Page 24 of El Malo

He tosses me on the bed and his eyes flare with hunger. Suddenly shy, I cross my legs.

“You can’t hide from me now,” he says with a grin, his dimple making an appearance. “You’re in my lair now and I’m starved.”

I wait for him to pounce and take me, but instead he lowers the lights and places his phone on a music dock. He scrolls through some songs and then lands on a fairly new Mexican band I’ve heard on the radio a few times. The singer’s voice is sultry and almost pleading as he croons for his love to understand who he is behind the many faces he’s forced to wear.

My eyes clash with Javier’s. His hair is messy and it makes him appear younger than his thirties. He reaches behind him to grab hold of his T-shirt and he pulls it off his body. When he tosses it at me, I let out a surprised laugh.

“Hey,” I grumble.

“I had to do something to distract you,” he teases. “Your eyes were going to roll right out of your head.”

But he was wrong…

Now my eyes are going to pop out. His chiseled chest is on full display, making my mouth water. Tattoos litter his flesh, but the most eye-catching one is El Malo scrawled across his lower abdomen right between the hard edges of his “V” written in a script font. The “o” on the word doesn’t end but curls a black line that whips around and dips below the waistband of his pants. I’m still gaping at his perfect body when something flashes, catching my attention.

His gun.

He’s pulled it from his back and it hangs at his side in his grip. For a second, I worry he knows and he’s going to shoot me. Yet, he doesn’t. He simply sets it on the end table. Another song comes on and his hips start moving. I become mesmerized in the way he dances.

It’s hypnotic.

Relaxing.

Safe.

I close my eyes and let the tension bleed from me as I listen to the song. He starts singing along and I’ll be damned if I don’t find myself singing along too.