Page 27 of El Malo

When she falls limp, I ease my finger and tongue out of her. I crawl up her body, my dripping cock desperate for some pleasure too. My erection rubs against her. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and her lips are parted. With her messy hair on my white pillowcases, she just looks so fucking beautiful. I rub my cock against the wetness of her hole and then slide it between her lips to tease her throbbing clit. She moans again, her legs spreading for me. Inviting me in bare.

“Rosa, your body was made for me,” I mutter.

Her body arches up off the bed, begging for more. I’m about to plunge deep inside of her when my bedroom door slings open, then slams shut. I launch myself to my bedside table, snatch my .50 caliber Desert Eagle, and swing it toward the door.

“We need to go. Now, jefe,” Marco Antonio grunts, his eyes sliding behind me, ignoring my gun pointed right at his chest. He clenches his jaw in irritation and it pisses me off. Who I fuck—or almost fuck in this case—is my business.

“Oh, God,” Rosa murmurs, yanking the sheet around her. I get a flash of her bare ass as she runs from the room, pushing past my cockblocking friend.

“I’m taking you out tonight, mami,” I call after her as I set my gun back down. “Be ready because I’ll be coming for you.”

When she’s gone, I let out a groan and saunter over to my dresser to pull out some boxers. Once my erection is no longer flopping around, I turn and glare at him. “What the fuck is so important that you interrupt my Sunday morning with a beautiful woman?”

“She’s bad news,” he warns.

I stalk into my closet, ignoring him. “Am I going to get bloody?”

“Don’t wear your Versace.”

I yank a pair of jeans off a hanger and a black T-shirt. After I’m dressed, I throw on some black steel-toed boots and grab my gun to tuck into the back of my jeans. “Give me five minutes to take a piss and brush my teeth.”

We cruise along the road in Marco Antonio’s black Land Rover to the shed. The rain hasn’t let up so the windshield wipers are on full blast, making a hypnotic song. Arturo has three of Guerrero’s biggest gangsters in custody. They’re with the Osos. Aldo Mendez is organizing this gang into something much bigger, much faster than I can deconstruct the crime gangs around him. He’s slick and for some fucking reason, his men are loyal. We may not have Mendez, but we have three of his most trusted men.

We pull up beside Arturo’s charcoal-gray Dodge Challenger and I let out a laugh. “Do I want to know how he managed to get all three here in that?”

“Arturo is resourceful, you know this.” Boy do I. That’s why he’s one of my best men. Arturo finds ways to get what I need. He’s the people person. Our finder. The fucker makes magic happen. Like a hound, he sniffs them all out and brings them back to his master like a good dog.

I push in the code and follow the screams. They all blend together when we get a bunch of live ones at once. The door to the torture room is ajar and when I open it, I’ve stepped right into a scene from a horror film.

Velez with balls purple as fuck sits in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at Arturo. Like a good man, Arturo left Velez alone aside from a few twists on his balls. But the others…he’s pulling information out like he’s been trained to do.

All three detainees are naked and hanging upside down by their ankles from chains attached to the rafters of the building. Men are more vulnerable naked. Plus, it gives us easy access to fuck them up however we need to. The gangster on the far right is either passed out or dead. I’m going with the latter. His inner thigh has been sliced open and blood runs down his chest and face. It drips from his hair onto the floor, making a puddle. The middle gangster is swinging in a circle as he unsuccessfully tries to free himself. And the gangster on the far left is crying. He’s young, probably nineteen or twenty.

“Hose,” I bark out to Marco Antonio.

He walks over to the hose wrapped up on the wall and turns the water on. Once he’s stretched it back over to me, I hold the trigger and aim it at the kid. The water blasts on and I aim for his balls. He screams in pain and tries to cover himself there, so I spray his eyes. When he lets out another wail, I send a spray of water right down his gullet. He gags and chokes. I release the trigger and walk over to him.

“Where’s Mendez?”

Vomit spews out of him and lands on my shoe. I’m glad I wore my boots. Once he’s done gagging and spitting, I rap my knuckles on his abdomen.

“Where’s Mendez?” I ask again.

“Don’t tell him, Angel,” the middle guy hisses.

“Shut up,” I snap at him.

He starts hissing a bunch of curse words. I’ve had enough of this fucker already. Stalking over to him, I grab a handful of his hair and yank him to me. “Hold him,” I bark out.

Marco Antonio holds his arms behind his back and Arturo pries the fuck’s mouth open. I shove the metal gun of my water hose into his mouth as deep as I can until he gags. I pull the trigger. He jolts and spazzes as water shoots down the back of his throat. I spray until I think he might drown and then I pull it from his mouth. Water mixed with blood rushes back out and soaks the floor below. He chokes and his body shakes violently. Dark red blood runs from his lips and out his nose. The dick is as good as dead because I’ve probably just exploded his damn stomach. It doesn’t matter, though. I’ll get info from Angel.

Turning back to the wide-eyed kid, I hold up the gun of the hose. “Ready to talk?”

“Y-Yes. He’s sticking to the north side of the city. Club Cielo,” he sputters out.

Interesting development.

Velez starts whimpering. Fucker knows what’s coming.