Chapter 2

517 30 2
                                                  

The next morning after forcing herself out of bed, Natasha found Hank at the small kitchen table. He had gone out to pick up breakfast after spending the night on the couch.

"Did you bring me breakfast?" Natasha asked, trotting out in a robe and greeting him with a kiss.

"Yes, ma'am," Hank said with a smirk. "Where's jefe?"

"He'll be out in a minute," she sat beside him at the table. "How's he doing?"

Hank's lips were tight but he shrugged and frowned a little. "He's fine."

Reading between the lines, Natasha pouted and nodded. "Holding it down?"

"Same as ever," Hank assured her. "He's doing real good with the kids too, you'd be proud." Seeing her face fall, Hank tried to undo the unintentional damage but he wouldn't get the chance.

The bedroom door opened again and Bishop gave them a look. "Stop."

"Cranky pants," Natasha laughed.

Raising his mug and nodding, Hank gave Bishop his usual silent greeting and watched as the couple whispered to each other for a second.

"You want me out?" Hank asked, wanting to be respectful.

"No, you stay," Natasha blurted out before Bishop could answer. "I want to talk to both of you."

Bishop and Hank shared a look of exasperation before the former spoke. "Si, mi amor? What can we do for you?"

"It's been two years," Natasha stated, her palms on the table. "Two. Years."

"24 months," Bishop cracked.

"104 weeks," Hank added.

"730 days," Bishop said with a smirk.

"Smart asses," she snapped. "I want to come home."

"No," Bishop said, his smirk suddenly replaced with a cold grimace. "Two years don't mean shit with a warrant, Tash. Two years in the run means when you get picked up, and you will get picked up, you won't get bail. You won't get manslaughter 2 with the minimum sentence, Natasha. You'll get a murder charge and they will go hard, they will tear our family and my club apart and you will go to prison for the rest of your life."

With clenched fists and a white-hot gaze, Natasha looked at Hank. "Please. Tell him. We can make this work."

"Tash," Hank grumbled, unable time look at the pain in her eyes. "You don't think we've been working this over for two years trying to find a way?"

Turning away from them, unwilling to let them see her cry while she was so angry with them, Natasha spoke with disgust. "I guess Levi got what he always wanted even if it was five fucking years after you put him in the ground."

"I'm sorry," Hank said, excusing himself.

"Natasha," Bishop said as Hank closed the door behind him. "You have no idea how sorry I am, how much this hurts me."

"I don't care if it hurts you," she spat. "I care how it hurts our kids," she sobbed. "I miss my babies, Obispo, I want to go home."

"This is your home," he said sullenly.

"Yo-you really don't think I'll get a light sentence if I turn myself in now?" She cried, still refusing to look at him.

"No I don't and even if you did, Tash, those white power assholes are all over," he didn't even want to say it. "If you got locked up I don't think you'd last a week, querida. This is hard enough, I can't lose you for good, I won't."

"Prez," Hank stepped halfway into the house. "Got something," he said, showing Bishop the phone in his hand.

"Go," she said dismissively.

Bishop knew better than to argue. Pulling Lili's and Marco's school photos out of his breast pocket, he placed them gently on the table and left. As he and Hank walked from the door they could hear the first pained sob escape Natasha's lips.

"You okay?" Hank asked supportively.

"I'm fine," he mumbled. "What's going on?"

More impatient than usual, Coco waited on the porch of the clubhouse waiting for Bishop and Hank to return from the other side. He practically jumped over the rail when they arrived to gather everyone into Templo.

Coco started out calm as he spoke to the club with carefully chosen words and a measured tone. By the time he finished with this daughter's account of her run in Vatos Malditos he was almost shaking with rage.

A new beef, one that required the club's full attention and immediate action was perfect to distract Bishop. He jumped at the chance to do something good while restoring their foothold and status among those who doubted them.

Natasha wasn't afforded such a distraction though and she went about the next few painfully lonely days suffering. Sunday evening she waited at the table for her phone to ring, Bishop usually sent some videos or would call her when the children were around so she could hear them but he did neither.

Slamming down her phone, Natasha grabbed her purse and decided to do her food shopping rather than wait until the next morning.

"Fuck him," she spat, slamming the door behind her.

When Natasha returned roughly an hour later, bags up her arms, the front door was already open.

"Shit," she hissed, dumping her groceries on the dirt path up to the house. "What the fuck," she grumbled, sneaking behind two large bushes with her cellphone in her hand.

Natasha watched the house while calling Bishop, who didn't answer, then Hank who also didn't answer. Following her instincts and what she had seen from the club over the years, Natasha crept around the perimeter of the house to see no one lurking inside. Gathering her bags again, she went inside, still nervous, to find photos spread out on the table.

"Vatos Malditos," she read the lettering on the kutte of one of the men featured in the picture. "Jesus Christ, Bish," she gasped, seeing the last photo, nine bloody dead bodies lined up together.

"Bishop," Natasha whimpered into the phone once his voicemail picked up. She knew it was dangerous to leave a message but she didn't care. "I don't know what you did but I'm looking at photos of some dead Vatos Malditos. I need you down here. Please."

Wednesdays Where stories live. Discover now