El Santo

by M. Robinson

  His question, “What do you want in life?” echoed in my mind, residing deep into my core. I realized for the first time that I was given a choice, and I didn’t hesitate to become like the man who was handing me that option.

  I didn’t turn into the monster they wanted me to be...

  He had always been inside of me.

  The doors behind me opened, pulling me away from my thoughts. I didn’t have to wonder who it was. I turned, locking eyes with my father.

  He took one look at me and asked, “Who are you?” Shaking his head in disappointment, backing away. He didn’t even give me a chance to reply, turning around and leaving as if he already knew the answer all along. When it only had just hit me.

  That realization alone sent me spiraling down a bottle of fucking bourbon. Before I knew it, I was sitting on a black leather couch, in a dark corner of one of Emilio’s whorehouses, out of sight. Not bothering to remove my dark tinted sunglasses. Exhausted from the day and the never-ending plaguing emotions that tortured me every single goddamn day.

  I’d come here often to drown my sorrows in bourbon and whores. Typically, after something pivotal happened in my life, or when I needed to unwind. Fuck out my frustrations, my cock buried in whoever wanted a piece of me that night. I took another swig off the bottle, watching as the whole world shut off around me. Even if it was just for an instant, it was a moment I reveled in. Only seeing strobes of colored lights and bodies dancing, and fucking in the dark.

  “From the looks of it, you’re going to need me tonight,” the luscious blonde enticed with her red, pouty dick-sucking lips. Wearing nothing but a tiny G-string and a bra that barely covered any of her assets.

  “I just need your lips… on my cock. It would make a pretty picture, don’t you think?” I coaxed, leaning back into my chair.

  She laughed, swinging her long blonde hair over her shoulder. This was foreplay for her. “I see you’re here to break more hearts, Mr. Montero. What’s it been, two, three weeks? You know the girls get jealous when you don’t pay attention to them. You have your own harem of whores here, your pick of the pussy litter. Now I can see why, it’s that pretty boy face that makes women fucking wet when they see you coming… literally. Your reputation precedes you, though.” She took it upon herself to straddle my lap. Grinding her pussy on my cock to the beat of the house music. “I may be new, but from what I hear, you fuck like a real man. I’m Lola, by the way.”

  As soon as those words left her tongue, something Emilio once said to me flashed through my mind. “I knew your first taste of pussy would teach you to fuck like a real man. Reap the dominance I knew laid dormant in you for so long. Like I told you before, women always love that.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Being with Teresa taught me one thing and one thing alone.

  Control.

  My first time, given the fucked-up situation, didn’t end my craving for it. If anything, it made it worse. I thrived on the control as much as I did on anything else. In and out of the bedroom.

  It was just who I was now.

  I didn’t know how to fuck any other way. I had to dominate the sex. Positioning them where I wanted, how I wanted. Dictating the movements of their hips while they rode my cock, hard and fast. There was no kissing or sleepovers, I fucked them and made them fuck me. The rougher the better. They were ordered to keep their mouths shut, not saying so much as a word without my permission. Call it whatever you want, but it was the only way I could avoid seeing the images of Teresa. Reliving what I was forced to do to her that night, all over again.

  It wasn’t always about me, though. I’d always make them come, which was probably another reason they wanted me so bad. Not many men cared about a woman’s needs. Their minds set on the fact that they were whores for a reason.

  Especially men like me.

  “I want you,” she breathed out, leaning in to kiss me.

  I gripped onto her hair at the nook of her neck, tugging her head back, hard. Making her whimper like a dog in fucking heat. She should’ve known better, I didn’t kiss. It was much easier this way. Being with a whore. Don’t get me wrong, I never forced another woman sexually.

  They wanted it.

  Getting pussy had never been an issue. Women literally threw themselves on my dick, as soon as they saw me walking in beside Emilio. Knowing who I was and what I meant to him. Especially the women who wanted a job where the cops wouldn’t fuck with them, aware they’d be protected by Emilio’s hand. That’s how easy it was for them to get on their knees and suck my cock.

  This chick wasn’t any different.

  I let go of her hair and slowly moved my hands from her neck to her ample tits, down to her narrow waist. She licked her lips, sucking in another breath when I suddenly gripped onto her hips. Placing her on the table in front of me so I could get a good fucking look at her.

  I stood, spreading her legs to stand in between them. Getting close to her face, I rasped, “What makes you think I care about what you want?” Meaning every last word.

  She inhaled, holding her breath as my hand continued its descent, running along her smooth, heated skin, down to her cunt. “Please…” she begged, looking into my eyes with nothing but need and urgency, so fucking aroused. The tips of my callused fingers awakening every last fiber of her being. Slowly and deliberately, I took my time, knowing damn well I was fucking ruining her for any other man.

  “I'm desperate for you,” she purred, with nothing but hooded eyes.

  I snidely smiled, cocking my head to the side. Taking a second to look into her pleading gray eyes before leaning into her ear, spewing, “Then get on your fucking knees and show me what desperate looks like.”

  Her eyes instantly dilated as she slowly knelt in front of me, never taking her heady gaze off mine. I immediately reached for my belt buckle, undid my pants, and pulled out my cock in one swift movement. Jerking myself off in front of her face, not giving a flying fuck there were people around us.

  She licked her lips, salivating at the size of my cock. I gripped onto the back of her neck this time, crudely tugging her toward me. Causing her to gasp at the sudden shift in my demeanor.

  “You trust me?” I baited, and she nodded, not hesitating for one fucking second.

  I didn't think twice about it, I took the head of my cock and traced the outline of her red, pouty goddamn lips before shoving it to the back of her throat without any warning. She gagged, choking on my cock. Panting for air that I was savagely taking away from her. I fucked her face. Taking away all my frustrations from the day, exactly how she knew I needed.

  I glared down at the luscious blonde with a devious stare, viscously gritting out,

  “You shouldn't.”

  By the time I walked into my apartment, it was just past ten o’clock at night. I had spent the rest of the day fucking every hole of that blonde at the whorehouse. Hoping it would mask all the bullshit taking up occupancy front and center in my mind. I was emotionally, mentally, and physically drained.

  It was game fucking over.

  At least for tonight.

  My feet moved on their own accord out to the balcony that overlooked the ocean. Craving the fresh air, yearning for the tranquility that it usually provided for me. I would spend hours out on the terrace or down at the beach, watching and listening to the soft lull of the waves crashing into the shore. Welcoming the warm, salty breeze coming off the water. It always had a way of calming my nerves no matter what I was feeling or going through, and something told me tonight wouldn’t be any fucking different. I slipped off my jacket, laid it over the railing, and rolled up my sleeves. Resting my forearms on the steel bar. Trying to wrap my head around all that had happened in the last thirteen hours, but failing miserably at doing so.

  My mind wandered aimlessly as I took in the night’s air and the dark sky. Mesmerized by the high-rise buildings that lined the shore, the lights illuminating the streets, and the cars driving by in the distance. Taking in every last detai
l, needing to come down from the high that killing men and fucking whores always gave me. There was something about the sound of the waves and the ocean breeze that took me away to another place in time. A familiar sense of longing came over me, making me remember how much Amira loved the water.

  “Wow! This is your apartment? It’s so big for only one person,” Amira observed, walking around the living room. It was the first time I brought her over since she started living with Rosarío, seven months ago.

  “It’s not that big, Muñeca, you’re just small.”

  She placed her hands on her hips with Yuly dangling from her fingers. “I’m not small. You’re just abnormally large.”

  I chuckled, making her smile. I swear this kid’s smart-ass mouth was going to be the death of me. As the weeks went by she started to come into her own, crying less and laughing more. She was constantly talking about one thing or another, barely letting me get a word in edgewise. I never imagined a nine-year-old little girl would have so much to say. She had an opinion about everything and wasn’t intimidated to speak her mind. It was a nice change of pace to have her around, especially since I was mostly alone before she unexpectedly came barging into my life.

  “It’s got two bedrooms in the back. In case you ever need to crash. You’ll have your own room.”

  “Why? We can just share a room like we do at Rosarío’s.”

  I touched the end of her nose, and for some reason it always made her eyes light up. “You’re not going to be nine forever, Amira. One day it won’t be appropriate for us to share a bed anymore, and when that day comes, you’ll have your own space in my apartment.”

  She shrugged, not paying me any mind, walking toward the balcony. “Whatever, I’ll just sneak into your room when I have nightmares.”

  I shook my head, stifling a laugh. “Ay, Muñeca…”

  “What?” She turned to look at me. “You know I don’t like to sleep by myself, Damien. You keep the monsters away. Plus, I don’t need all those itchy blankets that Rosarío has, you’re like a heating blanket. Just lying next to you, I’m nice and warm.”

  “Amira, you can’t say shit like that.”

  She arched an eyebrow, scratching her head. “I can’t say shit like what?”

  “Like that,” I asserted, pointing at her. “You definitely can’t swear. Rosarío will wash your mouth out with soap. Trust me, she tried plenty of times with me.”

  “Then why do you still use them?”

  “Because I’m a man,” I simply stated. “You’re far too sweet and young to be saying vulgar things. You will be a lady. Don’t let me hear you swear again. Do you understand me?”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t be teaching me your bad habits.” She abruptly spun back around, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder, and stepped out onto the balcony. “Your apartment overlooks the ocean! I’m never leaving! Do you remember, Damien? How I told you I wanted to have a house like this too? Just like the Little Mermaid!” she excitedly exclaimed, jumping up and down.

  I leaned against the glass door, folding my arms over my chest, shaking my head. I couldn’t help but be amused by her subtle way of changing the subject. “I remember, Amira.” And I did, it was the only reason I got this place. “How about we go for a swim? Rosarío brought over a few bathing suits for you.”

  She sighed, bowing her head.

  “What? What happened?”

  “I don’t know how to swim.”

  “Well, lucky for you, I do and can teach you how,” I reassured her, extending my hand for her to take. “Come on. You’ll be a mermaid in no time.”

  She smiled again, peering up at me through her long, thick lashes that always reminded me of the dolls I’d buy her.

  “And Yuly?” she added, attentively waiting for my reply.

  I nodded. “Yes, Muñeca. Yuly too.”

  As much as I wanted to go see Amira, there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d let her witness me like this again tonight. It had been several months since I lost my shit on her at Rosarío’s, showing her the man behind the façade. I was worried that night would change her attitude toward me, she would become guarded and possibly frightened to be around me, but she didn’t. If anything, she became more attached. Worrying about me in her Amira sort-of-way.

  She started leaving me with a bunch of random things, always including Yuly. I’d find them stashed in my car, my jackets, and my overnight bag. Anywhere she knew I’d look later on when she wasn’t around. As if she knew I needed to laugh or smile at some point during the day.

  It ranged from books with highlighted passages in the chapters, to collected flowers for my apartment, to cookies she baked that tasted like shit, but I still ate them anyway. These were just to name a few. She never bothered asking me about the items. All she knew was I had found them, as soon as Yuly had unexpectedly returned to her room. I would place the doll on her bed when she wasn’t looking, or when she was off with Rosarío or by herself in the garden.

  For Amira’s fourteenth birthday I had her favorite flower, white Mariposas, planted in the backyard with several trellises that lined the side of the house. More Mariposas and vines intertwined, blanketing the soil and spread up the lattice. The garden quickly became her new obsession. She’d spend hours out there with Rosarío or her chickens, pulling weeds and making sure the plants were properly taken care of. She’d prance around with a flower behind her ear as she twirled in circles, flapping her arms like a butterfly, wearing her flowy garden dresses that had rips and stains at the bottom. Probably from being barefoot and running through the grass every chance she got. She was still a ranch girl at heart.

  I’d walk into the kitchen and hear her laughter cascading off the greenery from the open sliding doors. The same little girl who used to cry herself to sleep, didn’t have a care in the world when she was out there. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever gotten to see, over and over again. I always took a few seconds to soak up her contagious sounds, smiling to myself, knowing that I had done something right by her. Since the night I lost my temper, I found myself gravitating toward Amira more often than not. It only took a moment of weakness on my behalf for her to witness the side of me that everyone had met. Experiencing my wrath that I spent years shielding her from.

  Except, I wasn’t a monster in her eyes.

  Not even close.

  From the second we locked eyes, a sense of protection and possession came over me. It was the craziest thing I had ever felt, but I couldn’t help it. It was there, threading itself into my skin, making me feel warmth and contentment. She awakened something within my being, causing me to feel less fucking dead inside. Her energy, her innocence, her love for me, it all became a magnet. Little by little she became a staple piece in my world that I needed in order to keep going.

  I may have saved her life.

  But she kept me alive.

  None of it made any sense. Our connection was solely linked through darkness, but now there was blinding light added into the mix. We were balancing on the tightrope of existence, walking the thin line toward each other, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Not knowing which way we’d fall.

  Into the dark or light.

  It only seemed like yesterday she was sneaking into my bedroom when she had a nightmare. “I’m sorry I woke you up again. I know you’re really tired,” Amira muttered loud enough for me to hear as she turned to face me.

  I’d lost count of how many times she’d woken me up from one of her night terrors. It had become a routine, usually a few hours after she fell asleep. Tonight, we were watching a movie on the couch and she had passed out near the end. I didn’t want to move her, knowing that most of the time it was difficult for her to fall asleep in the first place. I laid a blanket over her tiny frame, making sure to leave the table lamp on beside her. I knew she’d be scared if she woke up alone in a dark room in the middle of the night. Amira was comfortable staying in my apartment, but sometimes she would wake up disoriented as hell until
she pushed herself out of the haze her nightmares brought on.

  It didn’t take long until I felt the bed dip beside me, stirring me awake.

  “Sleep is overrated.” I grinned, winking at her through the soft lighting coming in through the window from the full moon.

  “Did your mami rub your back too? When you were little and had nightmares?” she curiously asked, wanting to learn something about me.

  Nothing about her question was surprising. It was a running theme with Amira. She was always looking for answers to questions I wouldn’t reply to. Not that I could blame her, all she wanted was to get to know me. Which was much easier said than done. So many conflicting emotions emerged through me in a matter of seconds.

  I clenched my eyebrows together, deep in thought. I think I stunned us both when I responded with, “I never met my mother.”

  “Do you miss her?”

  My stare never wavered from the textured ceiling, contemplating how to answer her intrusive question. I thought about nothing and everything all at once, wanting to hold back the truth or, quite possibly, what I really wanted to say, before I finally uttered, “You can’t miss what you’ve never had.”

  She winced, not expecting that reply to fall from my lips. Quite frankly, I was just as shocked by my response, admitting that out loud for the first time ever. I never wanted anyone’s fucking pity, especially hers.

  I didn’t deserve it.

  “What about your papi? Did he ever comfort you?”

  I turned my head and narrowed my eyes at her through the darkness, trying to analyze what she saw in me. I’d catch myself doing this often, needing to see myself through her eyes, from a different perspective. They were always hopeful, eager, and full of so much fucking life. When her eyes widened, and she faintly smiled, I swear she knew what I was doing. How in the fuck this ten-year-old little girl could interpret my silence was beyond me.

  “It’s late, Amira. You need your sleep.”