El Malo

by K. Webster

  I, however, am not meat.

  I am a worthy adversary.

  He just doesn’t know it yet.

  “Dissension is key,” Javier’s rugged, masculine voice rumbles. It always seems to rattle my nerves. It coils in the pit of my belly like a snake. No matter how hard I try not to let him affect me, he does. When I look at Javier, I see the monsters who killed my mother and Ana and Miguel. I hate him as much as I hate the ones who were actually responsible.

  “What does that mean?” Alejandro asks. He’s the runt of the group. Massive and muscular being that he was an ex-MMA fighter, but dumber than a box of rocks.

  Marco Antonio grunts. “You have a phone. Google it, asswipe.”

  Alejandro shoves him, but Marco Antonio is twice as solid. Older and meaner. He doesn’t budge and that only serves to piss Alejandro off even more.

  “It means,” Javier interrupts, always so patient with his young goon, “we’ll continue to encourage the dissension among rival gangs and cartels. Worm our way into each clan. El Malo will be like a disease. We’ll slowly infect the entire region. One man at a time. And when they’re all relying on us for their next paycheck and meal, we’ll cut off the dead weight. Rein in the strong and moldable. These motherfuckers will live and breathe El Malo. I will rule Guerrero with an iron fist.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Arturo agrees. He’s closer to Marco Antonio’s age. Early thirties. He’s leaner than the other two goons, but I’ve seen him in hand-to-hand combat on the estate. Arturo’s hands are lethal. He can kill a man within seconds simply from using his bare hands.

  I’m standing behind one of the massive stone pillars at the edge of the living room. I want to edge closer since they are distracted, but I know that won’t do. Instead, I lean my ear out and listen for their plans.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll go see Mayor Velez. I have some favors I need to call in,” Javier growls.

  I know what he means by favors. I’ve worked here for four years and favors mean he has information on a man and plans to blackmail him. I take mental note of the name.

  The scent of candy apple and tobacco permeates my senses. I can smell Javier coming from a mile away because of his favorite vice. Where most men in powerful positions smoke the fat cigars you have to cut and prepare, Javier smokes the “little cigars.” And not just regular ones but the candy apple flavored ones. It’s almost laughable. In America, the media gets their panties in a wad complaining about how those little cigars appeal to minors because they taste and smell like candy.

  If they only knew.

  One of the biggest monsters in Mexico has a hard-on for them.

  A rare smile tilts my lips up. Would Javier change his smoking habits if he knew a bunch of fifteen-year-olds in the US smoke the same crap he does just to seem cool? Something tells me he’d be annoyed by that fact. And that makes me smile.

  The men continue hashing out details and when I realize the conversation is over, I slip away down another hallway.

  I’m always watching and listening, Estrada.

  And one day, I’m going to bring your candy apple ass down.

  Rosa

  I pull my ball cap low on my brow as I trot along the street toward the Pueblo Viejo hotel. It’s been around since the beginning of time and I don’t think they’ve painted since. The building was once white but now each time a breeze rolls in from the ocean, old flecks of the paint scatter in the wind. The place is in shambles.

  But it serves my purpose.

  I sneak in a side door and begin looking under doormats. The room varies from time to time, although the location remains the same. Each Saturday, I meet my “father.” Not David Daza, my real father. No, I meet Michael Stiner. Stiner and I go way back. He’s my only friend in this godforsaken world. The only person who knows the real me.

  I finally lift a mat that holds a dirty brass key. This hotel is so old it doesn’t have fancy key cards like most newer hotels. They’re old-fashioned and dirty keys are their thing. I quickly push the key into the hole and step into the room that reeks of stale cigarette smoke and mildew. Michael has opened the sliding glass door to let in some ocean breeze, but it doesn’t help. Just stirs up the dust and lifts the smell into the air. I don’t tell him this. Not that he’d listen anyway.

  He’s standing in front of the open doorway, staring out at the ocean past the busy street. Michael is taller than my five-foot-six frame by four or five inches. Over the years, his once fit body has grown pudgy, especially his stomach. And sandy-blond hair, he used to style in a frat boy way, is now thinned out and he combs it over to hide the fact he’s losing hair. But his looks mean nothing to me. It’s his heart. I know, deep down, he loves me, even if he never actually says the words.

  “Hey,” I mutter as I come up behind him and hug him. I inhale his scent. The lingering smell of greasy French fries makes my stomach grumble. The house cook, Leticia, makes things Javier approves of. Lots of fresh fish and vegetables. Because our fearless leader is obsessed with his physique, the rest of us suffer. No fried foods or sweets. I get to indulge once a week, on my day off, with my quasi boyfriend.

  “Hey, babe,” he says, his hand patting mine that now rests on his protruding stomach. “How are you doing?”

  I let out a heavy sigh. “Been better. Save me any fries?”

  He grunts. “Nah, they were shit anyway.”

  I try not to pout because I’d eat moldy fries at this point. Instead, I pull away. He turns in my arms and smiles at me. Michael has a boyish look about him that’s charming. I fell for his smile years ago.

  My stomach growls and I hope we can at least grab me a bite to eat before we get down to business. Michael has other plans. His mouth crashes to mine and he kisses me. I can taste the onions from his burger and it’s almost enough to have me recoiling. But then his fingers tenderly slide into my hair and I melt against him. I want the kiss and affection to last longer because I’m feeling emotionally brittle this week, but we’re already moving past that as he pulls away my hat and starts tugging at my T-shirt.

  “I missed you,” I tell him as I raise my arms.

  He tears off the shirt and sends it hurtling to the filthy floor. I try not to cringe and think about what sort of yuck I’ll collect on my clothes. He tugs at my bra hook, but after a few seconds of fumbling, I do it for him. I toss my bra on the dresser as he works on the buttons of my jeans. Soon I’m naked and he drops his pants to his ankles. He pushes his white briefs down his thighs and they stop at his knees.

  “Bend over,” he orders, his voice rough as he strokes himself hard.

  Today, of all days, I need him on top of me and kissing my mouth. The memory of my mother’s death is plaguing my every thought. I want to ask him of these things but instead, I let him bend me over the bed. I hear the tear of the foil packet behind me and then his shirt tickles my ass as his dick pokes against me. This is his new thing. Fucking me with his shirt on. Another item on a long list of stuff that bothers me. I don’t care if he’s gained weight. I just crave that skin-to-skin connection.

  “Michael,” I beg, fisting the worn duvet.

  He pushes inside me and real tears spring to my eyes. God, it’s only been a week of no contact and I didn’t realize how much I missed this. With his hands digging into my hips, he ruts against me. I don’t even care if I don’t get off. I can tell it’s one of those days. Something is equally bothering him and I’ll take one for the team.

  One, two, three, four, five, six.

  On the seventh pound into me, he comes with a groan. His thrusting slows. I stare at the floral pattern on the bed as he pulls out of me and disappears into the bathroom to deposit the condom. My legs start to shake so I rise to my feet and quickly pick up my panties from the floor. I’m just stepping into them when he waltzes out of the bathroom. His flaccid cock shrinks back up and hides beneath his shirt, as though it’s done for today.

  He walks past me and dresses quickly. I do the same and then sit down on the bed. My brows fur
row together when he rummages around in his bag. He eventually produces a tape recorder and sits in the desk chair.

  “Okay, tell me everything,” he instructs.

  I swallow down my emotions and let the anger that’s guided me through the years flood back into place. For it was the anger that had me getting straight As in school. The anger that got me into the academy. The anger that landed me in a well-sought after position with the CIA.

  Agent Daza.

  Working undercover as Rosa Delgado.

  I’d scoffed when they gave me the name Rosa. It’s my real name. But my superiors, including Agent Michael Stiner, assured me that having the same first name would be more believable because I’d always answer to it.

  I let out a steady breath and launch into every minute detail of each conversation over the past week since I saw Michael last. I give him descriptions of men who have visited the estate. Names. Locations. Times. The CIA is gaining intelligence at this point. No raids or shutdowns. The chaos that is Guerrero isn’t something that can be stopped with a task force. It’s too out of control. They’re trying to learn the infrastructure of El Malo and their rivals. Picking them apart and dissecting how they work. Then, once they’ve gained enough information, they’ll infiltrate the groups when they’re better equipped to do so.

  My eyes flit out to the ocean as I talk. It’s a bright sunny day, but the high winds tell me a tropical storm could be headed our way. Tropical storms mean prep work to the outside of the Estrada estate. I begin to fret over the newly cleaned patio furniture and cushions. If the wind is this bad now, the cushions are probably scattered out to sea by now. Nobody but me thinks about these things. Nobody but me—

  “Rosa.”

  I blink away my daze and meet Michael’s blue-eyed stare. He wears a disapproving frown that makes my stomach hollow out. Tears threaten and I blink them away.

  “What’s wrong?” he questions, his voice soft.

  “Nothing,” I lie.

  His nostrils flare and I know he can see right past it. “Do I need to pull you out of there?”

  I jerk to my feet. “W-What? No! I’ve been working my ass off for four years, Michael. Four years.”

  He lets out a heavy sigh. “Everyone at Langley is asking about you. The information is solid, but Stokes is worried you’ve been under too long.”

  “No,” I argue. “Give me a psyche eval. Do whatever you need to do to make Stokes happy. I’m fine. I swear. It’s just been a long week cleaning dust out of every crevice of a giant house that’s got me feeling wacky.” I walk over to him and rest my hands on his shoulders. He turns off the recorder and looks up at me. “I swear I’m fine. I just miss you. This and us.”

  He opens his mouth like he wants to say something but then closes it. Guilt flashes in his eyes, which makes me feel uneasy. “Okay, babe. I trust you.”

  I settle in his lap and he hugs me to him while he types things into his phone one-handed. Safe in my friend’s arms, I let my eyes flutter closed. I’m always on edge at the Estrada estate. My guard is never fully down. With Michael, I can relax.

  “When we finally bring this operation down and I get to come home, maybe we can see about getting a place together,” I murmur.

  He stiffens. Michael always acts squeamish any time I suggest we further our relationship. Today is no different. “We’ll see, Rosa. We’ll see.”

  This time, I let the tear escape. It rolls down my cheek and clings to my jaw, refusing to jump off and soak his shirt.

  No one will ever know the heartache I keep locked deep inside.

  No one.

  After an afternoon of quiet cuddles and one more quick fuck not much different than the other one, I finally leave. Saturday may be my day off, but I still reside at the Estrada home. And nobody wants to be out after dark in the heart of the city, not even a heavily trained CIA operative. I’m a woman, therefore I’m seen as an easy target. And while I may be able to kick a lot of men’s asses, I’m no good against a spray of bullets or a gang of guys. What I have between my legs is often more sought after than guns or weapons.

  Knowing the streets and the violence that ensues there, I carry a knife with me and leave my purse at home. With my hair tucked into my hat and dressed in an oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans, I avoid most attention. I keep my head down and my feet moving. Wind whips at my face and my hat goes flying off in a gust. I groan when I twist to see it halfway down the street. My dark locks dance in the wind like a flag calling everyone around me to look.

  And boy do they look.

  It’s times like these I wish it were okay for Michael to walk me back. But we can’t compromise him like that. We can’t compromise either of us. So, I go at it alone. Even now as I see a guy twice my size making a beeline my way. Experience has taught me that you don’t wait to see if the local is just asking for directions.

  No…you run.

  I burst down the street running as fast as I can. Each night, I sneak off to Javier’s gym and run for hours on his treadmill. Long after everyone goes to sleep. It pays off for times like these. I can hear the guy grunting not far behind me, but he already sounds winded. There’s a trail that will take me up the side through a thicket of trees to the Estrada estate coming up. I can get off the main road and lose this asshole there. As soon as I see the small gap of trees indicating a trail, I dart off in that direction.

  A shot pops off and ricochets off a tree near me. I squeak out in surprise, making sure to duck as I charge along the trail.

  Pop! Pop!

  I don’t know why this guy is shooting at me, but I’ll be damned if I die from some coke head jerkoff. Not when I’ve put this much time into avenging my mother.

  That’s what I’m doing after all.

  Bringing down all the Mexican monsters who prey on the innocent and destroy lives.

  I’ll bring every last one of them down.

  Including Javier. Especially Javier.

  I reach into my pocket and pull out my knife. Once I have it flipped open and in my grip, I twist and bend, ready for my attacker. It catches him off guard to see me face off with him. That one small falter is the chance I take. With a hard jab of my fist to his throat, I immobilize him. Another shot pops off and it reminds me to free him of his gun. I raise my arm and then whack it into his. He loses his grip and it falls into the grass with a thud.

  Thwap.

  Thwap.

  Thwap.

  I pierce his gut with my knife three quick times. In this world, it’s kill or be killed. I know this. Michael knows this. The entire CIA knows this. Hell, even Javier and his men know this. Nobody thinks twice when you kill someone defending yourself.

  He groans and holds his stomach as he falls to his knees. I grab a fistful of his greasy hair and bring my knee into his chin. Several of his teeth crack from his gums and tumble from his lips. He falls back and I kick the gun away from him. I’m just about to turn and haul ass out of there when he throws a rock at me, hitting me in the forehead.

  Stars glitter in my vision and I stumble backward. I lose my footing and tumble down a hill, whacking a few trees along the way. When I finally crash against a big rock and my tooth cuts into my lip, I let out a groan and clutch my now smarting rib. I wait for the guy to come after me, but I don’t hear a sound. After several moments, I pick myself up off the ground and climb back up the slope. As soon as I reach his body, I realize he’s dead. The asshole had enough left in him to lob that rock at me but that was it. I don’t bother concealing the body. Instead, I limp all the way back to my residence. There’s a gate that allows access into the property and I quickly key in the code. It slides open with a whine and I rush onto the safety of Estrada’s land. It’s getting dark and I pray no one will notice. The last thing I need are my girls fussing over me and asking questions.

  I open the front door and then push it closed behind me. The house is silent, so I creep through the kitchen to the stairwell that leads to the servants’ quarters. All five house
servants sleep upstairs above the kitchen. I don’t bother with the kitchen lights and walk quietly past. I’m watching my feet as I reach the stairs and cry out when I run into something.

  The smell.

  It hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

  Candy apples.

  “Rosa Delgado.” My name on his lips is like when a lion growls out a warning. Low and deadly. Threatening.

  I freeze and back up, my head bowed in respect. This job has been successful for me because I play by the rules. Avert my eyes, keep my mouth shut, and avoid a faceoff with him at all costs. The house servants are just part of the background to a spoiled asshole like him. Every bit as mundane to him as the pictures decorating the walls. I’ve tried to remain off Javier’s radar, although sometimes I catch his gaze lingering on me whenever I’m in the room. Curious and intense. The last thing I need is him to stare a little too long. He may not like what he finds.

  “Señor Estrada,” I greet, my voice a submissive whisper. With my head bowed, I’m stuck staring at his stomach. His white T-shirt is clean and flawless as it stretches over his ripped muscles. He wears dark, baggy jeans and his white tennis shoes are in perfect shape. Javier may be scum of this earth, but he dresses impeccably. Even I can appreciate that in a person.

  “Where are you off to in such a hurry, preciosa?” Precious. His finger slides beneath my chin as he tilts my head up.

  I’m forced to stare into his nearly black eyes. Eyes that reflect the monster who lives within. The same violence dances in his gaze that did in the men who shot my mother. They’re all the same. Sick. Fucking horrible.

  Swallowing down my rage, I start to reply, but then he glowers at me. His strong fingers curl around my jaw, locking me into place as he swats the kitchen light on. I squint against the brightness. Up close, he’s even more frightening. It’s like I can see into the black hole of his soul. It’s terrifying and empty.

  “What happened to you?” he demands, his voice trembling with anger.

  I wince at his tone and try to avert my gaze. His fingers bite into me, causing me to dart them back his way. “I, uh, was visiting my father. On the way back, I was attacked.”