El Malo

by K. Webster

  “Oh my God,” she says with a groan. “Maybe this will make you understand.” She hands me a white plastic stick.

  Taking it from her, I stare down at in wonder. This one, I don’t miss the meaning at all. It’s evident from the get-go.

  Pregnant.

  “I took a test last week and another to be sure this morning, but, Javi, we’re going to have a baby,” she tells me, her smile widening.

  I toss the test and the cigar to the floor before grabbing her hips, yanking her to me. My lips crash to hers and I kiss her until she’s moaning against my mouth. Gripping her by the ass, I lift her and walk her to the very wall I intend on fucking her against. Except when I make it there, I don’t move. Simply press her back to the wall and stare at her.

  “¿Voy a ser papá?” I will be a daddy?

  She nods, tears welling in her eyes. “Sí.”

  I maul her, eager to show her just how happy I am when she palms my scruffy cheeks. Her eyes are sad and serious. “You don’t doubt my love, do you?”

  “Nunca más.” Never again.

  “Bien.” Good.

  She pulls me closer so her lips brush against my ear. I’m drunk on her news, but her whispered words sober me up. I listen to every single syllable and inflection. Catalogue them all and record them away.

  And when she’s done…

  I pull her thong to the side and fuck the love of my life.

  Rosa

  Three months later…

  The blanket Leticia knitted is soft and I can’t stop touching it. My heart swells that she put so much time and effort into the gift for our baby.

  Baby.

  I can hardly believe it.

  I’m pregnant with Javier Estrada’s child and couldn’t be happier about it. I fold the blanket and set it in the crib. The nursery is coming together nicely. We’ve chosen to keep the sex a secret even though the doctor told us she knows the sex. As long as the baby is healthy, we’re happy. It’s just a waiting game at this point. In about four more months, our family will be complete.

  With a happy sigh, I finish readying the room and then leave. I run right into the solid brick wall that is Angel. He steadies me by grabbing my biceps and the metal of his brass knuckles bites into my flesh. I flash a fake smile—for him and not the hidden cameras that watch our every move. Truth is, he makes me nervous. I don’t like how he seems to stalk Araceli. She assures me she can handle it, but I still worry over my girls. They may not work directly for me like they used to, but they’re still my friends. Araceli is like the little sister I never had. The thought of him roughing her up has me angry on her behalf.

  “Nice dress,” he says, his pupils wide with whatever it is he’s on as of late. He doesn’t release me and I don’t jerk away from him. Angel thrives on intimidating women. Unfortunately, his tactics don’t work on me.

  In this home, I am safe.

  With Javier, I am safe.

  I glower up at him. “Thanks.”

  His gaze lingers at my cleavage. My breasts are much fuller being that I’m pregnant and Angel doesn’t seem to miss that fact. Ever. Although, he attempts to keep his eyes to himself whenever Javier is near.

  But Javier misses nothing.

  “If you’re done eye-fucking my tits, I’d like to go lie down before dinner with Javier tonight,” I bark out, leveling him with a hard glare.

  He smirks, confident and arrogant, but removes his hands from me. The asshole makes a blatant show of checking out my breasts a few moments longer. Bold and brave this one. “Jefe wants you to wear a sexy dress and then I’m to drive you. He says he has something real special planned for you.”

  I give him a clipped nod and slip into our bedroom beside the baby’s room. Turning the lock behind me, I breathe a sigh of relief knowing I’m alone. I rummage around in our closet until I find a new maternity dress Javier hasn’t seen yet that I bought online. Using Javier’s computer. A computer that even though he gave me the password and tempted me at one time with potential new information, I never abused by snooping. Just shopping.

  My dress is beautiful. It’s sunshine yellow and hugs all my curves. I like it because it’s sleeveless, low cut, and short. I won’t get too sweaty in it. Once I put on some glitzy jewelry and step into my wedge sandals, I apply some makeup and curl my hair into the sexy waves he loves so much. Finally, I spritz on some perfume and decide I look as sexy as a pregnant woman can be.

  Tears prickle my eyes as I clutch my rounded belly. It’s as though someone placed a small basketball inside me. I can hardly believe life grows within me.

  “Time to go,” Angel barks from the other side of the door.

  His tone irritates me, but I blow it off for now. I’m ready to see Javier anyway. Angel’s eyes bug out of his head when he rakes his gaze over my appearance.

  “Fuck, jefe is so lucky.” He scratches at his jaw, his stupid brass knuckles still attached to his fingers, as he smirks. “You and me could run away, baby. Leave right now. I could make all your dreams come true.”

  “You’re pushing it,” I snap and push past him. “Rein it in, asshole.”

  He growls a “fucking whatever” before he storms past me. I lift my chin and walk after him, taking my time. When I get to the carport, he’s waiting beside his cherry red Mustang that Javi bought for his undeserving ass. Javier spoils everyone in his life who are loyal to him.

  The ones who are not…

  They die.

  A shudder ripples past me, but I shake it away. Javier and I are fine. We’re more than fine. We’re perfect. I settle into the passenger seat as Angel fires up the obnoxiously loud engine. He backs out of the driveway past the estate gates and barrels through town.

  Away from the restaurants.

  Away from the hotels.

  Away from the city.

  We’re going to the shed.

  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 th
e 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.

  Don’t freak out.

  I’m freaking out.

  “What happens when you touch Javier Estrada’s girl?” Javier demands again, this time his question directed at Michael.

  “No, man,” Michael defends. “She was my girlfriend and—” A howl pierces the air when Javier plunges the ice pick into the side of Michael’s arm. He leaves it there and turns to glower at me.

  The intensity rippling from him has my knees buckling. Angel grips me harder until I let out a yelp, but I don’t fall.

  “You fucked him because you wanted to or because he forced you?” Javier demands. He knows the answer, but I remind him again.

  “H-He hurt me. He held me down and…” I trail off, tears welling.

  Javier’s jaw clenches and he turns to regard Michael again. “You’re a liar, you fat fuck. Do you know what I do to liars?” He yanks the ice pick out of Michael’s arm and then slams it into his thigh.

  “Fuck!” Michael screams. “Stop fucking stabbing me!” Michael turns his hate-filled glare my way. “What you do to me you have to do to her,” he spits out. “I’m not the only liar around here.”

  That asshole.

  This goes against everything the agency taught us.

  You don’t sell out your own people.

  “No, Michael,” I whine.

  Angel laughs from behind me, his brutal grip no doubt bruising my arms. Marco Antonio’s glare is punishing, but he makes no moves to stop him. If looks could kill, though…

  “My sweet manzanita? A liar?” Javier asks, his shoulders tense.

  Like a bobble head, Michael nods. “C-Check my bag. I have her passport. She’s Agent Rosa Daza with the motherfucking CIA!” The evil look of smug satisfaction he shoots my way makes me want to throw up.

  Javier won’t look at me. Instead, he points to the bag. “Angel, let’s see if Michael is telling the truth.”

  “Don’t fucking think about walking out of here or those big motherfuckers over there will mow you down with those AKs,” Angel hisses against my ear before releasing me.

  I rub my palms up and down my biceps and bow my head. My skin feels cold. My heart is going numb. The tears that threaten to fall are barely kept at bay.

  Javier loves you.

  Everything will be okay.

  “Holy fuck, jefe. Look at this shit,” Angel says as he tosses my passport at Javier.

  The room goes deathly quiet for a moment. Then, I hear Javier’s shoes squeak across the floor until his powerful form is just inches from mine. I’m still looking down so my passport comes into view before he does.

  “Who is this?” Javier demands, his voice a low, threatening growl.

  “Rosa Daza. She’s dead.” I hiccup as the tears start.

  When Javier doesn’t say anything, I lift my gaze to meet his. His glare is frightening. Clenched jaw. Flaring nostrils. Pupils dilated with rage. My tears leak out and race down my cheeks. His hand flinches like he wants to swipe them away, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Villains must always be villains. Even I know this.

  “Dead, huh?” His words are cold.

  Michael laughs scornfully, making me flinch from the sound. “She’s fucking dead all right. I killed her three and a half years ago.”

  “What?” I choke out.

  He sneers at me. “Six months after we were stationed here, I told them you were raped and killed by some Mexican thugs. Turns out I was a motherfucking fortune teller. Look at you now, Daza.”

  No longer interested in keeping up pretenses, I take a step forward, my shoulder brushing past Javier. His warmth and scent fill me up. He may be a monster, but he’s still a better man than the sick fuck sitting in the chair. “All those meetings. All those recordings. It was for nothing? You let me stay in that house knowing it was all bullshit?”

  Angel mutters out a, “Oh fuck, bitch, you’re going down.”

  Marco Antonio cracks his neck loudly from the wall.

  “All bullshit,” Michael says with a laugh. “And when I got tired of Stokes’ whiny ass telling me it was time to close down the investigation and get back, I faked my own death. With a little help, of course. I’d made friends with attorney general Lucas Lorenzo and he paid me really fucking well to do his bidding for him. All he asked was for me to spoon feed my weekly information to him.” He shoots me a knowing look that has my gut hollowing out.

  “Lorenzo, huh?” Javier asks, coolly. The attorney general will be dead by the end of the week.

  Michael nods. “He had the means and connections to keep the agency out of here. The Estrada surveillance was no longer a problem the CIA cared about. El Malo’s destruction of this city ultimately funded Lorenzo’s corruption, but he still wanted to know your every move. Money works miracles around here. We’ve been playing this game for years, Daza. A permanent vacation. Acapulco weather, dirty whores during the week, and your fine ass every fucking Saturday.”

  “You bastard,” I spit out at him. “You sick goddamned bastard.”

  “You were so gullible, sweetheart. Came sniffing around for the dick like a desperate little thing. I couldn’t tell you no.” He looks past me at Javier. “Your woman, Estrada, is nothing but a lying whore who spent the past four years trying to tear you and your entire organization down.” Then, Michael looks at my stomach. “Poor you, baby. Won’t even get to have that kid. By the looks of the motherfucker behind you, he’s going to cut it straight from your body and feed it to you.” He laughs in a maniacal way that chills me to my bones.

  I turn to
face Javier and sure enough, his face has contorted to one of blind rage. He shoves his hands into his pockets and retrieves a pair of leather gloves. With his searing, angry glare on me, he slides the gloves on slowly. I back away from him, completely terrified of the monstrous look on his face I’ve never seen before. My tears fall harder and I’m unable to stop them. I back right into Angel, who once again grabs onto me in a punishing grip that makes me yelp in pain. My eyes never leave my monster.

  My monster.

  Despite the hate rolling from him, he’s still mine. He’ll always be mine.

  And I am his.

  “Marco Antonio,” Javier bellows, the fury emanating from him a living, breathing animal. “What happens when you touch Javier Estrada’s girl?”

  “You die,” Marco Antonio growls.

  “Arturo,” Javier hisses. “What happens when you touch Javier Estrada’s girl?”

  “You die,” Arturo answers, his voice cold.

  “Alejandro,” Javier says in a violent whisper. “What happens when you touch Javier Estrada’s girl?”

  “You die,” Alejandro bites out.

  “Angel.” Javier turns to glare my way, hate dripping from his features. “What happens when you touch Javier Estrada’s girl?”

  “You die,” Angel says, gripping me tighter. He turns to Michael. “He’ll cut you open and pull your entrails out. He’s fucking psycho.”

  “You’re still claiming her? Knowing what a lying cunt she is?” Michael asks in disgust.

  I swipe at my tears and his eyes fall to my shiny ring. Big fat diamond that was ridiculously expensive. My wedding ring.

  “You married the whore?” Michael’s eyes are wild.

  “Javier,” I plead. “Please, baby.” I want this done. I want to go home. I want everything to go back to the way it was this morning when Javier woke me up by whispering sweet nothings to our child in my stomach.

  Javier’s fiery hate isn’t on me but on Angel. “She’s a lying whore,” Javier tells Angel, his voice calm and challenging. “You heard the man. Fucked me over and lied. I married a fucking liar. What should I do?”