Romero Brothers Salvage and Scrap - Mayans MC Clubhouse

Coco slapped Angel's arm, and gestured back, "what's your girl doing here?"

Angel followed his line of sight; Rosalie was sat on one of the picnic benches, out of the way, her head in her hands.

"A lady friend to see Mister Reyes," Chucky explained, "Reyes lady number one of two, not one for each Reyes."

"What?" Coco drawled, and squinted back at the grinning man.

"I like Miss Rosalie. Good heart. Broken one too many times," Chucky shrugged back and bumbled away from them.

After exchanging a bemused look with Coco, Angel wandered over to her, and noticed her shoulders bunch at the sound. She rose up deliberately, with a lot of thought.

"Hey. Sorry, phone died on the road and today has been non-stop, were you trying to get a hold of me?" Angel said, and caressed Rosalie's healing cheek, "are you alright?"

"I...uh, yeah, no, I'm fine...I just wanted to see you but if now's not a good time-" Rosalie asked, awkwardly.

"Nah, it's fine. Come on in here," Angel said and gestured to follow him over to the trailer, but he stopped shortly after opening the door, and scoffed, "shit! Sorry."

Rosalie hung back, she couldn't see over Angel's frame; it gave her ample opportunity to bulk out the story of why she was there. A few seconds later, she swore she heard Emily's voice mumble out, "Frankie's waiting, so I should...I should go."

"Emily!" Ezekiel hollered after her, confirming Rosalie's suspicions.

Emily couldn't have clocked Rosalie standing there, she'd bolted straight for the gate without looking back; pretty spryly for someone who'd been trampled mere hours before. Sure enough, Frankie's patrol car was waiting for her out there. Angel turned back to Rosalie and intimated he'd be one more minute. He shoved his little brother backwards into the trailer and slammed the door behind them.

"What are you doing?!" Angel scorned; the closed door did nothing to drown out their argument.

"She came to me," Ezekiel hit back.

"Even worse!" Angel snapped.

"She's all fucked up, Angel!"

"That's not your worry."

"And that's not your call!"

"When we finish, you can go tear up all the high school pussy you want. But until then, seeing her? It's a bad fucking idea. Don't do it!" Angel barked at his little brother.

That comment rightfully hit a nerve. Rosalie could hear them shove each other back and forth. Something smashed. They threw each other around the cramped trailer some more. Something splintered and shattered. She shook her head and then took off, her mind stewing on Ezekiel's stupidity all the while. What the hell am I doing? she screamed internally.


Rosalie Teller's House - Santo Padre

The knock on her door that night was unmistakable, and unavoidable. It was pissed.

"What did you wanna talk about?" Angel asked, flatly, "you seemed rattled by something."

"It actually doesn't matter," Rosalie replied, quietly.

"Bullshit," he replied, and wandered inside her hallway. He perched against her sideboard, folded his arms and waited.

She had cooked something up, something benign; but her resolve had simmered in the hour or two since she'd seen Emily burst out of that trailer, ever since Ezekiel had jeopardized, and made her question, everything she was doing here, everything she was risking. She knew she had to lie to him, this moment called for another lie; it just wasn't coming out this time.

"Are you in danger? You worried about something?" Angel probed.

She looked nervous, reluctant. Her shoulders fell, and she said, quietly, "no."

"This ain't working for me anymore," he said, and rose.

Her heart stopped, her messy tangle of thoughts cut off into one, and suddenly she felt like a teenager about to be dropped for a better offer.

"I'm not doing half-measures with you," he explained, clearly, "if something or someone is bothering you, you gotta tell me. You just gotta. I ain't leaving until you do."

The pounding in her ears was loud, but a wave of relief washed over her, followed swiftly by an all too familiar shudder of guilt. He wasn't going anywhere, of course he wasn't going anywhere. Rosalie told him, honestly, "okay, what happened at the church, in Santa Madre...that-that was my idea, but just to trash it, to scatter some propaganda around, and then Miguel went balls to the wall with it, and now a woman is dead, and not just any woman, a holy woman, and Emily is hurt. And...I said today I...I just needed some space."

"From Emily?" Angel clarified.

"Yeah, I guess," she rasped, "and that idea was just some off-hand thing. I swear. We were drunk. I certainly was! It's not like I was sat in the middle of a cartel strategy meeting, it was just some stupid observation. But...I just can't be out there pretending nothing came of it, I can't soiree it out, like nothing happened."

"Okay. I hear you. That's for the best...keeping out of it," he replied.

"And Emily's in good hands," Rosalie uttered, bitterly.

Angel scoffed and shook his head, mirroring her disappointment.

"That was a mistake. Doesn't matter. It won't happen again," he said, "he said she just didn't know where to turn to-"

"Maybe she should be turning to her husband, you know, the guy she fed the idea to, the guy she had to know wasn't going to colour in the lines with it-"

"-yeah...maybe...but EZ's everyone's first choice these days, so it makes sense, huh," Angel spoke over her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean...you, Rosa, that's what I mean," Angel said, and caught her confused look. He scratched his head, there was no taking the words back now, it was time to get into it, into what was really bothering him, "the kid got taken and you went to Ezekiel first. Coco saw you leaving Pop's shop right after...right after you got your face smashed in, and I had to hear about it from someone else. Why didn't you come to me?"

Rosalie panicked, and she muttered, "Church and State."

Angel screwed up his face and turned away from her, "bullshit. That's bull and you know it!" He stopped a second and for the first time ever, Chucky's words made perfect sense to him. He asked her, outright, "were you looking for him tonight? That's why you went all squirrelly? That's why you bolted? You were looking for Ezekiel."

She paused and shook her head.

"I'm gonna need more than that!" He scorned, "I'm gonna need actual words."

She told him, somewhat honestly, "okay, I went to EZ because I didn't want you to...I don't know...look at me differently."

"What? I know you," Angel said, "I know you better than I know me! You don't hurt people. That's never your intent-"

"Doesn't matter. I still put it in motion."

"You don't get to blame yourself for Miguel's actions. You hear me?" He insisted and closed in, certain none of this was going in, "that's not on you! None of that is on you. And besides, why'd you give a fuck what I think anyway? Huh? Just switch it right back to State, and brush it off, yeah? Problem solved!"

"No, that's not-"

"It's been working mighty fine up til now-"

"Stop! I give a fuck! I care what you think, Angel! I'd drive seven hours straight to hear what you think, I'd wait up all night...even when I don't want to hear what you're saying, I still want to know because it matters to me, what you think, and it really matters what you think about me-" she said, shakily, her eyes stained with tears she couldn't hold back any longer. She was going to crumble. She made her way back to the front door, and held it open for him, "and look...you-you got your answer, alright? That's what happened. So, if there's nothing else. I've had a really long night."

Angel followed but he stopped right in front of her, saw her chest rising and falling rapidly, saw her try to cover it up, and he slammed the door shut. Her hand fluttered down from her stoic grip on the door; she couldn't maintain eye contact with him. He stepped into her, one hand took her waist, the other disappeared up her neck, and he pulled her into a long, sensual kiss. Enough work talk; he took her back to the place they made the most sense.


Felipe Reyes' House - Santo Padre

Rosalie dropped her bag on the armchair, heavily, and she drifted around the room a little, clearly composing herself. Felipe muted the television and sat forward, waiting.

"Angel met with Adelita this morning," she said, her hands speaking louder than her voice, "he said, the other night, I told him all about the church, and I made a choice to trust him most, and he gets what a big deal that is for me so he figured he'd do the same. He told me everything. He told me exactly where Cristobal has been this entire time." She stopped and bit the inside of her cheek. She didn't even have to ask the question. His silence was answer enough. She said, "Ezekiel knew that."

"Yes."

"You knew that."

"I did."

She folded her arms and reiterated the man's words, "we gotta be honest with each other. That's the only way this works."

"I'm sorry. It was Angel's story to tell."

"Bullshit," she said, and his brow peaked in response.

Felipe told her, sincerely, "you were at your limit. Add another secret to the mix, who knows what spills out. I told Ezekiel to let this one lie for now. I thought you were cracking."

"It means a lot to me, Felipe...having your full support," she grumbled, sarcastically, "tell me again where I've set a foot wrong in this. Show me the cracks."

"You are not built for this. Not really."

"Sorry, what? You know who my people are? What I came from? I could not be any more 'built for this' if I tried."

"Look at yourself, Rosalie. You're not. And that's not a bad thing. I'm not calling you weak."

Rosalie huffed out an exhausted laugh, and nodded back some tears. She said, emotionally, "I can do this...okay? I can put everything into boxes, square everything away, do what I have to do. But I don't want Angel in a box. This...that hurts, Felipe."

"What did you tell him?" He asked.

"Nothing. I told him I forgive him. I understood why he did it. And then I came here. And I've been thinking, God, I hope he holds on to that, and he forgives me one day too, and he-he understands why I did it," Rosalie said, and wiped her face roughly. She picked up her bag, and chuckled darkly, "that's funny, right? I don't even understand it. I don't have a coherent answer for myself, so...how exactly is he supposed to get one?"

She shook the idea off, and headed for the door.

"What are you going to do?" Felipe asked, firmly, rising from his armchair fast.

Rosalie scoffed and looked over her shoulder, visibly stung by this question the most, and said, "you know exactly what I'm going to do."