom. If it’s okay with you, I don’t mean to shut you down, but I’d like to leave it there.” He had to keep up an image of a somewhat respectable man, he realised, so wasn’t about to reveal that he’d served eight years for killing a police officer in the immediate wake of his mother’s murder.

Marge winced a little, her face full of sympathy. “Oh, I’m so sorry, EZ. That must’ve been awful.” She reached for him, rubbing his forearm affectionately, Camille hugging the top of his other arm from her seat beside him.  

“I didn’t know that. I’m sorry too, baby.” He smiled to indicate it was okay, kissing her head and wrapping his arm around her, Marge touched at how fond he appeared to be of her daughter, who she went on to speak of with pride in the name of changing the subject.  

“You know, some people lose a little of that sweet, childhood softness as they grow, but not my girl here,” Marge began warmly, reaching to stroke Camille’s hand. “I remember when she was four, and we’d gone back home to visit my mom in New Jersey, and there’s this little stream that backs along the rear of the property. Anyway, I’m busy feeding Candie, and suddenly Camie shoots off down the bank before I get chance to grab her, all because she saw a butterfly drowning in the water, so jumped in to save it.  

“There it was, this tiny little creature most wouldn’t have noticed struggling, and Camille spots it right away, covering herself in algae and mud in the process of retrieving it. Then years later when she was eighteen, we were coming back from a big beauty expo up in LA, and she swerved her car over suddenly, jumped out, and actually stopped the traffic in order to rescue a kitten from the middle of the highway. That kitten is now my pain in the ass, fully grown Maine Coon, who hates everyone bar me and this one.”

Marge stayed for another hour regaling him with stories of her daughter before having to leave, explaining that her husband was taking her out for a late afternoon lunch, and she wanted to get back and do ‘a little clean’ as she worded it, Camille knowing no such thing existed in the Smith household.  

It was while EZ had gone out back to take a phone call and Camille was searching through her beauty stash for some sample face masks she’d picked up for her mom that Marge noticed something concerning as she slid her feet back into her comfortable, blue moccasins. Her hand reached out to grasp the leather kutte hanging from the peg in the hallway, recognising the logo on the back. Mayans, California. And Ezekiel wasn’t just any Mayan either, he was the president of their town’s charter.  

It made a slither of fear trickle through her, knowing that beneath the veneer of the polite, smart and charming man she’d met, lay a man who was much more dangerous than he seemed. And her daughter was besotted with him.  

What could she do, though? She was twenty-five, a grown woman, capable of making her own decisions. She just had to hope that EZ wasn’t one she’d come to regret.