The Truth About Mila | Mayans M.C.

| I Know Your Secrets |

~♡~

Clove Knox examines Coco carefully. A few inches taller, she circles him like a shark encircling its prey. Unable to speak, Coco cocks his head as the Vice President flicks the back of his kutte. Coco flinches at the thud rubbing his back with annoyance.

"The fuck, man," Coco growls, his eyes glare on the woman with distaste.

Angel and EZ stay silent but their faces show just as much as confusion as their friend. The older Reyes knew of the Knox siblings and the history behind the name but never met the youngest face-to-face. Alvarez spoke of Clove with high respect. As if her wild stories were heroics and not at the least insane.

Finally, Clove ceases herself in front of Coco with her hands on her hips and a look of curiosity. Towering over him with those devil-like peepers, Clove took in every feature upon Coco's rather amusing face.

This woman, something about her is dangerous. Intimidating. Possibly in her early forties, her body and face tight like a woman in her early 30s. Despite the unforgivable end of the Teller era, Clove aged like fine wine. The only sign of harsh aging is a single thick strand of silver tucked behind her ear.

Tattoos scatter down her arms; Twin dragons twist down the full length of her right arm, SAMCRO logos scatter here and there, and a few symbolic ones on each finger. There are more but too many to count but out of each perfectly drawn skin art, one specific tattoo catches Coco's eye.

Juice written in cursive across the right side of her neck.

"What kind of stupid tattoo is Juice?" Coco blurts out.

Suddenly, Coco is pulled to her side and a surprisingly heavy arm falls onto his shoulders. Pulling him closer, Clove tickles the tip of his chin.

"I smell stress, anger, and regret on you. But I also smell love on you. I wonder who that might be." Clove whispers into his ear, "I'd be careful."

"That's none of your business, senorita," Coco whispers back. Just because this VP managed to curl Bishop around her finger meant nothing to him. There were stories surrounding Clove and those stories always ended deadly. If the club wanted to trust the Sons of Anarchy, Coco saw nothing to complain about. However if Clove mettled within their club business, Mayans are doomed.

Clove squeezes her arm around his neck tighter. Laughter lightly slips from her lips. "I like this kid," Clove spoke towards both Alvarez and Bishop. Who laughs along with her. Coco stood small under her weight, glancing in between the trio like a lost child.

Finally rolling her arm from off of Coco's shoulder, Clove whistles and waves two Sons over. Giving Alvarez and Bishop the signal that playtime is over. Bishop simply calls for the higher-ups for Church with a sullen look meaning business. Following the unnamed Sons and Clove towards the craftily made Chapel, Coco steadies himself behind the others with his eyes glued onto the back of Clove's head. He had a bad feeling about her.

"Boys?" Clove says roughly towards her men once the Mayans took their seats at the table. She stood to the left of the room, leaning her back against the wall. Biting the edges of her fingernails, she watches in silence as the two Sons place four long silver cases onto the table between Bishop and Alvarez.

Coco was so preoccupied with studying Clove he had completely forgotten the whole reason as to why she was here. His attention now on the two sons, Coco took in the silver cases open to reveal large heavy-duty military-grade bazookas. They are stunning. Made with love even. Taken care of and upgraded to be more lethal than before.

All the men gawk at the weaponry. Amazed by the beauty.

"Upgraded them myself. Had them for a couple of months, but there is no use in keeping them as decorations in my living room," Clove says from behind her hand. Bishop stood to retrieve a golden bazooka from its home, getting a good feel. "Like that one? Call that one The Pussy Killer. Makes the pussy quiver."