Page 70 of El Malo
The last time I was at the shed, I’d been disgusted at seeing that man strapped to the chair. Javier turned into a maniac before my very eyes. It was frightening to watch. But necessary. Sometimes we have to do horrible things to bad people. No matter how scary or disgusting or soulless. It must be done because if we don’t take out the trash, they’ll hurt the ones we love.
“Javier is here?” I ask as we pull up in front of the industrial building beside Alejandro’s Hummer and Marco Antonio’s Land Rover.
Angel puts the car in park and flashes me an evil stare. “He is and he’s called to meet you here.”
He climbs out of the car and seconds later, he’s at my side. Roughly, he grabs my bicep and yanks me to my feet.
“Ow!” I hiss at him. “Don’t touch me.”
“Sorry, baby, I’ve got orders.” The smug bastard grips me hard as he drags me to the door. He rings the buzzer and someone lets him in. I know the password to get in but certainly don’t offer that information to him.
Javier won’t like the way he’s touching me.
He’s walking a slippery slope here.
I’m all but dragged to the room where they torture people. My heart rate spikes and I try to pull away. Angel finally releases me and steps to the side.
Marco Antonio, Alejandro, and Arturo all stand along the wall with AK-47s in their hands, all matching in their black suits. Their faces are somber. They won’t look at me.
Ice clutches around my heart. Someone sits on a chair in the middle of the room and I can’t look at him. No, my gaze seeks out the one I love. Javier. He is an avenging angel in a cream-colored Ermenegildo Zegna Bespoke custom-tailored suit. It hugs his perfect body in all the right places. The pale-yellow dress shirt he wears beneath it compliments my dress and brings out his tan skin tones. My name, scrawled in red and black ink, is tattooed beautifully on his neck over a blooming red rose. I never grow tired of looking at it.
“Hi, baby,” I croak out, my voice stolen by nerves.
His icy stare bores into me. No smile. No dimple. No love flaring in his dark brown eyes. Before me doesn’t stand the man. He is the monster. El Malo. Terrifyingly beautiful.
“Rosa,” he greets, his voice cold.
Breathe, Rosa.
He loves you.
Even with those words replaying in my mind, it doesn’t make the shed any less horrifying.
His gaze falls to my stomach that holds his child. I expect a break in his fearsome stare, but instead he lingers his eyes for a moment before he looks elsewhere. Like a hurricane in a small room, he stalks past me to where his beloved apron hangs on the wall. He slides it on over his head and then gestures to the chair.
I reluctantly address the elephant in the room. There, sitting in the chair, is my worst nightmare. CIA Agent Michael Stiner. Naked. Sweaty. Bound. His mouth is secured by a strip of duct tape. Sandy-blond hair is sticking up everywhere, accentuating his bald spot. He’s heavier than I remember. Man boobs hanging on his chest. A fat gut sitting on his thighs. His cock remains unharmed. For now. It peeks out from beneath his stomach, flaccid and unimpressive, no longer a threat to me as his reddish-blond pubes that are overgrown and unkempt seem to want to swallow it whole.
Memories of that night assault me. The pain I felt when he hit me with the tequila bottle. The fist to my jaw. His brutality as he fucked me against my will. Back when his cock was a threat to me. I shudder and choke down the bile rising in my throat.
“Javier,” I whimper. Suddenly, I don’t feel so brave at all.
His murderous stare finds mine. I’d like to think his fury isn’t aimed at me. It’s aimed at Michael. But all Javier’s normal tells are missing. I don’t really know this man in the rubber apron. He’s from another realm—one I’ve never been to.
“What happens when you touch Javier Estrada’s girl?” Javier asks, his piercing stare never leaving me.
His men answer in unison behind him. “You die.”
Javier picks up an ice pick from the tool chest and walks over to Michael, who watches him with wide, fearful eyes. I hold my breath, wondering what he’ll do. At one time, I would have tried to stop him.
Not now.
Javier grabs the corner of the tape and rips it away from Michael’s mouth.
“Rosa,” he calls out to me. “Rosa, help me!”
Panic rises up inside me and I find myself backing up. I slam right into Angel, who grips my biceps and holds me in place, his hard fingers punishing my flesh. Javier has his back to me, but Marco Antonio keeps a sharp, watchful eye on me.
Don’t freak out.