Page 13 of El Malo
I take another drag of my sweet habit. “Call me an asshole again and I’ll shove my fist up yours,” I bark out, a plume of smoke clouding around me. “What do you plan on doing with her?”
“She’s damaged goods now.”
Sometimes Marco Antonio takes his job a little too damn seriously. “She’s. A. Maid,” I grit out. “This is a waste of my fucking time.”
“You’re right,” he grunts. “I’ll take care of it. Where are we on Velez?”
His sudden change of subject to more important matters has me sitting up and resting my little cigar in my ashtray.
“We’re going to make the motherfucker wish he’d never been born,” I growl.
He cracks his neck and grins at me. My brother of sorts and best friend has the ugliest mug I’ve ever seen, but he somehow lands a fuck-ton of women in his bed. I’ll never understand that one. “Is he a dead man?”
“Right now, he’s a man with a target on his back, but I want him in one piece. I want him taken to the shed.”
His eyes darken with delight. Taken to the shed is a figure of speech. We have an empty manufacturing building, “the shed,” in town that we use to torture, maim, and eventually kill. When motherfuckers mess up, we take them to the shed.
“I’ll have Arturo and Alejandro round him up.”
He leaves and I rise from my chair. I snuff out my cigar and walk through my house. It’s quiet and one would almost assume it’s empty, but it’s filled with people who work for me. In another week, it’ll be bustling with activity. I feel like I haven’t seen Tania and Emiliano in ages. While Tania and I don’t always see eye to eye, I have nothing but love for her son. My brother. I grin just thinking about the little shit. The kid is getting so big.
I’m walking through the house when I nearly get knocked over by a woman. It takes all of two seconds to gather my senses and realize it’s her. Rosa Delgado. The feisty maid. Tonight, she doesn’t look like she’s been through physical hell like last week. More like literal hell. Her eyes are bloodshot, her button nose pink, and her fat lips swollen and red. A slight bluish bruise is forming on her cheekbone and I wonder if Julio gave that to her earlier.
“We have to stop running into each other like this,” I tease as I steady her by her biceps.
All sadness bleeds from her expression and a flare of defiance flashes in her big brown eyes. My cock reacts—again—and I hold her right where I can look at her for a moment longer. Her hair isn’t in a bun. Thick, wavy, cascading down her front like melted chocolate spilling down the side of a sundae. It makes me want to twist my fingers in it and see if she tastes like chocolate too.
“My apologies,” she manages to croak out.
I look past her at the front door. “Where have you been?”
She stiffens. “Out.”
Narrowing my eyes, I study her features. Deception flickers in her eyes and I wonder if Marco Antonio might be onto something. She doesn’t like my inspection because she forces her features calm and gives me a small fake smile.
“Do you need something, señor?”
You. On your knees. Putting those dick sucking lips to use.
“I always need something, manzanita.” Little apple.
She steps away from my hold and my hands fall to my sides. Her clothes are plain and not very feminine, but the curves she seems to want to try to hide scream for attention. They’ve certainly got my attention.
“How are the preparations coming for my father and his family?” I ask, stepping closer and enjoying the way she bumps against the pillar behind her. “You know, in between killing my men and all.”
“I, uh…” she trails off and her eyes plead for me to understand.
I do understand. Women in this world are outmatched and hunted by the predators who go by the name men. She’s lucky she has me for a boss. I am one of the few men in this country who knows you catch more flies with honey. The Estradas don’t abuse women. Weak motherfuckers abuse women.
I am anything but weak.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Get some rest. There is still a lot to do. You know how picky my father is.”
She nods quickly. Everyone knows my father is a spoiled sonofabitch. But he’s the best man I know. He may love his food prepared a certain way and have his OCD tendencies, but he has always treated me as a business partner and his most prized possession. With Emiliano in the mix, he shares that love with his little boy, but I don’t feel slighted in any way. He may be ruthless to others but first and foremost, my father is a family man.
“Rosa,” I murmur as I run my knuckle along her cheekbone. “Put some ice on this.”
She winces as though my words physically hurt her. It confuses me for a moment, but I step away to let her go. Perhaps she’s got a lot more going on in that head of hers that she doesn’t let others see.
But don’t we all?