Chapter Text
The night in the Californian desert was surprisingly chilly and very dark. You couldn’t see the teenager walking along the side of the highway until you were dangerously close. She wasn’t on the asphalt, but she was close enough so she could follow the road. She had a large backpack on and her head down as she trudged along. She had no destination in mind but was walking with purpose.
As the night wore on the headlights were few and far between. So she moved onto the road proper for an easier path under foot. But the sound of an approaching motorcycle had her tensing and moving off to the side of the road once again. She kept moving and pulled her hood up and prayed that she would be ignored. Her heart pounded in fear. Especially when the bike slowed down.
“Oye, are you crazy?” The rider shouted, making her jerk her head to the side to see that the rider wasn’t anyone she had feared.
He was an older Mexican man, probably in his mid-forties, with a well trimmed beard. She didn’t know him and that did make her chest unclench for the fear it was someone from her old life coming after her. But he was still unknown so she knew that she had to keep walking. Ignore him. It was the safest option.
“Sorry.” She said starting to walk again, “Asphalt is easier on the feet.”
She sped up, ignoring as the man called out to her again. She just needed to make it to the next bus stop or the next tiny town so she could sit and rest. When he called out to her a third time she took off running. She was not going to be kidnapped in the middle of the desert without putting up a fight or trying to run.
—
How she managed to make it to a bus stop just outside a small town without that man from before coming across her again she had no idea. Perhaps he realized she was scared and didn’t want to seem like he was following her.
She collapsed on the bus stop bench, she was alone. And tired. She needed to sleep for a bit before the sun came up and it would be too hot and bright to rest.
She brought her knees to her chest, left her backpack on, and rested her forehead against them and let herself drift off.
She woke up to the sound of a motorcycle and instantly tensed. The sun was starting to rise and she looked up, seeing the man from before slowing to a stop when he realized she was there. Her hand instantly slid into her hoodie pocket for her switchblade, desperate for some form of protection.
“I didn’t mean to scare you, kid, what the fuck are you doing out here on your own?” He turned the bike off, and dismounted it.
She gripped her knife tighter looking at him terrified. He held his hands up as a way to show he was not a threat.
“I’m not gonna hurt you, niña.” He assured her.
“I don’t know you. How the fuck can I believe that?!” The young woman snapped.
They stared at each other for what felt like forever as the sun rose slowly. Eventually she allowed him to sit on the bench. He kept his distance still. Not invading her personal space.
“You look far too young to be wandering the highway on your own.” He asked.
“Probably.” She said with a shrug, “Why does it matter? I’m gonna die alone anyway.”
“How old are you?” He asked.
“Fifteen.” She admitted.
He looked at her, really looked at her now. Her age was even more obvious than in the dark, desert night. She was young, but her troubles seemed to weigh her down. He’d known runaways before, in his life. They usually returned home after a day or so, but from the look of her, she had been out on her own for at least a week.
“How long have you been on your own?” He asked.
“You gonna tell me who you are to be asking me this shit?” She snapped, she did not want to be interrogated.
He didn’t seem put off by her bad attitude. She was a fifteen year old who was wandering the side of the highway with no destination in mind. If something sent her off the deep end to run off like that she probably had a right to a bad attitude. He didn’t want to scare her off. He knew this area, and what could happen to pretty, little runaways.
“My name’s Obispo, most people just call me Bishop, though.” He said, “You gonna tell me how long you’ve been out here on your own?”
“Three weeks.” She said looking away, she had her hand in her hoodie pocket still, gripping her knife, her only protection tighter.
“Why are you out here on your own? It’s dangerous.” He said.
“It’s better than being where you’re unwanted…and it wasn’t like I was safe there anyway…” she grumbled, “Why do you care, anyway?”
She glared at him, she didn’t trust him. She couldn’t. She knew as much, especially when she realized that he was wearing a kutte. And when she saw the name of the MC on it, it solidified in her mind that she couldn’t trust him. She shrank in on herself more.
Bishop shrugged and said, “Cause I know what goes on out here. I don’t want to see you on the fucking news if I can help.”
He honestly didn’t know why he wanted to help her. But just looking at her he knew that she was different. There was something about her that made him feel protective in a more paternal way.
She sighed, “You’d be the first person I’ve met who would care.” She said.
“Is that why you ran away?” He asked.
She shrugged. She didn’t want to get into it.
“What’s your name, chica?” He asked.
“Salacia.” She said looking at him sadly, “My name's Salacia Tianna.”
He smiled softly, “Okay, Salacia, when was the last time you ate?” He asked.
“Real food?” She asked and he nodded, “Three days...maybe four...I’m kinda living off of some protein bars I was able to steal…”
“Come on, let me buy you some breakfast and you can tell me what you’re running from.” He said standing up and holding out his hand.
She bit her lip. It was a risk. A major risk to trust some random middle aged man she had never met before. But she was so hungry.
“How do I know if I can trust you?” She asked.
“You don’t, really.” He said, “I promise. It’s just breakfast.”
She looked around before nodding. “This is probably so stupid…” she mumbled, taking his hand and letting him help her up.
He walked over to his bike after dropping her hand. He got on and Salacia paused for one more moment. Thinking about what a risk this was. But her stomach was winning this dilemma. He didn’t know who she was. Who her father was. She could just eat and run.
There was no way this man cared beyond this to ease his mind. She climbed on the back of his bike and cautiously wrapped her arms around his waist for a better grip.
Bishop noticed that she seemed somewhat comfortable on the back of a bike. But he didn’t say anything. He started it up and rode into the town nearby, looking for a place for them to grab breakfast at. He pulled up in front of a small taqueria that was open for breakfast and turned his bike off.
She got off the bike first and he followed. The wind from the ride had blown her hood down and he saw how dirty her red hair was in the messy braid she had it in. He wondered how long she had really been on her own. Even if she was living where she had run from he could bet she was alone there too. He opened the door for her and they were led to a small table in a corner. He knew if she was gonna be honest with him, she wouldn’t want to be overheard.
They sat down and she tucked her backpack below her feet. The waitress came over and Bishop spoke politely in Spanish to her before she turned to Salacia and asked, in still rough English, what she wanted. The redhead smiled kindly and responded in comfortable Spanish, making the young woman’s face fall into relief. While the man across from her looked at her surprised.
“Where’d you learn Spanish?” Bishop asked, chuckling.
Salacia shrugged, “My late stepfather was Cuban.” She said, a small smile spreading over her face as she remembered the last time she felt like she belonged, “He raised me as his own since I was two, I grew up pretty much bilingual.”
He smiled at her, “There’s more to you than you like to let on, huh?” He joked.
“I’m just a fifteen year old runaway. What’s special?” She sighed.
“Pretty, little, white girls usually end up on the news after twelve hours.” He replied, “Why haven’t I heard your name or seen it on any motel TV?”
“My bio-dad and his family don’t give a shit about me.” She said, “He cheated on his wife with my mom, and after she and my step-dad died when I was thirteen, he was stuck with me. Didn’t want me. Nobody did. Probably thinks my running away is me taking care of his problem for him.”
“That why you ran?” He asked.
“Partially.” She admitted.
Their food arrived and they both thanked the waitress before she began to eat. It reminded her of spending time with Luis’s family. The cuisine was different obviously, but it wasn’t the typical American breakfast that she didn’t like very much. She wanted to stuff her face but controlled herself.
She didn’t want to reveal just how starved she felt. But, Bishop just seemed to know. She looked up at him and sighed.
“I ran away three weeks ago.” She said, “I couldn’t stay there anymore. Not after…” she shook her head.
“What happened? Was he abusing you?” Bishop asked.
“Not physically. But he ignored me. Liked to insult me all the time. I don’t think I heard him call me by my name since the custody got squared away. I don’t know why he took custody if he didn’t want me to begin with.” She groaned and slipped her water, “My gym teacher raped me.” She said under her breath, “And my bio-dad did nothing about it.”
Bishop froze at her words. Staring at her. She was looking down into her half eaten plate. Her body was screaming out for her to finish her food. But she felt sick remembering what happened. Tears silently rolled down her cheeks. This was the first time she had said those words aloud so plainly.
She had been raped. Told her father, desperate for help, and he had ignored it. His wife ignored her on principle, it wasn’t worth trying. Even her step-brother who she had until that point thought was an ally said she probably asked for it. Not to her face of course. But she overheard him and her biological father talking.
She had no one. No help. She was alone. And was being threatened by the coach over text. She’d taken her sim-card out of her phone so he would stop texting her.
She had photos of the bruises on her ribs from where he had hit her over and over when she tried to scream for help. Where he had kicked her after he was through. Telling her if she told anyone it would be worse on her.
She pulled her phone out of her hoodie pocket and turned it on. Glad she could still use the camera and photos. She slid it across the table showing him the bruises.
“I heard my father and step-brother talking saying I asked for this.” She said, “I swear one of my ribs was broken. Probably still healing.”
Bishop picked the phone up as he looked at the photos she took. Obviously over time after it happened. She was probably hoping they would be used as evidence against the man who had assaulted her. He felt the rage bubbling up inside of him but he kept his head. He didn’t want to scare her.
He gave her phone back to her and she switched it off and tucked it back into the pocket of her hoodie. She sighed and decided she needed to finish eating. If she had to make a run for it she wanted to have a full stomach. Even if she didn’t have to she wanted to have the energy the food would give her.
The man across from her watched as she ate. Her head down, not wanting to meet his eyes. He could tell she was still nervous.
“What are you planning on doing?” He asked after a few minutes of silence.
“Huh?” She looked up, confused.
“You ran away, what are you planning on doing to survive?” He asked.
“I don’t know. Try to find a place that will hire a fifteen year old, even if it’s under the table...motel hop…” she sighed.
She didn’t have a real plan. But she knew she had to figure it out when she found a place to settle down.
“What if you can’t find a place that will hire you?” He asked with a frown, she was walking down a dangerous path, one that he was feeling compelled to save her from.
“I don’t know...turn tricks.” She said only half sarcastic and he could tell.
His frown deepened as those words sunk in. It was obvious that no matter what she wasn't going back. Not that he could blame her. He wouldn’t want her to. But he also didn’t want this young woman out on the street like this.
“Do you know how to answer phones?” He asked an idea popping into his head.
“Huh?” Salacia tilted her head.
“I run a scrap yard, could you answer phones, make appointments for people and shit?” He asked.
“I mean yeah, but...are you for real?” She asked the shock evident on her face.
“Yeah, I’m sorry if it sounds crazy, but I don’t want you to end up on a fucking corner if I can help it. You’re still a kid.” He said.
She looked down, she hadn’t been a kid in anyone’s eyes since she was thirteen. She had been a nuisance at best and a burden at worst. She lost her entire world thanks to one drunk driver.
She felt tears in her eyes. It was too good to be true. But she knew he was serious. The way he talked to her wasn’t like a man trying to lure her into a van or take advantage of her situation. He spoke to her like she was still just a kid...he reminded her of Luis. And that made her want to cry harder.
Because she knew she couldn’t lie to him about her father. And that if he knew who her father was he wouldn’t help her. Hell, he might turn on her. She nudged her backpack with her feet to make it easier to grab for when she did have to make a break for it.
“You don’t want to help me…” she said softly.
“I’m pretty sure I do.” He chuckled, confused by her words.
“You won’t…” she looked at him sadly, “Look, I’ll level with you. I can’t accept your offer because I know you won’t wanna help me because of my bio-dad.”
He looked genuinely confused, “What do you mean?”
“Bishop…” she took in a shaking breath and released it before finally just spitting it out as best she could, her nerves obvious with every word, “Bishop...my dad...is a Son.”
Her eyes quickly moved to his own kutte letting her know she at least understood that there was a major conflict between the Mayans and the Sons of Anarchy. Bishop was shocked. She had trusted him enough to get breakfast with him. Had told him all the bad shit her dad had done. All while knowing of the risks talking to a member, the president even, of a charter of a rival MC.
“My dad’s Clay Morrow, Okay.” She said and readied herself to run for it when Bishop’s good will finally ran out.
Yet...that moment never came. He reached across the table to gently hold her hand in a very chaste and almost paternal way.
“Your loyalty doesn’t lie with him, though. Does it?” He asked, knowing he was right.
There was a part of him that knew this was a major risk. But his offer still stood. And he made sure she knew that.
He wanted to help her more now. The danger that the Sons would pose to her if they found her first, after the way she had been treated was arguably worse than trusting him. And they both knew it.