#guerl fanfiction

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Eighteen.

A huge thank you to everyone for being such a lovely audience :) I appreciate you more than you know.

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

Words - 3,898

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

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you more with EZ. It’s a shitty position to be in, though, caught between my girl and my club. Especially the fucking president of the club, a guy I have a lotta respect for. I’m not good with it, though, the fact he scared you.”  

Pausing, Guero leaned to her, kissing the side of her neck. “Saying that, though, despite the fact I knew you were scared, you fucking stood your ground. Baby got spicy! Made me real proud.”  

“What can I say?” she mused, her eyebrows rising. “I’d had a couple a’ five beers by the time you guys arrived back. Had a little courage bolstering my spice. He came and apologised though, so we’re good.” Her eyes then found an annoyance that had been bothering her for the past hour, lifting her chin. “That over there in the leather shorts, I’m not so good with.”  

Guero followed her line of vision, receiving a wave and a smile he only acknowledged with a slight nod. “Yeah, that’s Lauryn. She hasn’t been around much, guessed she came with one of the guys from another charter. She um, she tends to get around.”  

Her mouth tightened a fraction, cocking her head a little. “And has she ever gotten around you?”  

He shook his head. “Nope, she don’t do it for me.” Sliding his finger along the dip in her dress, he hooked it, pulling her close. “You’re the one who does it for me.” He kissed her with heat, his hands sliding down to grasp her butt, Emma hoping that his display of affection made Lauryn get the message.  

She wasn’t the jealous type, and she knew he’d been with plenty of the bike bunnies who hung around the club. She’d asked and he’d told her. For the most part, as soon as those girls saw the guys become committed to one woman, they backed off. Lauryn wasn’t one of them.  

“Yup,” Lee burped into her hand, pointing over to where the girl stood with her back to them a short time later. “She made a play for Obispo one time. Fuckin’ cracked her with a pool cue for it. Ain’t got no shame, that one. If she wants a specific dick, doesn’t fuckin’ matter to her if that dick is occupied, she’ll sniff around to see if there’s a chance of swiping it. I don’t do slut shaming, go get your fill is what I say, but not with another woman’s man. That’s low-down behaviour, sick shit, messed up, man.”  

Lauryn then turned, lifting her chin. “Yeah, I’m talking about your trashy ass, homegirl!” Draping an arm around Emma’s shoulders, she fixed her with a look of defiance, the girl turning back to whoever she was talking to. “Absolute fuckin’ shit show.”  

“She seems it, and I am in no fucking mood to deal with that tonight,” Emma stated, Lee softly applauding. 

Guero looked entertained by that statement, his grin wide. “Spicy boo got all the heat tonight!” 

“I fucking have, and she can have it if she tries me.” 

“Yes, sugar! If she continues making eyes at your guy, you need to get over there and set her straight!” Lee roared, hiccupping.  

“Oh god,” a nearby Angel sighed, shaking his head as he walked over. “Tiger is out of the damned cage. First you give my brother a face full of knuckles, and now you’re yelling at everyone.” 

“Not everyone, just her,” Lee chirped, bolting back more of her drink. 

“Bish is gonna gag you before the night is out.” 

Lee grinned widely, giving him a little soft poke in the chest. “Don’t you threaten me with a good time!”  

His head shaking continued, wrapping an arm around her. “Nothin’ but fucking trouble when you’re drunk.” As it happened, it wasn’t Lee’s actions that would lead to trouble that night, the girls heading back inside with a few of the guys to congregate at the bar, Emma going to use the bathroom. When she came back out, it was to a sight that displeased the hell out of her.  

“Told you, I ain’t interested,” she could just about hear Guero state over the roar of Ace of Spades by Motorhead, Lauryn attempted to drape herself around him. He then looked up, catching her eye, stepping back and nodding in her direction as he took as seat at the bar again. “My girl is right there, you need to fucking quit.”  

Her jaw tightened, eyeing her with the kind of venom that she might not have had if she hadn’t been ten beers in. Unfortunately for Lauryn, though, she was, and her give a fuck meter was as unflinching as her anger. 

“Oh, man,” Angel spoke, turning to his side to witness her death glare, cringing slightly. “You gonna give us all a hair pulling chick fight? C’mon, it’ll be awesome!”  

Reaching behind him, she yanked the knife from his belt before he could stop her. “I’ll fucking give you more than that.” Storming around the bar, Lauryn’s look of defiance was met with a hand to her throat, Emma driving her across the space, men all around turning to look as the object of her rage was pinned against the side of the door. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” she yelled, Emma taking the knife and slamming it straight into the wood, an inch from the side of her head. The look of fear that flooded Lauryn’s face was instant. 

"Oh, oh did that scare you?" She exclaimed, sarcasm dripping, yanking the knife from the wood and pressing it against her throat. "Yeah, I'm not what you thought I was, am I?" 

While Lauryn was being held against the side of the doorframe, almost every single pair of eyes within the club watched it happen, Guero sitting there stunned. Well, stunned and... 

"Bro, if this kicks off any further, will you go grab my girl?" he muttered to Bottles. 

Tearing his eyes from the scene, he adjusted his glasses, frowning slightly. "Yeah, but why can't you?" 

Guero shook his head, the corners of his mouth upturning. "Can't even walk right now. My dick is too hard. Damn, that's hot." 

Bottles snorted, almost spraying his beer, Angel leaning in. "No disrespect, dog, but yeah. Mine too." 

While the guys had their quiet moment of exalting how arousing the sight of an angered woman was, the angered woman in question continued making sure her feelings were heard. 

"Listen to me, if you fucking wave your pussy anywhere near my guy again, I swear I will cut that shitty tattoo right off your face. Am I making myself clear, puttana?" 

Lauryn nodded, eyes wide, feeling embarrassment rise in her throat. Still, she swallowed hard and lifted her chin, at least attempting not to look as frightened as she felt at having a sharp knife held to her throat. "Yeah, you are." 

Smirking, Emma lowered the blade. "Good, now get the fuck out of here." Giving her a last, disapproving sweep with her eyes, she finally released the hard grasp that had held her throat, Lauryn gasping as she was let go, moving from the clubhouse rapidly.  

Walking back to Guero, his eyes still like saucers, she handed an equally stunned Angel his knife back. “Thank you, buddy.” She then picked up a shot of tequila and sank it, her eyes flitting between the guys, all stupefied by her display of mettle. “What?” 

“You!” Bottles laughed, reaching to nudge her arm friendlily with a fist. “You and your bad-assery, gone fried up your man’s brain. Look at him! He’s malfunctioned, needs his operating system restarting.”  

She was just about to reply when two arms wrapped around her shoulders, a set of lips pressing into her cheek. “That’s how you fuckin’ do it! Bitch got her shit rocked,” Lee exclaimed. “Proud of ya, sunshine.” 

Guero was still on mute, but the look in his eyes, oh. It spoke many words, all of which Emma understood very clearly. Sinking the rest of his beer, he also downed a shot before sliding off the bar stool and promptly throwing her over his shoulder.  

“Woah, okay!” she giggled, hanging onto the back of his kutte. “Where are we going?” 

He chuckled, low and dirty, his hand pounding off her ass in a hard spank. “To restart my operating system.” He carried her with a dark tide of lust shadowing his insides, through the gate and out into the darkness of the yard, through the piles of abandoned, rusting metal, his eyes scanning from side to side.  

The still partially shiny metal of a large, double doored fridge caught his attention, carrying her to it. Letting her slide from his shoulder, he pinned her against the structure with his chest before she could reach the ground, her legs tightening around him. 

“Damn, baby,” he panted, pulling at his belt buckle, running the tip of his tongue up her neck. “You’re gonna get railed so fucking hard.”  

They kissed with furious hunger, Guero feeling a ravenous desire tumbling over his bones, yanking his jeans undone and pushing them down his thighs, pulling her underwear aside and dropping her onto his cock with a rumbling grunt. He teeth imbedded in her lower lip, tongue rolling against hers as he speared her with deep, rapid thrusts, pulverising her insides, her wail rending the air.  

He was savage with her, a ravenous delight that tumbled through him and into her, the thick drag of his cock filling and emptying her with absolutely nothing short of carnal fury, the remaining shelves within the fridge all beginning to clatter with the force he fucked her against it with. 

“If getting mad at people does this to you, I might have to do it more often,” she panted, crying out as her walls flexed around him, feeling the coil within her tightening. He was just about to tell her how her spicy temper worked like an accelerant upon his desire, when she continued. “Oh, fuck, fuck, that cock is so fucking big! Mmm, yeah, fuck me harder. Fucking split me in two.” 

And oh, how he did after hearing those sinfully dirty words. It roared over them both like a forest fire, the flames of their release scorching their nerves, leaving them both panting and trembling in the wake of such torrid ferocity.  

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she panted, resting her forehead to his as he pulled out and set her back on her feet. “Doubt I’ll be able to walk after that.” 

He chuckled, kissing her hotly. “You did say split you in two, my spicy lil’ boo.” She walked as if she had been as well, Guero laughing to himself as they walked back to continue with the debauchery. They left at close to 4am, getting home via a cab since while not wasted, both were a little unsteady at that point. Stripping off, they let their clothes fall into a heap, throwing themselves into bed and curling up.  

Alcohol was the strong sleeping tonic that pulled them both into slumber, neither Emma’s hissing nor Guero’s brontosaurus snoring hampering it. It was unfortunate that for the former, her sleep was not restful, though.  

She recognised her dream surroundings immediately, the huge, white and oak kitchen, people buzzing around, she and Marie preparing little trays of appetisers for party guests.  

“Here, darling. Make sure that plate stays separate, it’s for my ma,” Marie spoke, pointing at the little blue plate she had prepared a selection of gluten free snacks upon. “Unfortunate, isn't it? An Italian who can’t have gluten! Mother Mary, did you ever hear such a thing?”  

Emma turned to her side, smiling, her eyes prickling as she played out her role in the dream, exactly as it had happened in life. “You’d be a nightmare if you couldn’t have proper bruschetta, mom.” 

Marie nudged her with a soft elbow, chuckling as she sipped her wine. “Me and no bread, can you imagine?”  

Even though just a dream, all Emma wanted to do was throw her arms around her, breathe in the scent of her Guerlain perfume, and tell her how much she missed her. Not having any kind of power over it, though, she found herself acting as she had on that night, Rocco’s fiftieth birthday there at the house, picking up the little blue plate.  

“I’ll go take these out to her, she’s down by the pool.”  

Marie clasped her arm, squeezing softly. “Good girl.”  

Lifting the plate from the crowded island full of Marie’s beautiful, home cooked Italian delights, Emma left through the back door, walking down across the patio, smiling at guests as she passed.  

“Are these for me?” Anna-Lucia greeted her with warmly, Emma proffering the plate forth.  

“Yes, gluten free, just for you.” 

Her smile was kind, taking the plate as she set her martini glass down on the table. “Thank you, love.”  

With a little nod, Emma carried on, making herself of use by beginning to collect all the abandoned plates so she could go and place them into the dishwasher, knowing that if she didn’t, she could expect an earful of abuse or worse from Rocco. While passing through the lower part of the sprawling garden, she noticed that an earful was exactly what somebody was getting from her captor, her eyes scanning until she saw Rocco with a group of his friends, he and another in a heated exchange.  

The man sure had balls, she thought, stepping up to the boss like that, Emma recognising him to be Mario, Rocco’s nephew. The exchange grew in ferociousness, Rocco suddenly lunging at him, clasping his throat and shunting him back against the children’s large, wooden playhouse. He then pulled a knife from his pocket, releasing the blade and plunging it into the wood right at the side of Mario’s head, yanking it out and holding it to his throat.  

She awoke with a start.  

“Mm, s’up, baby? Nightmare?”  

“No,” she sighed, reaching to rub Guero’s forearm, taking a deep breath. “No, it was only a dream, but shit, it spooked me.” It hit her hard, such a realisation, that there within her subconscious lay a memory that her brain had drawn upon earlier in how she’d handled the situation with Lauryn. In wanting to make it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate such behaviour, she’d become the one thing she never wanted to be. Rocco.  

Taking a breath, she leaned forward, resting her forehead to her knees. “What I did to Lauryn tonight, I behaved exactly how Rocco did one time towards his nephew. Mother fucking Mary, it was spot on, my brain must’ve drawn it out of a memory, because I just dreamed of the night I saw it happen. Christ, I’m him. I acted like he does when he’s pissed!”  

“Mamas, no you ain’t. No way are you anything like that motherfucker.” Her boyfriend’s statement was staunch, Emma reaching for the nightstand lamp and switching it on.  

Stretching her arms, she rested her head upon her knees again, hugging them to her chest as he stroked her back. “But what I did was, though! I went straight from his playbook, even called her a puttana, too. He used to call me that. Jesus!”  

It was a hard juxtapose for Guero, since he was by nature a person who, had it been a guy sniffing around Emma, likely would have done exactly the same thing. In his world, it was the norm. Hell, he’d heard all about the time Lee had taken a pool cue to Lauryn and smacked her with it so hard it had broken after the third strike against her head. In Emma’s former world too, violence was the natural display of anger, but he saw clearly that she wasn’t comfortable with it being hers.  

“Look, it’s hard for me, being a person with a real fucking bad temper and thinking your reaction was justified, but I get that you aren’t so cool with it,” he began, shrugging a little. “I might not be the best person to advise you, bearing that in mind. I dunno, I’d say maybe in future if you feel yourself getting to that point then dial it back, but again, I don’t have the best track record at doing the same.” He paused, moving forward further, resting his chin to her shoulder. “How you acted in one moment isn’t defining of who you are, though. Cuz’ you ain’t him, baby.”  

Pulling back from it. What he said made sense, even though he acknowledged it was something often beyond his own capabilities, Emma saw that going forward, she had to try for it not to be out of her own grasp. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew come the following day, she’d be putting herself within his proximity again, maybe it was that which had stirred her, the fear manifesting into the kind of anger she was not used to feeling.  

The subconscious was a complicated beast, she realised.  

Tiny little storms of worry struck upon her brain as she lay back down, curling into the warmth of Guero’s embrace once more. Still, she was glad that the alcohol in her system acted more powerfully to send her back to sleep than her thoughts did in keeping her awake. Upon waking, she had much more pressing troubles. 

“My eyelashes hurt,” she bemoaned, sitting with Lee outside the clubhouse five hours later, both drinking very large, very strong coffees while they waited for their first customer to drop his bike off with them. “I haven’t felt this bad since my thirtieth, when we finished that bottle of mandarin vodka between ourselves.” 

Indeed, Emma’s birthday had been a blast, but god, how she and Lee had suffered for it. EZ had found them passed out on top of his trailer, taking a combined effort from him, Guero and Bishop while also wasted to get them down again.  

At the mere memory of orange vodka, Lee heaved suddenly, placing her coffee down and rushing back into the clubhouse, passing Bottles as he exited.  

“You look remarkably fresh for someone who moved to sambuca at 2am,” she groaned, the bespectacled man beaming. 

“I don’t get hangovers.” His statement earned him a scowl. “So, where’s G unit?” he then asked. 

“Still asleep. He’ll be down a little later. I take it you didn’t even go home?” 

Just then, the clubhouse door opened, revealing a girl with long, bright blue hair and a shaved side, tickling Bottles on the neck with her fingernails, turning to wink at Emma before she sauntered away, swinging her hips seductively.  

He pointed with a grin. “Woke up between the pool table and her.” 

She immediately thrust her fist forth. “Gimme some knucks!”  

“Between that and the funky assed temper, you’re getting just like Lee,” he chuckled, obliging her with a fist bump. 

A little prickle sharpened against her gut about the temper comment, thinking to herself that it wasn’t Lee whom she’d resembled last night as she’d wielded Angel’s knife. One thing Guero had told her rang true, though. She was not Rocco, and she had to emphatically remind herself of that.  

Smiling, she responded casually. “Eh, I learned from the best.” The best arrived back after a few minutes, looking a little green, taking a seat with a groan. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s today we gotta go to Tahoe,” she pleaded, resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. “I can’t cope!”  

“No, buddy. Guero booked us for tomorrow, remember?” 

“Remember? I don’t remember anything after you pulling a knife on that fuckin’ little tramp,” she groaned, Emma kissing her forehead as she made further noises of discontent, Lee then turning her attention to Bottles. “And why do you look so goddamned spritely? How fuckin’ dare you when I feel like my liver is packing up to leave! It’s outta here, on vacay, leaving me to die a death!”  

He pushed his glasses up his nose, still beaming widely. “Got laid better than a roll of linoleum.”  

His analogy cracked them up, Lee lighting herself a cigarette, taking a deep breath. “Well, at least you got some. I was too hammered to get a hammering! I’d say I’d never do it again, but I’ll have to be drunk just to sleep next to Gilly. Dude doesn’t snore, he fuckin’ whistles when he’s asleep. I’m surprised he doesn’t wake up every morning to a pack of dogs out on his fuckin’ front lawn.” 

Much to Lee’s light chagrin, the only rooms available were doubles, meaning she and the big man had to share a bed. Bishop had made it even worse for her by jokingly telling her she could have a hall pass, mortifying the hell out of her since she looked at Gilly like a younger brother. The two men had nearly split their sides laughing as she’d hid her face in her hands.  

“I still don’t know how the hell we’re meant to find out the room Vincent will be staying in when we get there,” Emma sighed, while they chatted about their upcoming visit. “I mean, what, one of us attracts the front desk person while the other tries to get a look at the computer screen?”  

“Or you just get somebody with the right set of skills to hack into the hotel’s booking system, and there you have your room number,” Bottles chirped, his face brightening more by the second. “I am that person, in case you two are too hungover for nuance.”  

They sat up like a pair of meerkats, very curious over the information presented to them. “I’d completely fuckin’ forgotten that, that you’re a genius with the ole’...” Lee trailed off, making a typing motion with her fingers. 

He cocked his head, looking pleased with himself. “I’d say somebody should’ve brought it to me last night prior to you guys booking hotel rooms for longer than necessary, but I was too deep in blue haired babe heaven, and everyone was wasted. Is what it is.” One short trip to fetch his gear later, and the three of them were sitting at the bar, Bottles tapping away. 

“Okay, Hyatt Regency,” he muttered, eyes scanning the screen as streams of data moved across it, imputing more numbers and codes. “And enter this here, and... yep... mmhmm... bingo. I’m in.” He began to study the long list of names, Emma going behind the bar and pouring herself a shot of tequila, needing to see if hair of the dog worked. “Got it. Calabrese, room three zero seven.” He then continued to look down the list. “Lombardi, room five four two, just an FYI. Where are your rooms?” 

“Ten and thirty-three, so we’re not even on the same floor. Phew.” Emma confirmed, breathing a sigh of relief. They didn’t even need to use the elevator, with them being on the ground floor. Inside though, her worry began to slowly coil around itself, like a viper constricting upon its prey.  

Ten months ago, she’d escaped the clutch of the mafia, and now there she was, putting herself right back within their proximity. She just had to hope that the many tentacles of the hydra did not notice her presence, especially not the biggest of them all.  

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Lost & Found - Chapter Nine.

So then, my beautiful, wonderful audience. Those who are not new around these parts know that sometimes, treats are given in the form of a double update day with my stories, and guess what? Today is one of those days! I know you've all been waiting patiently for the sexual side of Emma and Guero's blossoming relationship to finally flower, so I thought I'd share it today in the next chapter! Has that made you smile? I hope it has! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Words - 3,434

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

The more she revealed, it seemed, the more comfortable she became with sharing memories of her nineteen years held prisoner. Guero lay there and let her recount it all, being exactly what she needed, somebody to simply listen.  

“Marie taught me how to shoot.” He had wondered at how well she seemed to handle the Beretta she’d pointed at his head, her handling of the firearm steely and confident. “There were guns kept all over the house, so there’d always be one within easy reach, just in case. With whom Rocco was, he was a target, or rather his family were. He routinely pissed off other mob families, so of course anyone he cared for became a target, a weak point.  

“She wanted me to be able to protect myself from such a threat, but mostly, if Rocco himself ever became so unhinged that I felt my life was in danger. “Shoot him dead, and we’ll figure it out somehow afterward”, is what she used to tell me. How we would have figured that out beyond running for our lives, I don’t know. His guys would have hunted us down.” 

She paused for a moment, tears beginning to swim within her eyes. “I hate myself, for leaving her. Joey, Alessia and Mikey, too. I loved them so much, they were like my siblings for Christ’s sake! It’s a guilt that’ll never leave me, that I ran and they’re all still stuck there! She became my mother, and I abandoned her!” 

“Hey, no,” he began, touching his fingers under her chin, gently lifting her head. “You don’t have to feel guilty about a thing. I get that you miss her, she made the hell he put you through bearable where she could, but Marie chose that life, Emma. Nobody forced her. 

“She knew who she was marrying, and I’m not saying that in the end she had an easy choice to get away from him, ‘cuz I can see from what you told me he’d have killed her for it, but you found a way out. You took your chance, and you got free. If she loves you as much as it seems she does, then she’ll be fucking happy as hell the girl she counted as one of her own got free of him.” 

She absorbed his words, realising that no matter how unpleasant it felt, what he’d said was the plain, simple truth. If she didn’t assume her to be dead via Rocco’s hand, Marie would be quietly rejoicing her escape. “Is it wrong that I feel more of a maternal bond with her than I do my actual mom? I feel guilty for that, too. When I hear the word mom, I think of Marie, not Cassie.”  

He shifted slightly beneath her, Emma moving a little as he turned onto his side, resting his head on his arm. “It might sound cold, but it’s fact. Marie was in your life longer than your birth mom. I kinda guess it’s only natural you’d think that. Doesn’t mean you love Cassie any less, or that you can’t reconnect with her now you’re free.”  

“But, but,” she began, her throat swelling on a rising lump, “that’s the thing, there is no Cassie. When I was twenty-five, we sat and looked on the internet, I begged her to look up my family. I just wanted to know if they were okay. Mom died back in two thousand and thirteen from breast cancer. My dad, he passed away six years ago, motorbike accident. All I have left is Dylan, who is still in Spokane. My grandparents, too, unless anything happened in the interim. 

“I’ll never see my mom and dad again, and I loathe him, I detest him completely that he robbed me of those years with them, that they both died not knowing what had happened to me! As if me being taken wasn’t bad enough. It left Dylan all alone, no immediate family, and it’s all because of him!” 

She fell apart at that point, naturally so, sobbing against his chest as Guero held her. Again, he had no idea what to say to that, knowing it would take a man greater with words than he was to offer verbal comfort. Instead, he was just there, not knowing that truly that was all she needed from him, just someone to be there. It wasn’t about words. Listening was enough, as he continued to do, Emma sharing more with him about her life within the gilded cage prison that was the Lombardi mansion.  

“He used to virtually pimp me out to his friends too at parties.” Once again, Guero felt his anger flare like a firecracker, grinding his teeth as his jaw tightened. “I always wanted to enjoy sex, but none of them ever made it feel good for me, all too consumed by their own pleasure to give a damn about mine. As long as they got to lie between the legs of a pretty, young blonde, that was good enough. 

“There was only one of them who was different. His underboss, Vincent Calabrese never laid a hand on me. I was offered to him, and for appearances in front of Rocco and the others he always accepted, but once we got into the bedroom, he just sat down beside me on the bed and we talked. He said he wasn’t in the habit of defiling little girls, but even when I was over the age of consent, he still wouldn’t.  

“He staunchly disagreed with what was being done, the child trafficking. ‘It’s an affront to god, snatching children from their families’ is what he always used to say. He always opposed it, and Rocco knew that, but ultimately went along with what was being done for the sake of a quiet life, and I guess not ending up with a bullet between his eyes either. This leads me to something that you guys should all know, EZ especially. 

“You’re running heroin for him now, but all that will change if Rocco has his way, and believe me, he will. You guys are in his pocket now, which means in his mind, he owns you. You’re all to do with as he pleases, and what he pleases is to start bringing children across the border. Undocumented migrants are much easier to move, and get away with moving, too. I overheard him talking about it, it was always a two birds with one stone deal for him. He’d get you used to the money first, and then tell you that your consignment would begin to include kids as well.” 

Guero pushed himself up, his eyes rounding as he looked down at her. “For real, that motherfucker wants us in on trafficking kids?” 

His horror at the very suggestion was telling over the person he was. Although still a criminal, he was a man with the kind of morals that had been few and far between in the world she had escaped from. “Eventually, yeah.” 

“And if we refuse?” He didn’t need to ask, really. He could guess. 

She made a gun motion against the side of her head, couple with a soft exclamation of ‘pow’. “He’d wipe you all out and move onto the next nearest charter, using your eradication as an example of what happens when people push back against him.” 

The weight of the mafia. That was a war they definitely wouldn’t win, and he knew that for sure. Rocco Lombardi could crush them all, very easily, too. “I have to take that to EZ. Not now, of course, but at some point over the weekend, call a templo. Will you be okay to come and tell us what you know?” 

She smiled, reaching to stroke his hair. “Of course, I will.” 

They remained quiet for a time after, Emma needing the silence. Her legs remained in tangle with his as she reached for the tequila bottle, taking a long glug, the alcohol burning her throat. She felt a little drunk and numb, which was what she had needed in order to sit there and offload it all to another person. “There’s more I could tell you about my life, but right now, I feel drained. Like I need air, too. Can you give me a minute?” 

“Yeah, take as long as you need.” He reached to stroke her face, Emma turning her head and kissing his palm, getting up and letting herself out of the front of the house. The cool air hit her, soothing to her frayed nerves, the residual effects of her revelation hanging onto her, though.  

“Hey, boo.” Of course, Tyrone would notice her out there, always keeping the watch. She walked over to his window, her shoulders heavy, watching him emerge from behind the swathe of curtain fabric. “Damn, you look all sad and shit. Fuckboy bin’ actin’ up?” 

She shook her head. “No, no he’s great. Listen, I know you deal, so I figure I’m in the right place. Can you sell me a joint? That’s all I want, just one.” 

He looked entertained at the naivety of her question, that it was the norm for dealers to exchange such a small amount. Tyrone, for all of this mouth and uncouthness was kind, though. “I ain’t selling you shit, white girl. This is on me, hold on.”  

She smiled. “Thank you, you’re great.” 

He beamed, reaching to grab his rolling tray, locating one of his pre-rolled joints. “Ain’t I, though? I know fuckboy rarely smokes it, so just remember I gotchu if you ever need a lil’ hit.” The truth was, neither did she. She’d occasionally partook of it back in her old life, secretly taking from Rocco’s personal stash which he smoked to ease his chronic migraines. It helped her feel more relaxed in the utter brutal chaos of her life. It smelled and tasted awful, but she enjoyed the calming buzz.  

Tyrone passed a joint and a lighter through the window. “Enjoy, boo.” She smiled, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Aw, lawdy! I gotta kiss from a pretty girl, hell yeah!”  

She laughed softly, shaking her head and lighting up, moving to sit on the front step of Guero’s side of the house, taking a long drag. God, that was some nice weed. She coughed a few times, the usual, barky rasp associated with smoking weed, her throat tickling.  

“Yo!” She turned to see a large arm thrust through the window, a can of soda proffered forth. “If you don’t like mango then I can’t help you. Oh, hold up. I might have a Fanta somewhere.”  

Walking back over, she took the can. “Thanks, Tyrone. You keep your Fanta, mango and I are good.” She moved back to the step, opening the soda and sipping it, the tickle clearing nicely before she took another little puff, looking out across the street into the darkness. The only sounds audible were that of the game Tyrone was playing, and the chirp of cicadas. It was somewhat relaxing in ambience.  

The weed had an instant calming effect upon her, all of the brutality that would endlessly echo through her memories placated and pushed back again, back behind the fortress walls in her mind. She’d had to keep it there for years to have even had a chance of remaining sane through her ordeal. God, she couldn’t believe that she’d actually escaped it, found somebody who she could trust, someone who for all intents and purposes was slowly becoming all hers, too.  

“As if you’re out here getting high on my front step. Not even I do that.” Turning, she saw Guero emerge from the house, moving to sit behind her, his legs flanking her body as he stretched.  

“Well, that’s because you don’t smoke weed,” she chirped, watching him frown before plucking the joint from her.  

He took a few puffs, handing it back, holding in a cough until the tickle passed. “I do, but not often. It has too much of an effect on me, and I can never get the balance right.” 

“The balance between what?” 

“Between a nice buzz and ragingly horny.”  

“Ahh.” She nodded, looking entertained, the stoned giggled welling up within her. “I somehow don’t think you need any extra boosting in that department.” 

He moved her hair, kissing the side of her neck. “A hundred percent correct, mamacita. And since I guess you’re probably drunker now than you were earlier, I’m not risking that balance any further, so you finish it. Kinda figure you need the sedation after everything you told me.”  

“Oh, you’re not wrong there,” she spoke, eyes widening a little as she leaned back against him. “Even if I was sober, sharing all of that has kinda dampened my desire.”  

He snorted softly, arms tightening around her. “Understandable. S’okay, I can wait.” 

“Can you?” she giggled, the sound joining the noise of the cicadas. 

“Mm.” he hummed, kissing her neck again. “Just.”  

Just then, the curtains next door began moving, Tyrone’s boom sounding. “Goddamnit, will you two go back in that house and bust some furniture already? Shit!” They both snort laughed, Guero resting his forehead to her shoulder, Tyrone continuing. “You better sort yo’ damned mess, fuckboy! Because I am one pretty smile away from makin’ that fine assed lil’ honey mine, you hear?”  

“Yeah, I hear,” he called through his laughter, “and I see, too. Plying her with weed and soda.” 

“I know what the ladies like! If she’s still out here in a half hour, she gets the first slice of my pizza, too!” 

“Exactly, you gotta give me a head start against your half ton of raw charm, dog,” he chuckled, Tyrone emerging further from the curtains.  

“Hey, I might be a big fella, but I’m no fuckin’ half ton! I’m thick and juicy, drives the chicks wild!” 

“Tyrone, you ain’t thick, my man. Your ass is so fat, if I swerved my bike to miss you, I’d run outta gas.” There was a pause, a squawking laugh emanating from the window, Emma thinking it hilarious a man with such a low, rumbling voice had a laugh so high in pitch. All banter with their hilarious neighbour aside, they remained outside until she had finished the joint, heading back in and returning to bed.  

“Do you feel better for telling me everything?” 

Resting her head against his chest, she nodded, her nails tracing the outline of one of the spiderweb tattoos that spread out across each of his shoulders. “I do, you know. Whether the nightmares will stop because of it, I don’t know. I think I might need further help to recover from it all. Kinda scared about registering with a doctor, though, putting my name back out there. He’ll be looking for me, and if he finds any record of a twenty-nine-year-old woman named Emma Louise Taylor anywhere, he’ll come for me.” 

Her muscles stiffened at just the thought, Guero turning to wrap both arms around her, feeling her relax into his embrace after a few moments. “We’ll work something out.” She fell asleep in his arms, those early morning hours passing dreamlessly, neither waking until 10am the following morning.  

Rising from her place curled against him, Emma rubbed her eyes, looking down at the chiselled tattoo canvas that had been her pillow. Her safe person, the kind of man she’d dreamed would one day save her from her fate, and there he was... snoring like a brontosaurus. She couldn’t help but giggle softly, thinking that was a part perhaps not strictly included in the romanticism of her fantasies.  

He cracked an eye open, his grin widening. “What are you laughing at?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? The noise! You snore like something hell spat up for being too loud.” 

“I wasn’t snoring,” he began stretching, the other eye opening eventually. “I was doing mindful breathing.” 

Immediately, she cracked up, leaning to place a kiss against his stubbly jaw. “There’s nothing mindful about those sawn logs.” 

She had a point, he guessed, Guero turning onto his side and wrapping his arms around her. “Yeah, but I’m cute. I get away with it, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, turning her head back to kiss him, “you do have that going for you.” 

“And a whole lot more.”  

Biting the corner of her lip, she shifted against him, a little wiggle that stirred him exactly where she intended him to be stirred. “Feel like showing me?”  

“Mm.” His arms tightened around her, kisses scattered against the side of her neck. “I need coffee and a shower, then trust me, I’ll spend all morning showing you.” 

Now that was a statement definitely on a par with her fantasies. He left the bed first, taking a shower, calling to her that he’d left in on for her as he made his way through to the kitchen. It was while she was under the warm water looking down at herself that a stab of panic prickled against her guts.  

He’d see her naked. All of her. 

While she had body confidence in her shape, the littering of scars that marked her sides and lower back made her feel ugly. Some had faded to white, but there were still a few dark pink markings that remained. All were raised scar tissue, triangular shapes of knife points pressed into her skin, the burning brand of a hot blade searing Rocco’s displeasure branded onto her skin forever.  

As she dried off, her eyes found them again, wondering if they’d really be all too noticeable if the blinds remained drawn in the bedroom.  

“Of course, they will," she muttered, beginning to sniff. All she wanted was to move on from it all, enjoy the basic human right of a consensual sexual relationship with another adult, someone of her actual choosing, yet the literal scars of the past held her back.  

A soft tap sounded upon the partly open door. “Em, you want a coffee?” 

Em. No one had ever called her that before. She liked it. “No, thank you.” 

“You alright.” 

“Yeah.”  

Her pinched voice alluded to the contrary. “No, you’re not. Can I come in?”  

“Yeah.” Tightening the large, white bath towel around herself again, she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, trying to compose her upset.  

“So, people who are alright stand here crying, huh?” Him and his smart mouth. He was right in his light sarcasm, though. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

Baby. He'd called her that back when he’d first found her. How different the intent behind the word was now. “The scars I have,” she began, gulping, hoping she could swallow down the lump she had painfully swelling in her throat. “You’ll see them, and they’re hideous. They make me ugly. You’ll think they look ugly.” 

He frowned, lifting her chin with a gentle touch of his fingers as he began shaking his head. “I’ve never liked people making my mind up for me. That includes you, mamas.” His hands pressed softly on her shoulders, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve got no problem with whatever scars you have, and I’m not gonna think you’re ugly because of ‘em. Only thing that is, is that low opinion you have of yourself. If you want, leave a t shirt on. I don’t mind. I’d prefer you naked, but whatever makes you comfortable, I’m good with.” 

She could fetch a t shirt, or she could just be brave and let him see her. All of her. She’d bared her soul to him already, after all. Indecision made her heart quicken, the soft stroke of his fingertips at her upper arms soothing as she reached for the towel and untucked it, letting it fall. Fighting the urge to cover herself with her arms, she looked anywhere but him as he took in her nudity, her body tensing when he moved his hands to stroke the scars she detested so much with careful attention.  

Leaning close, he kissed the side of her head, his lips soft against her ear. “They aren’t who you are, and you’re not any less beautiful. They’re only the map of the journey that finally led you to me.”  

Her throat tightened with emotion, his words so beautiful, she wanted to cry. The desire in his eyes as she finally looked at him dictated it might be poorly timed, though. This was not a time for lament and sadness. No. This was the time to plant her lips upon his and let him carry her to the bedroom.  

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Her mouth tightened a fraction, cocking her head a little. “And has she ever gotten around you?”   He shook his head. “Nope, she don’t do it for me.” Sliding his finger along the dip in her dress, he hooked it, pulling her close. “You’re the one who does it for me.” He kissed her with heat, his hands sliding down to grasp her butt, Emma hoping that his display of affection made Lauryn get the message.  

What a charmer!!!

Lost & Found - Chapter Eighteen.

A huge thank you to everyone for being such a lovely audience :) I appreciate you more than you know.

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

Words - 3,898

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

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t stand up for you more with EZ. It’s a shitty position to be in, though, caught between my girl and my club. Especially the fucking president of the club, a guy I have a lotta respect for. I’m not good with it, though, the fact he scared you.”  

Pausing, Guero leaned to her, kissing the side of her neck. “Saying that, though, despite the fact I knew you were scared, you fucking stood your ground. Baby got spicy! Made me real proud.”  

“What can I say?” she mused, her eyebrows rising. “I’d had a couple a’ five beers by the time you guys arrived back. Had a little courage bolstering my spice. He came and apologised though, so we’re good.” Her eyes then found an annoyance that had been bothering her for the past hour, lifting her chin. “That over there in the leather shorts, I’m not so good with.”  

Guero followed her line of vision, receiving a wave and a smile he only acknowledged with a slight nod. “Yeah, that’s Lauryn. She hasn’t been around much, guessed she came with one of the guys from another charter. She um, she tends to get around.”  

Her mouth tightened a fraction, cocking her head a little. “And has she ever gotten around you?”  

He shook his head. “Nope, she don’t do it for me.” Sliding his finger along the dip in her dress, he hooked it, pulling her close. “You’re the one who does it for me.” He kissed her with heat, his hands sliding down to grasp her butt, Emma hoping that his display of affection made Lauryn get the message.  

She wasn’t the jealous type, and she knew he’d been with plenty of the bike bunnies who hung around the club. She’d asked and he’d told her. For the most part, as soon as those girls saw the guys become committed to one woman, they backed off. Lauryn wasn’t one of them.  

“Yup,” Lee burped into her hand, pointing over to where the girl stood with her back to them a short time later. “She made a play for Obispo one time. Fuckin’ cracked her with a pool cue for it. Ain’t got no shame, that one. If she wants a specific dick, doesn’t fuckin’ matter to her if that dick is occupied, she’ll sniff around to see if there’s a chance of swiping it. I don’t do slut shaming, go get your fill is what I say, but not with another woman’s man. That’s low-down behaviour, sick shit, messed up, man.”  

Lauryn then turned, lifting her chin. “Yeah, I’m talking about your trashy ass, homegirl!” Draping an arm around Emma’s shoulders, she fixed her with a look of defiance, the girl turning back to whoever she was talking to. “Absolute fuckin’ shit show.”  

“She seems it, and I am in no fucking mood to deal with that tonight,” Emma stated, Lee softly applauding. 

Guero looked entertained by that statement, his grin wide. “Spicy boo got all the heat tonight!” 

“I fucking have, and she can have it if she tries me.” 

“Yes, sugar! If she continues making eyes at your guy, you need to get over there and set her straight!” Lee roared, hiccupping.  

“Oh god,” a nearby Angel sighed, shaking his head as he walked over. “Tiger is out of the damned cage. First you give my brother a face full of knuckles, and now you’re yelling at everyone.” 

“Not everyone, just her,” Lee chirped, bolting back more of her drink. 

“Bish is gonna gag you before the night is out.” 

Lee grinned widely, giving him a little soft poke in the chest. “Don’t you threaten me with a good time!”  

His head shaking continued, wrapping an arm around her. “Nothin’ but fucking trouble when you’re drunk.” As it happened, it wasn’t Lee’s actions that would lead to trouble that night, the girls heading back inside with a few of the guys to congregate at the bar, Emma going to use the bathroom. When she came back out, it was to a sight that displeased the hell out of her.  

“Told you, I ain’t interested,” she could just about hear Guero state over the roar of Ace of Spades by Motorhead, Lauryn attempted to drape herself around him. He then looked up, catching her eye, stepping back and nodding in her direction as he took as seat at the bar again. “My girl is right there, you need to fucking quit.”  

Her jaw tightened, eyeing her with the kind of venom that she might not have had if she hadn’t been ten beers in. Unfortunately for Lauryn, though, she was, and her give a fuck meter was as unflinching as her anger. 

“Oh, man,” Angel spoke, turning to his side to witness her death glare, cringing slightly. “You gonna give us all a hair pulling chick fight? C’mon, it’ll be awesome!”  

Reaching behind him, she yanked the knife from his belt before he could stop her. “I’ll fucking give you more than that.” Storming around the bar, Lauryn’s look of defiance was met with a hand to her throat, Emma driving her across the space, men all around turning to look as the object of her rage was pinned against the side of the door. 

“Get the fuck off of me!” she yelled, Emma taking the knife and slamming it straight into the wood, an inch from the side of her head. The look of fear that flooded Lauryn’s face was instant. 

"Oh, oh did that scare you?" She exclaimed, sarcasm dripping, yanking the knife from the wood and pressing it against her throat. "Yeah, I'm not what you thought I was, am I?" 

While Lauryn was being held against the side of the doorframe, almost every single pair of eyes within the club watched it happen, Guero sitting there stunned. Well, stunned and... 

"Bro, if this kicks off any further, will you go grab my girl?" he muttered to Bottles. 

Tearing his eyes from the scene, he adjusted his glasses, frowning slightly. "Yeah, but why can't you?" 

Guero shook his head, the corners of his mouth upturning. "Can't even walk right now. My dick is too hard. Damn, that's hot." 

Bottles snorted, almost spraying his beer, Angel leaning in. "No disrespect, dog, but yeah. Mine too." 

While the guys had their quiet moment of exalting how arousing the sight of an angered woman was, the angered woman in question continued making sure her feelings were heard. 

"Listen to me, if you fucking wave your pussy anywhere near my guy again, I swear I will cut that shitty tattoo right off your face. Am I making myself clear, puttana?" 

Lauryn nodded, eyes wide, feeling embarrassment rise in her throat. Still, she swallowed hard and lifted her chin, at least attempting not to look as frightened as she felt at having a sharp knife held to her throat. "Yeah, you are." 

Smirking, Emma lowered the blade. "Good, now get the fuck out of here." Giving her a last, disapproving sweep with her eyes, she finally released the hard grasp that had held her throat, Lauryn gasping as she was let go, moving from the clubhouse rapidly.  

Walking back to Guero, his eyes still like saucers, she handed an equally stunned Angel his knife back. “Thank you, buddy.” She then picked up a shot of tequila and sank it, her eyes flitting between the guys, all stupefied by her display of mettle. “What?” 

“You!” Bottles laughed, reaching to nudge her arm friendlily with a fist. “You and your bad-assery, gone fried up your man’s brain. Look at him! He’s malfunctioned, needs his operating system restarting.”  

She was just about to reply when two arms wrapped around her shoulders, a set of lips pressing into her cheek. “That’s how you fuckin’ do it! Bitch got her shit rocked,” Lee exclaimed. “Proud of ya, sunshine.” 

Guero was still on mute, but the look in his eyes, oh. It spoke many words, all of which Emma understood very clearly. Sinking the rest of his beer, he also downed a shot before sliding off the bar stool and promptly throwing her over his shoulder.  

“Woah, okay!” she giggled, hanging onto the back of his kutte. “Where are we going?” 

He chuckled, low and dirty, his hand pounding off her ass in a hard spank. “To restart my operating system.” He carried her with a dark tide of lust shadowing his insides, through the gate and out into the darkness of the yard, through the piles of abandoned, rusting metal, his eyes scanning from side to side.  

The still partially shiny metal of a large, double doored fridge caught his attention, carrying her to it. Letting her slide from his shoulder, he pinned her against the structure with his chest before she could reach the ground, her legs tightening around him. 

“Damn, baby,” he panted, pulling at his belt buckle, running the tip of his tongue up her neck. “You’re gonna get railed so fucking hard.”  

They kissed with furious hunger, Guero feeling a ravenous desire tumbling over his bones, yanking his jeans undone and pushing them down his thighs, pulling her underwear aside and dropping her onto his cock with a rumbling grunt. He teeth imbedded in her lower lip, tongue rolling against hers as he speared her with deep, rapid thrusts, pulverising her insides, her wail rending the air.  

He was savage with her, a ravenous delight that tumbled through him and into her, the thick drag of his cock filling and emptying her with absolutely nothing short of carnal fury, the remaining shelves within the fridge all beginning to clatter with the force he fucked her against it with. 

“If getting mad at people does this to you, I might have to do it more often,” she panted, crying out as her walls flexed around him, feeling the coil within her tightening. He was just about to tell her how her spicy temper worked like an accelerant upon his desire, when she continued. “Oh, fuck, fuck, that cock is so fucking big! Mmm, yeah, fuck me harder. Fucking split me in two.” 

And oh, how he did after hearing those sinfully dirty words. It roared over them both like a forest fire, the flames of their release scorching their nerves, leaving them both panting and trembling in the wake of such torrid ferocity.  

“Jesus fucking Christ,” she panted, resting her forehead to his as he pulled out and set her back on her feet. “Doubt I’ll be able to walk after that.” 

He chuckled, kissing her hotly. “You did say split you in two, my spicy lil’ boo.” She walked as if she had been as well, Guero laughing to himself as they walked back to continue with the debauchery. They left at close to 4am, getting home via a cab since while not wasted, both were a little unsteady at that point. Stripping off, they let their clothes fall into a heap, throwing themselves into bed and curling up.  

Alcohol was the strong sleeping tonic that pulled them both into slumber, neither Emma’s hissing nor Guero’s brontosaurus snoring hampering it. It was unfortunate that for the former, her sleep was not restful, though.  

She recognised her dream surroundings immediately, the huge, white and oak kitchen, people buzzing around, she and Marie preparing little trays of appetisers for party guests.  

“Here, darling. Make sure that plate stays separate, it’s for my ma,” Marie spoke, pointing at the little blue plate she had prepared a selection of gluten free snacks upon. “Unfortunate, isn't it? An Italian who can’t have gluten! Mother Mary, did you ever hear such a thing?”  

Emma turned to her side, smiling, her eyes prickling as she played out her role in the dream, exactly as it had happened in life. “You’d be a nightmare if you couldn’t have proper bruschetta, mom.” 

Marie nudged her with a soft elbow, chuckling as she sipped her wine. “Me and no bread, can you imagine?”  

Even though just a dream, all Emma wanted to do was throw her arms around her, breathe in the scent of her Guerlain perfume, and tell her how much she missed her. Not having any kind of power over it, though, she found herself acting as she had on that night, Rocco’s fiftieth birthday there at the house, picking up the little blue plate.  

“I’ll go take these out to her, she’s down by the pool.”  

Marie clasped her arm, squeezing softly. “Good girl.”  

Lifting the plate from the crowded island full of Marie’s beautiful, home cooked Italian delights, Emma left through the back door, walking down across the patio, smiling at guests as she passed.  

“Are these for me?” Anna-Lucia greeted her with warmly, Emma proffering the plate forth.  

“Yes, gluten free, just for you.” 

Her smile was kind, taking the plate as she set her martini glass down on the table. “Thank you, love.”  

With a little nod, Emma carried on, making herself of use by beginning to collect all the abandoned plates so she could go and place them into the dishwasher, knowing that if she didn’t, she could expect an earful of abuse or worse from Rocco. While passing through the lower part of the sprawling garden, she noticed that an earful was exactly what somebody was getting from her captor, her eyes scanning until she saw Rocco with a group of his friends, he and another in a heated exchange.  

The man sure had balls, she thought, stepping up to the boss like that, Emma recognising him to be Mario, Rocco’s nephew. The exchange grew in ferociousness, Rocco suddenly lunging at him, clasping his throat and shunting him back against the children’s large, wooden playhouse. He then pulled a knife from his pocket, releasing the blade and plunging it into the wood right at the side of Mario’s head, yanking it out and holding it to his throat.  

She awoke with a start.  

“Mm, s’up, baby? Nightmare?”  

“No,” she sighed, reaching to rub Guero’s forearm, taking a deep breath. “No, it was only a dream, but shit, it spooked me.” It hit her hard, such a realisation, that there within her subconscious lay a memory that her brain had drawn upon earlier in how she’d handled the situation with Lauryn. In wanting to make it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate such behaviour, she’d become the one thing she never wanted to be. Rocco.  

Taking a breath, she leaned forward, resting her forehead to her knees. “What I did to Lauryn tonight, I behaved exactly how Rocco did one time towards his nephew. Mother fucking Mary, it was spot on, my brain must’ve drawn it out of a memory, because I just dreamed of the night I saw it happen. Christ, I’m him. I acted like he does when he’s pissed!”  

“Mamas, no you ain’t. No way are you anything like that motherfucker.” Her boyfriend’s statement was staunch, Emma reaching for the nightstand lamp and switching it on.  

Stretching her arms, she rested her head upon her knees again, hugging them to her chest as he stroked her back. “But what I did was, though! I went straight from his playbook, even called her a puttana, too. He used to call me that. Jesus!”  

It was a hard juxtapose for Guero, since he was by nature a person who, had it been a guy sniffing around Emma, likely would have done exactly the same thing. In his world, it was the norm. Hell, he’d heard all about the time Lee had taken a pool cue to Lauryn and smacked her with it so hard it had broken after the third strike against her head. In Emma’s former world too, violence was the natural display of anger, but he saw clearly that she wasn’t comfortable with it being hers.  

“Look, it’s hard for me, being a person with a real fucking bad temper and thinking your reaction was justified, but I get that you aren’t so cool with it,” he began, shrugging a little. “I might not be the best person to advise you, bearing that in mind. I dunno, I’d say maybe in future if you feel yourself getting to that point then dial it back, but again, I don’t have the best track record at doing the same.” He paused, moving forward further, resting his chin to her shoulder. “How you acted in one moment isn’t defining of who you are, though. Cuz’ you ain’t him, baby.”  

Pulling back from it. What he said made sense, even though he acknowledged it was something often beyond his own capabilities, Emma saw that going forward, she had to try for it not to be out of her own grasp. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew come the following day, she’d be putting herself within his proximity again, maybe it was that which had stirred her, the fear manifesting into the kind of anger she was not used to feeling.  

The subconscious was a complicated beast, she realised.  

Tiny little storms of worry struck upon her brain as she lay back down, curling into the warmth of Guero’s embrace once more. Still, she was glad that the alcohol in her system acted more powerfully to send her back to sleep than her thoughts did in keeping her awake. Upon waking, she had much more pressing troubles. 

“My eyelashes hurt,” she bemoaned, sitting with Lee outside the clubhouse five hours later, both drinking very large, very strong coffees while they waited for their first customer to drop his bike off with them. “I haven’t felt this bad since my thirtieth, when we finished that bottle of mandarin vodka between ourselves.” 

Indeed, Emma’s birthday had been a blast, but god, how she and Lee had suffered for it. EZ had found them passed out on top of his trailer, taking a combined effort from him, Guero and Bishop while also wasted to get them down again.  

At the mere memory of orange vodka, Lee heaved suddenly, placing her coffee down and rushing back into the clubhouse, passing Bottles as he exited.  

“You look remarkably fresh for someone who moved to sambuca at 2am,” she groaned, the bespectacled man beaming. 

“I don’t get hangovers.” His statement earned him a scowl. “So, where’s G unit?” he then asked. 

“Still asleep. He’ll be down a little later. I take it you didn’t even go home?” 

Just then, the clubhouse door opened, revealing a girl with long, bright blue hair and a shaved side, tickling Bottles on the neck with her fingernails, turning to wink at Emma before she sauntered away, swinging her hips seductively.  

He pointed with a grin. “Woke up between the pool table and her.” 

She immediately thrust her fist forth. “Gimme some knucks!”  

“Between that and the funky assed temper, you’re getting just like Lee,” he chuckled, obliging her with a fist bump. 

A little prickle sharpened against her gut about the temper comment, thinking to herself that it wasn’t Lee whom she’d resembled last night as she’d wielded Angel’s knife. One thing Guero had told her rang true, though. She was not Rocco, and she had to emphatically remind herself of that.  

Smiling, she responded casually. “Eh, I learned from the best.” The best arrived back after a few minutes, looking a little green, taking a seat with a groan. 

“Please don’t tell me it’s today we gotta go to Tahoe,” she pleaded, resting her head on Emma’s shoulder. “I can’t cope!”  

“No, buddy. Guero booked us for tomorrow, remember?” 

“Remember? I don’t remember anything after you pulling a knife on that fuckin’ little tramp,” she groaned, Emma kissing her forehead as she made further noises of discontent, Lee then turning her attention to Bottles. “And why do you look so goddamned spritely? How fuckin’ dare you when I feel like my liver is packing up to leave! It’s outta here, on vacay, leaving me to die a death!”  

He pushed his glasses up his nose, still beaming widely. “Got laid better than a roll of linoleum.”  

His analogy cracked them up, Lee lighting herself a cigarette, taking a deep breath. “Well, at least you got some. I was too hammered to get a hammering! I’d say I’d never do it again, but I’ll have to be drunk just to sleep next to Gilly. Dude doesn’t snore, he fuckin’ whistles when he’s asleep. I’m surprised he doesn’t wake up every morning to a pack of dogs out on his fuckin’ front lawn.” 

Much to Lee’s light chagrin, the only rooms available were doubles, meaning she and the big man had to share a bed. Bishop had made it even worse for her by jokingly telling her she could have a hall pass, mortifying the hell out of her since she looked at Gilly like a younger brother. The two men had nearly split their sides laughing as she’d hid her face in her hands.  

“I still don’t know how the hell we’re meant to find out the room Vincent will be staying in when we get there,” Emma sighed, while they chatted about their upcoming visit. “I mean, what, one of us attracts the front desk person while the other tries to get a look at the computer screen?”  

“Or you just get somebody with the right set of skills to hack into the hotel’s booking system, and there you have your room number,” Bottles chirped, his face brightening more by the second. “I am that person, in case you two are too hungover for nuance.”  

They sat up like a pair of meerkats, very curious over the information presented to them. “I’d completely fuckin’ forgotten that, that you’re a genius with the ole’...” Lee trailed off, making a typing motion with her fingers. 

He cocked his head, looking pleased with himself. “I’d say somebody should’ve brought it to me last night prior to you guys booking hotel rooms for longer than necessary, but I was too deep in blue haired babe heaven, and everyone was wasted. Is what it is.” One short trip to fetch his gear later, and the three of them were sitting at the bar, Bottles tapping away. 

“Okay, Hyatt Regency,” he muttered, eyes scanning the screen as streams of data moved across it, imputing more numbers and codes. “And enter this here, and... yep... mmhmm... bingo. I’m in.” He began to study the long list of names, Emma going behind the bar and pouring herself a shot of tequila, needing to see if hair of the dog worked. “Got it. Calabrese, room three zero seven.” He then continued to look down the list. “Lombardi, room five four two, just an FYI. Where are your rooms?” 

“Ten and thirty-three, so we’re not even on the same floor. Phew.” Emma confirmed, breathing a sigh of relief. They didn’t even need to use the elevator, with them being on the ground floor. Inside though, her worry began to slowly coil around itself, like a viper constricting upon its prey.  

Ten months ago, she’d escaped the clutch of the mafia, and now there she was, putting herself right back within their proximity. She just had to hope that the many tentacles of the hydra did not notice her presence, especially not the biggest of them all.  

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Spoilers below

“But, but,” she began, her throat swelling on a rising lump, “that’s the thing, there is no Cassie. When I was twenty-five, we sat and looked on the internet, I begged her to look up my family. I just wanted to know if they were okay. Mom died back in two thousand and thirteen from breast cancer. My dad, he passed away six years ago, motorbike accident. All I have left is Dylan, who is still in Spokane. My grandparents, too, unless anything happened in the interim. 

Oh, poor thing!

“You’re running heroin for him now, but all that will change if Rocco has his way, and believe me, he will. You guys are in his pocket now, which means in his mind, he owns you. You’re all to do with as he pleases, and what he pleases is to start bringing children across the border. Undocumented migrants are much easier to move, and get away with moving, too. I overheard him talking about it, it was always a two birds with one stone deal for him. He’d get you used to the money first, and then tell you that your consignment would begin to include kids as well.”  Guero pushed himself up, his eyes rounding as he looked down at her. “For real, that motherfucker wants us in on trafficking kids?” 

Season five EZ would find some way to think around this then land the club is a whole heap of shit.

Leaning close, he kissed the side of her head, his lips soft against her ear. “They aren’t who you are, and you’re not any less beautiful. They’re only the map of the journey that finally led you to me.”

GAHHHHHHHHHHH HE'S JUST SO DREAMY

Lost & Found - Chapter Nine.

So then, my beautiful, wonderful audience. Those who are not new around these parts know that sometimes, treats are given in the form of a double update day with my stories, and guess what? Today is one of those days! I know you've all been waiting patiently for the sexual side of Emma and Guero's blossoming relationship to finally flower, so I thought I'd share it today in the next chapter! Has that made you smile? I hope it has! :)

Previous chapters - One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight

Words - 3,434

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

The more she revealed, it seemed, the more comfortable she became with sharing memories of her nineteen years held prisoner. Guero lay there and let her recount it all, being exactly what she needed, somebody to simply listen.  

“Marie taught me how to shoot.” He had wondered at how well she seemed to handle the Beretta she’d pointed at his head, her handling of the firearm steely and confident. “There were guns kept all over the house, so there’d always be one within easy reach, just in case. With whom Rocco was, he was a target, or rather his family were. He routinely pissed off other mob families, so of course anyone he cared for became a target, a weak point.  

“She wanted me to be able to protect myself from such a threat, but mostly, if Rocco himself ever became so unhinged that I felt my life was in danger. “Shoot him dead, and we’ll figure it out somehow afterward”, is what she used to tell me. How we would have figured that out beyond running for our lives, I don’t know. His guys would have hunted us down.” 

She paused for a moment, tears beginning to swim within her eyes. “I hate myself, for leaving her. Joey, Alessia and Mikey, too. I loved them so much, they were like my siblings for Christ’s sake! It’s a guilt that’ll never leave me, that I ran and they’re all still stuck there! She became my mother, and I abandoned her!” 

“Hey, no,” he began, touching his fingers under her chin, gently lifting her head. “You don’t have to feel guilty about a thing. I get that you miss her, she made the hell he put you through bearable where she could, but Marie chose that life, Emma. Nobody forced her. 

“She knew who she was marrying, and I’m not saying that in the end she had an easy choice to get away from him, ‘cuz I can see from what you told me he’d have killed her for it, but you found a way out. You took your chance, and you got free. If she loves you as much as it seems she does, then she’ll be fucking happy as hell the girl she counted as one of her own got free of him.” 

She absorbed his words, realising that no matter how unpleasant it felt, what he’d said was the plain, simple truth. If she didn’t assume her to be dead via Rocco’s hand, Marie would be quietly rejoicing her escape. “Is it wrong that I feel more of a maternal bond with her than I do my actual mom? I feel guilty for that, too. When I hear the word mom, I think of Marie, not Cassie.”  

He shifted slightly beneath her, Emma moving a little as he turned onto his side, resting his head on his arm. “It might sound cold, but it’s fact. Marie was in your life longer than your birth mom. I kinda guess it’s only natural you’d think that. Doesn’t mean you love Cassie any less, or that you can’t reconnect with her now you’re free.”  

“But, but,” she began, her throat swelling on a rising lump, “that’s the thing, there is no Cassie. When I was twenty-five, we sat and looked on the internet, I begged her to look up my family. I just wanted to know if they were okay. Mom died back in two thousand and thirteen from breast cancer. My dad, he passed away six years ago, motorbike accident. All I have left is Dylan, who is still in Spokane. My grandparents, too, unless anything happened in the interim. 

“I’ll never see my mom and dad again, and I loathe him, I detest him completely that he robbed me of those years with them, that they both died not knowing what had happened to me! As if me being taken wasn’t bad enough. It left Dylan all alone, no immediate family, and it’s all because of him!” 

She fell apart at that point, naturally so, sobbing against his chest as Guero held her. Again, he had no idea what to say to that, knowing it would take a man greater with words than he was to offer verbal comfort. Instead, he was just there, not knowing that truly that was all she needed from him, just someone to be there. It wasn’t about words. Listening was enough, as he continued to do, Emma sharing more with him about her life within the gilded cage prison that was the Lombardi mansion.  

“He used to virtually pimp me out to his friends too at parties.” Once again, Guero felt his anger flare like a firecracker, grinding his teeth as his jaw tightened. “I always wanted to enjoy sex, but none of them ever made it feel good for me, all too consumed by their own pleasure to give a damn about mine. As long as they got to lie between the legs of a pretty, young blonde, that was good enough. 

“There was only one of them who was different. His underboss, Vincent Calabrese never laid a hand on me. I was offered to him, and for appearances in front of Rocco and the others he always accepted, but once we got into the bedroom, he just sat down beside me on the bed and we talked. He said he wasn’t in the habit of defiling little girls, but even when I was over the age of consent, he still wouldn’t.  

“He staunchly disagreed with what was being done, the child trafficking. ‘It’s an affront to god, snatching children from their families’ is what he always used to say. He always opposed it, and Rocco knew that, but ultimately went along with what was being done for the sake of a quiet life, and I guess not ending up with a bullet between his eyes either. This leads me to something that you guys should all know, EZ especially. 

“You’re running heroin for him now, but all that will change if Rocco has his way, and believe me, he will. You guys are in his pocket now, which means in his mind, he owns you. You’re all to do with as he pleases, and what he pleases is to start bringing children across the border. Undocumented migrants are much easier to move, and get away with moving, too. I overheard him talking about it, it was always a two birds with one stone deal for him. He’d get you used to the money first, and then tell you that your consignment would begin to include kids as well.” 

Guero pushed himself up, his eyes rounding as he looked down at her. “For real, that motherfucker wants us in on trafficking kids?” 

His horror at the very suggestion was telling over the person he was. Although still a criminal, he was a man with the kind of morals that had been few and far between in the world she had escaped from. “Eventually, yeah.” 

“And if we refuse?” He didn’t need to ask, really. He could guess. 

She made a gun motion against the side of her head, couple with a soft exclamation of ‘pow’. “He’d wipe you all out and move onto the next nearest charter, using your eradication as an example of what happens when people push back against him.” 

The weight of the mafia. That was a war they definitely wouldn’t win, and he knew that for sure. Rocco Lombardi could crush them all, very easily, too. “I have to take that to EZ. Not now, of course, but at some point over the weekend, call a templo. Will you be okay to come and tell us what you know?” 

She smiled, reaching to stroke his hair. “Of course, I will.” 

They remained quiet for a time after, Emma needing the silence. Her legs remained in tangle with his as she reached for the tequila bottle, taking a long glug, the alcohol burning her throat. She felt a little drunk and numb, which was what she had needed in order to sit there and offload it all to another person. “There’s more I could tell you about my life, but right now, I feel drained. Like I need air, too. Can you give me a minute?” 

“Yeah, take as long as you need.” He reached to stroke her face, Emma turning her head and kissing his palm, getting up and letting herself out of the front of the house. The cool air hit her, soothing to her frayed nerves, the residual effects of her revelation hanging onto her, though.  

“Hey, boo.” Of course, Tyrone would notice her out there, always keeping the watch. She walked over to his window, her shoulders heavy, watching him emerge from behind the swathe of curtain fabric. “Damn, you look all sad and shit. Fuckboy bin’ actin’ up?” 

She shook her head. “No, no he’s great. Listen, I know you deal, so I figure I’m in the right place. Can you sell me a joint? That’s all I want, just one.” 

He looked entertained at the naivety of her question, that it was the norm for dealers to exchange such a small amount. Tyrone, for all of this mouth and uncouthness was kind, though. “I ain’t selling you shit, white girl. This is on me, hold on.”  

She smiled. “Thank you, you’re great.” 

He beamed, reaching to grab his rolling tray, locating one of his pre-rolled joints. “Ain’t I, though? I know fuckboy rarely smokes it, so just remember I gotchu if you ever need a lil’ hit.” The truth was, neither did she. She’d occasionally partook of it back in her old life, secretly taking from Rocco’s personal stash which he smoked to ease his chronic migraines. It helped her feel more relaxed in the utter brutal chaos of her life. It smelled and tasted awful, but she enjoyed the calming buzz.  

Tyrone passed a joint and a lighter through the window. “Enjoy, boo.” She smiled, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Aw, lawdy! I gotta kiss from a pretty girl, hell yeah!”  

She laughed softly, shaking her head and lighting up, moving to sit on the front step of Guero’s side of the house, taking a long drag. God, that was some nice weed. She coughed a few times, the usual, barky rasp associated with smoking weed, her throat tickling.  

“Yo!” She turned to see a large arm thrust through the window, a can of soda proffered forth. “If you don’t like mango then I can’t help you. Oh, hold up. I might have a Fanta somewhere.”  

Walking back over, she took the can. “Thanks, Tyrone. You keep your Fanta, mango and I are good.” She moved back to the step, opening the soda and sipping it, the tickle clearing nicely before she took another little puff, looking out across the street into the darkness. The only sounds audible were that of the game Tyrone was playing, and the chirp of cicadas. It was somewhat relaxing in ambience.  

The weed had an instant calming effect upon her, all of the brutality that would endlessly echo through her memories placated and pushed back again, back behind the fortress walls in her mind. She’d had to keep it there for years to have even had a chance of remaining sane through her ordeal. God, she couldn’t believe that she’d actually escaped it, found somebody who she could trust, someone who for all intents and purposes was slowly becoming all hers, too.  

“As if you’re out here getting high on my front step. Not even I do that.” Turning, she saw Guero emerge from the house, moving to sit behind her, his legs flanking her body as he stretched.  

“Well, that’s because you don’t smoke weed,” she chirped, watching him frown before plucking the joint from her.  

He took a few puffs, handing it back, holding in a cough until the tickle passed. “I do, but not often. It has too much of an effect on me, and I can never get the balance right.” 

“The balance between what?” 

“Between a nice buzz and ragingly horny.”  

“Ahh.” She nodded, looking entertained, the stoned giggled welling up within her. “I somehow don’t think you need any extra boosting in that department.” 

He moved her hair, kissing the side of her neck. “A hundred percent correct, mamacita. And since I guess you’re probably drunker now than you were earlier, I’m not risking that balance any further, so you finish it. Kinda figure you need the sedation after everything you told me.”  

“Oh, you’re not wrong there,” she spoke, eyes widening a little as she leaned back against him. “Even if I was sober, sharing all of that has kinda dampened my desire.”  

He snorted softly, arms tightening around her. “Understandable. S’okay, I can wait.” 

“Can you?” she giggled, the sound joining the noise of the cicadas. 

“Mm.” he hummed, kissing her neck again. “Just.”  

Just then, the curtains next door began moving, Tyrone’s boom sounding. “Goddamnit, will you two go back in that house and bust some furniture already? Shit!” They both snort laughed, Guero resting his forehead to her shoulder, Tyrone continuing. “You better sort yo’ damned mess, fuckboy! Because I am one pretty smile away from makin’ that fine assed lil’ honey mine, you hear?”  

“Yeah, I hear,” he called through his laughter, “and I see, too. Plying her with weed and soda.” 

“I know what the ladies like! If she’s still out here in a half hour, she gets the first slice of my pizza, too!” 

“Exactly, you gotta give me a head start against your half ton of raw charm, dog,” he chuckled, Tyrone emerging further from the curtains.  

“Hey, I might be a big fella, but I’m no fuckin’ half ton! I’m thick and juicy, drives the chicks wild!” 

“Tyrone, you ain’t thick, my man. Your ass is so fat, if I swerved my bike to miss you, I’d run outta gas.” There was a pause, a squawking laugh emanating from the window, Emma thinking it hilarious a man with such a low, rumbling voice had a laugh so high in pitch. All banter with their hilarious neighbour aside, they remained outside until she had finished the joint, heading back in and returning to bed.  

“Do you feel better for telling me everything?” 

Resting her head against his chest, she nodded, her nails tracing the outline of one of the spiderweb tattoos that spread out across each of his shoulders. “I do, you know. Whether the nightmares will stop because of it, I don’t know. I think I might need further help to recover from it all. Kinda scared about registering with a doctor, though, putting my name back out there. He’ll be looking for me, and if he finds any record of a twenty-nine-year-old woman named Emma Louise Taylor anywhere, he’ll come for me.” 

Her muscles stiffened at just the thought, Guero turning to wrap both arms around her, feeling her relax into his embrace after a few moments. “We’ll work something out.” She fell asleep in his arms, those early morning hours passing dreamlessly, neither waking until 10am the following morning.  

Rising from her place curled against him, Emma rubbed her eyes, looking down at the chiselled tattoo canvas that had been her pillow. Her safe person, the kind of man she’d dreamed would one day save her from her fate, and there he was... snoring like a brontosaurus. She couldn’t help but giggle softly, thinking that was a part perhaps not strictly included in the romanticism of her fantasies.  

He cracked an eye open, his grin widening. “What are you laughing at?” 

“Isn’t it obvious? The noise! You snore like something hell spat up for being too loud.” 

“I wasn’t snoring,” he began stretching, the other eye opening eventually. “I was doing mindful breathing.” 

Immediately, she cracked up, leaning to place a kiss against his stubbly jaw. “There’s nothing mindful about those sawn logs.” 

She had a point, he guessed, Guero turning onto his side and wrapping his arms around her. “Yeah, but I’m cute. I get away with it, don’t I?” 

“Yeah,” she agreed, turning her head back to kiss him, “you do have that going for you.” 

“And a whole lot more.”  

Biting the corner of her lip, she shifted against him, a little wiggle that stirred him exactly where she intended him to be stirred. “Feel like showing me?”  

“Mm.” His arms tightened around her, kisses scattered against the side of her neck. “I need coffee and a shower, then trust me, I’ll spend all morning showing you.” 

Now that was a statement definitely on a par with her fantasies. He left the bed first, taking a shower, calling to her that he’d left in on for her as he made his way through to the kitchen. It was while she was under the warm water looking down at herself that a stab of panic prickled against her guts.  

He’d see her naked. All of her. 

While she had body confidence in her shape, the littering of scars that marked her sides and lower back made her feel ugly. Some had faded to white, but there were still a few dark pink markings that remained. All were raised scar tissue, triangular shapes of knife points pressed into her skin, the burning brand of a hot blade searing Rocco’s displeasure branded onto her skin forever.  

As she dried off, her eyes found them again, wondering if they’d really be all too noticeable if the blinds remained drawn in the bedroom.  

“Of course, they will," she muttered, beginning to sniff. All she wanted was to move on from it all, enjoy the basic human right of a consensual sexual relationship with another adult, someone of her actual choosing, yet the literal scars of the past held her back.  

A soft tap sounded upon the partly open door. “Em, you want a coffee?” 

Em. No one had ever called her that before. She liked it. “No, thank you.” 

“You alright.” 

“Yeah.”  

Her pinched voice alluded to the contrary. “No, you’re not. Can I come in?”  

“Yeah.” Tightening the large, white bath towel around herself again, she wiped her eyes on the back of her hand, trying to compose her upset.  

“So, people who are alright stand here crying, huh?” Him and his smart mouth. He was right in his light sarcasm, though. “What’s wrong, baby?” 

Baby. He'd called her that back when he’d first found her. How different the intent behind the word was now. “The scars I have,” she began, gulping, hoping she could swallow down the lump she had painfully swelling in her throat. “You’ll see them, and they’re hideous. They make me ugly. You’ll think they look ugly.” 

He frowned, lifting her chin with a gentle touch of his fingers as he began shaking his head. “I’ve never liked people making my mind up for me. That includes you, mamas.” His hands pressed softly on her shoulders, resting his forehead against hers. “I’ve got no problem with whatever scars you have, and I’m not gonna think you’re ugly because of ‘em. Only thing that is, is that low opinion you have of yourself. If you want, leave a t shirt on. I don’t mind. I’d prefer you naked, but whatever makes you comfortable, I’m good with.” 

She could fetch a t shirt, or she could just be brave and let him see her. All of her. She’d bared her soul to him already, after all. Indecision made her heart quicken, the soft stroke of his fingertips at her upper arms soothing as she reached for the towel and untucked it, letting it fall. Fighting the urge to cover herself with her arms, she looked anywhere but him as he took in her nudity, her body tensing when he moved his hands to stroke the scars she detested so much with careful attention.  

Leaning close, he kissed the side of her head, his lips soft against her ear. “They aren’t who you are, and you’re not any less beautiful. They’re only the map of the journey that finally led you to me.”  

Her throat tightened with emotion, his words so beautiful, she wanted to cry. The desire in his eyes as she finally looked at him dictated it might be poorly timed, though. This was not a time for lament and sadness. No. This was the time to plant her lips upon his and let him carry her to the bedroom.