Page 39 of El Malo

Horrible, horrible screams.

I’m unable to look away as Javier squeezes Velez’s balls and they slide out of his body like egg yolks into a bowl. Velez vomits and then passes out. All I can do is stare in utter horror.

“That’s gotta fucking hurt,” he says as he stands. “You next, Angel?”

Angel sobs and shakes his head. “N-No. P-Please. I can do whatever you want. I swear to you, I pledge my loyalty. I swear it, jefe.”

Javier laughs. “Jefe, huh?” He walks over to Angel and pats his naked stomach, leaving Velez’s blood smeared on him. “We’ll see.”

I expect him to hurt him too, but instead he walks over to the sink and washes up. Once he’s clean and he’s put the apron away, he starts whistling. He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the room.

I guess we’re done.

Fuck.

He can never ever know who I am.

Ever.

It’s time to step up my game because I won’t end up in that room like one of those guys.

“You bought me too much,” I complain.

He laughs as he drives to one of the resorts on the beach where he’s made lunch reservations. “Not enough.”

I shake my head at him. My necklace has a giant teardrop diamond and I also have a matching diamond tennis bracelet. I’d balked that he spent nearly 1.4 million Mexican pesos as if it were nothing. And that was just on two pieces of jewelry. He bought me dozens of outfits, a bunch of fancy shoes, and several swimsuits. I know I’m doing a job but damn, sometimes I feel like a queen with this man.

“They have the best lobster frittata,” he tells me as we pull up to the valet.

Lobster frittata. Makes me think of how that man’s balls were squeezed from their sac. I choke down bile. I will not be having the lobster frittata.

“Sr. Estrada,” the man greets when Javier opens his door.

Javier hands him the keys before rounding the car to meet me on my side where another man opens the door for me. My hand slips into Javier’s strong one. It’s hard to believe this same hand brutalized a man earlier.

It’s a testament to Javier’s villainous character.

One minute he’s torturing a man. The next, he’s buying jewelry for his flavor of the week. If I were a profiler instead of a field agent, I’d assume he’s a legit psychopath.

“You are the most beautiful thing this restaurant has ever seen,” he croons against my hair as his arm wraps around my waist.

I melt against him, intoxicated by his words. If I’m easily charmed by a psychopath, what does that make me?

Brainless.

Stupid.

Walking a dangerous line.

His palm slides to my ass and he gives me a little squeeze. It’s enough to pull me out of my head and throw me into the moment. With him. With Javier Estrada, the man who commands the attention and obedience of everyone in the room. A man in a suit greets us and I learn he’s the hotel manager. He guides us into a bustling restaurant but takes us through some side doors to a lone table on a small balcony. It faces the ocean and the breeze is warm. The afternoon sun is setting. It’s all so romantic.

Psychopath.

Remember, Rosa.

“Bring us something to drink,” Javier orders.

The man nods and hurries off. Javier doesn’t set his gun down on the table to remind people he’s the badass of this city. It simply exudes from him in his confident smirk.