El Pecador : El Santo Book 2

by M. Robinson

  They didn’t need me in their lives anymore. I was their death sentence waiting to strike. Nothing about me had changed. If anything, I became far fucking worse. I was destined to a life alone. That was my cross to bear and nothing, nor anyone, could change that. It was what I deserved.

  Being the monster I was.

  I found a table in the far corner of the crowded restaurant, taking a seat by the window in order to be aware of all my surroundings. Passing a man wearing military fatigues, angrily talking on the phone and a young tattooed biker a few tables down who was eyeing me from the second I sat down. Not that it surprised me. The average person recognized who I was on a daily basis. My appearance was also different than most, a man dressed in an expensive suit clashed with the board short-wearing surfers. He was sitting with an older woman across the room by the open screen enclosures, leading down to the beach. I assumed it was his mother who he was in deep conversation with before I caught his attention. My eyes wandered down to the name on his cut, Rebel. I instantly made a mental note to look into the club, ‘Devil’s Rejects,’ specifically the last name Jameson stitched on his cut.

  “Hi there,” the waitress greeted, bringing my attention to her. “I’m Alex. What can I get you?”

  “I was told this was the best restaurant around. How about you tell me, sweetheart. What’s good here?”

  She smiled, cocking her head to the side. She was cute in a mousey girl next door sort of way. “Oh yeah? Who told you that?”

  “Detective McGraw, which is odd because you don’t strike me as the woman who would get herself into any trouble.”

  She blushed, chuckling. “He’s like my brother. But yes, my restaurant is the best one around these parts.”

  “Your restaurant? Quite the entrepreneur for being so young.”

  “Hardly. It was my parents. They handed it down to me after they retired.”

  “I see. Oak Island is just one big happy family, eh?”

  “Something like that. Anyway, I suggest you try the house special. It’s my personal favorite.” She pointed to the menu.

  I nodded, grabbing my phone from the inside of my suit jacket to answer it. “Sounds great, I’ll take a water too.”

  “Coming right up.” She turned and left.

  “This is Damien,” I answered, spending the next twenty-minutes on a conference call. “Yes, that’s right. Those dates could work. We need to make sure her alibi lines up with his. I’ll prep her when I—” My response was cut short when a certain blonde bombshell uninvitingly took a seat in front of me.

  She smirked, reaching over to slide my plate of food I had barely touched, toward her.

  “Damien, you still there?” Andrew questioned over the phone.

  “Yes.” I arched an eyebrow, taking her in. “I was just rudely interrupted.”

  She bit her bottom lip, shrugging in a conniving yet innocent way. I continued my call, watching her every move as she picked at my lunch. Obviously, eavesdropping on my conversation till it ended.

  “Do you always listen to private conversations that don’t concern you, Giselle?”

  A smartass smile suddenly spread across her face. “Only when they’re as interesting as yours. Besides, I can say the same for you. Correct me if I’m wrong, but your ears dropped in on my private conversation with my father too.”

  “I overheard your conversation with your daddy. There’s a difference.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Spoken like a true attorney.” Her gaze followed my questioning stare, watching her push pieces of food aside with her fork, only eating the meat. “What?” She shrugged again. “I’m a picky eater.”

  “I see.” Leaning back in my chair, I rested my arm on the backrest of the seat next to me. Finally getting comfortable. “So, you’ve always been a pain in the ass?”

  She giggled, “Are you flirting with me?” Cocking her head to the side, pursing her dick-sucking lips.

  “Depends, does imagining your lips wrapped around my cock while I fuck your face count as flirting?”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Or are you only invading my personal space and destroying my lunch because your boyfriend is watching us like a fucking sniper from across the room?”

  She didn’t hesitate in replying, “He’s not my boyfriend.”

  “I see… A lover’s quarrel then? You’re trying to make him jealous by pretending you’re having lunch with another man. A real man.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Mason.”

  “No?” I mocked, leaning forward, placing my elbows on the table. Moving closer till my face was only an inch away from hers. “Then let’s talk about how we can get your lips wrapped around my cock.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Feeling a real man in your mouth… And if you’re a good girl, I’ll return the favor. I’d like nothing more than to have my face in between your legs. Fucking you with my tongue.”

  Her eyes dilated and her cheeks blushed. She wanted it all.

  “I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse. You want to get out of Oak fucking Island? Well, you’re in luck, I need a secretary for the summer. Mine is about to take her maternity leave. I’m sure you’re aware, Miami is considered one of the fashion capitals of the world. There are important people I can introduce you to.” Licking my lips, I eyed hers. “Just say the word.”

  “What’s the catch? You give me a job, and I have to have sex with you?”

  “No, my cock is just an added bonus.”

  “Why would you do that for me?”

  I stared straight into her eyes and stated, “You look like you need to get properly fucked.”

  She faintly chuckled, “The job, the people you can introduce me to. Why? You don’t even know me.”

  “I don’t care to know you. Let’s get that clear first. I like to fuck, and I want to fuck you. End. Of. Story. You also look like a girl who needs to get away, who wants to forget, and I’m the man to offer it to you. But something tells me that’s exactly what you’re looking for. No strings attached.”

  “Do you have someone you want to forget, too?” she questioned in an understanding tone. Placing her hand on top of mine on the table.

  I abruptly sat back in my chair, breaking our connection. Crudely pulling my hand away from hers. “You have until the end of the week to give me your answer.” And with that, I placed my business card and the money for the check on the table, stood and left her sitting there alone.

  Already completely prepared to be expecting to find the guy in fatigues standing next to my rental car, waiting for me.

  “Stay the fuck away from Giselle,” he warned, stepping up to me.

  “You’re the second man to warn me about her today. You guys are just making her more goddamn enticing,” I snidely scoffed. “Mason, right?” Getting right in his face, not backing down. “Do I look like the man who would take orders from a boy?”

  He eyed me up and down. “She doesn’t need to get hurt.”

  “You mean more than you have already hurt her.”

  He jerked back like I had hit him. People were easy to read and this motherfucker put her through some shit. He was still putting her through it.

  “She can make her own decisions, probably the same way you’ve always made yours. Now, back the fuck away,” I gritted through a clenched jaw.

  “Mason!” Giselle called out from the entrance of the restaurant. Catching us arguing from afar.

  “She beckons, go fetch with your dick tucked in between your legs like the pussy you are.”

  He came at me. “You motherfuc—”

  “Mason!” she shouted louder.

  “This isn’t over.” He reluctantly moved away.

  I took one last look at him and spoke with conviction, “Now where would the fucking fun be in that.” Got in my car and sped off. Leaving them alone to work out their bullshit I didn’t give a fuck about.

  Knowing she would call.
r />   SIX

  DAMIEN

  One year later

  Within the last year of putting Martinez to rest, I opened one of the most prestigious night clubs in downtown Miami. On any given night of the week, you’d find exclusive private parties happening. Where no one got past my guards unless I knew them personally. It was the only way I could protect myself from the long list of people who I was sure wanted me dead. Came with the territory of being a district attorney candidate.

  The rules were—there weren’t any. From sex, to drugs, to gambling, to fucking murder—these black walls had seen it all in the short amount of time it’d been open. Club Hell was where the elite of the corrupt partied, and was all the rage among the underground world. They knew they could get away with anything here. Prostitution, drug smuggling, BDSM—you name it, it took place in my establishment.

  The club was in a remodeled warehouse, the exterior didn’t look like much, but the interior had an industrial, sleek and sexy feel to it. Many clubs in Miami were similar in style, but our unique format set us apart from the rest. Different rooms for different purposes, offering something for everyone. The high energy dance club when you first walked in was mesmerizing. Bright lights and strobes bouncing from the towering ceilings while the best DJs in the city spun fresh beats you couldn’t help but shake your ass to. Private tables scattered throughout where you could snort rails off your table or drink the best liquor money could buy till your heart’s content.

  But this was all a cover.

  At the back of the club was a set of guarded double doors which led to a long hallway that housed tunnels that led to more depravity, depending on what you were into. Each room was named after the source of entertainment it provided, from girls working the poles, to a casino, to just plain old shooting the shit in the cigar room. The private rooms in the back held beds for a more intimate setting with one of my girls, or you could be a part of a fucking orgy if you walked room-to-room.

  Obviously, the club wasn’t bought under my name, I knew the right people to make it happen without jumping through too many hoops. They made sure I wasn’t linked in any way, shape, or form to the lease, and the LLC was under a ghost company, just in case some shit went down, I wouldn’t go down with it. Not many knew I owned the club either, the same way only few knew my true colors. I opened Club Hell for purely selfish reasons, wanting a safe environment to call my own, where I didn’t have to pretend to be someone I wasn’t. Where the monster inside of me could live, breathe, and be out in the fucking open without having to look over my shoulder around every corner. It felt good to not have to pretend to be El Santo, even if it was only for a few hours a night.

  A few moments in time.

  All that mattered was I was free. Away from judgement, scrutiny, and being under a goddamn microscope day in and day out. Especially, being in the eye of the media more so than I have before these last two years during my draining campaign for district attorney. I was physically fucking exhausted from portraying El Santo when I was truly El Pecador. Ever since I left Cuba seven years ago, I’d become a sadistic cruel bastard who thrived on pain, pussy, and power. I’d put a bullet in your head just because I was fucking bored. My sanctity or value for anything or anyone had vanished like a thief in the night. Nothing was sacred to me anymore. I respected no one.

  I didn’t have to.

  I was the best prosecuting attorney in the nation. A man who could literally get away with murder.

  And I did.

  All the fucking time.

  I smiled, sliding a glass of whiskey across the table.

  “When are you going to become a real man and drink scotch? This shit is like water,” the man sitting across from me asked.

  I chuckled, setting my glass back down on the table.

  “How does it feel to have the world at your fingertips?” he followed, arching an eyebrow.

  “The same way it used to for you, until you died.”

  “And don’t you ever forget it, motherfucker. You should be on your knees, sucking my cock for putting your name on the ballot.”

  My guests and I were sitting at a private table on the top level of the warehouse, where all the private rooms were enclosed with one-way mirrors. Hidden from prying eyes. I could see everything and everyone, but no one could see us. I couldn’t take a chance being seen, not when I was having drinks with a dead man. Alejandro Martinez was a ruthless motherfucker most would steer clear of. Those who truly knew me, went as far as saying he was worse than me, but they obviously didn’t know me very well. He was the snake in the grass you didn’t see coming. They called him El Diablo, meaning the devil. I guess you could say he used to be the ringleader of organized crime in all parts of the world, until he gave it all up two years. Now residing in Italy as a goddamn ghost.

  “You didn’t hand me shit. Besides, I owed you,” I reminded him, taking a deep breath.

  He was also the man who helped me when I tried to get Amira out of Cuba, which seemed like a lifetime ago. I reached out to him after that betraying son of a bitch, Ricardo, dropped his name during Salazar’s meeting, all those years ago. I should have let him turn Emilio’s ass over to the States, but I fucked up the opportunity. Shooting him in the head instead, blinded by my loyalty to a man who never deserved it.

  Only good thing that came out of the meeting was Martinez’s name. I was lucky he had a soft spot for women and kids, and luckily Amira was both at the time. He was the one who set up everything for her escape, I just provided the cash. I was eternally grateful for his efforts, even though she jumped off the fucking boat to come back to me. We’d done more business together throughout the years, so when he asked me to help with his demise several years back, I figured it was the least I could do.

  His reasoning for why he wanted to die in the first place was his and his alone. None of my business. He could tell you his story, not me.

  In exchange, he gave me the names and documents of everyone I needed to take down to get my name on the ballot. Once again making me appear like I was a fucking hero, although appearances were always deceiving.

  It would do you some good to remember that.

  “Doesn’t change the fact that you helped with my murder and took down El Diablo’s,” he eyed the man who was sitting next to me, up and down, “friends…” he mocked. “Including this motherfucker. How the hell do you just keep showing up everywhere?” He nodded over to him.

  Bossman smirked. “I guess I’m that fucking good.”

  We all laughed, taking another drink. The son of a bitch never said more than a few words and when he did, he was such a fucking smartass. It was one of the reasons I orchestrated his escape out of prison. He loved the water as much as I did and transported enough drugs for us on his boats to qualify him as a fucking pirate.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught some commotion coming from the back of the room.

  “Are you seeing what I am?” Martinez questioned, following my stare.

  I casually stood, finishing my drink in one gulp. “Go out the same door you came in through.” Signaling behind me. “Your case is officially closed. You’re a free man.” It was the only reason Martinez was here. He liked to keep his hands clean, much like I did. Having others do his dirty work for him. Making sure all his tracks were covered and he could now rest in peace.

  I didn’t wait for a response, not that I expected one. I immediately made my way toward an unruly club member who was standing in front of where the girls performed. Taking it upon himself to put his hands where they weren’t wanted. Betty, one of my girls, was kneeling on the edge of the stage, performing an exclusive dance for him, but this asshole was crossing the line. I never cared much for this son of a bitch, Luis. Word around the club was he liked to slap around his wife and kid. Though I was never one to involve myself in someone else’s business, this piece of shit just involved me.

  “I pay a lot of money for my membership to do whatever the fuck I want,” he asserted, gripping
onto Betty’s face to look at him while his other hand unbuckled his belt.

  “You pay for your membership! Not me! I say what goes. Not you!” she exclaimed, trying to tug her face away from his forceful hold.

  “Do we have a problem here?” I interjected from behind him, putting my hand up to stop security from interfering.

  “Yeah, we do! This bitch won’t give me a happy ending. Who the fuck does she think she is? A fucking cock tease, trying to give me a lap dance like that’s going to get the job done! Get on your knees, cunt!” He shoved her face down to his dick.

  I scoffed, slowly rolling up the sleeves of my button-down shirt as he continued to assault her. Betty could handle her own, most of my girls could. I chose them for a reason, the last thing I wanted was to babysit. My employees gave zero fucks about the business that was carried on behind these closed doors. Many of them were born into this type of lifestyle, exactly like me.

  I finally intervened when he backhanded her with so much force, her body flew across the stage. I roughly gripped onto his hair from behind him, catching him by surprise. Knocking him on his ass. Bossman was already ahead of me, opening the door to the back alley as I dragged Luis’ struggling body outside like it weighed nothing.

  “What the fuck?” he spewed, stumbling to get his footing when I let him go. “This is bullshit! I’ve seen far fucking worse go down in your club than me putting that cunt in her place. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  “What are you talking about?” I calmly replied, grabbing the lid off the steel trashcan beside me. “I’m just taking out the trash.”

  “Who the—”

  I backhanded him with the lid like he’d done to Betty with his hand. Now his body was the one flying across the narrow space between us. Always being a firm believer that you reap what you sow.

  “You like to hit women?” I eerily coaxed, hovering above him with the lid still clenched in my grasp.

  He rolled around, groaning. Trying to get to his knees to get up. “Fuck you!” He spit blood at me, splattering it all over my shirtsleeves.