Page 14 of El Malo

Rosa

She’s gone.

I didn’t notice until this morning, but Araceli is nowhere to be found. Her things remain in her drawers, but she’s vanished. Yolanda, Silvia, and Leticia are all sick with worry, but nobody saw anything.

Jesus.

I knew I shouldn’t have left last night.

They did something with her. Made her disappear or something. Oh, God, if they hurt her, I will cut every single one of their throats. I’m enraged as I check every closet and under each bed. I should be meeting with Michael since it’s Saturday, but I refuse to do anything until I make sure she’s okay.

I will find her.

When I walk past Javier’s office, I pause. It’s one of the few rooms without cameras. He keeps it locked when he’s not in it. I’m one of the few people who has access since I have to get in there and clean. Maybe I could log in to the cameras and see who took her. Any kind of lead is a helpful one. I fish my keys out of my uniform dress pocket and push into his office. Quickly, I close and lock the door behind me. His laptop sits in the middle of his desk, so I rush over to it. I sit in his comfortable leather chair and snap open the computer. The office smells like him. Tobacco. Candy apples. Expensive, masculine scent. I don’t admit to myself that I am kind of fond of the combination. Instead, I focus on finding Araceli.

His computer is password protected. I try several things before giving up. The key ring I’ve been given only has a few keys on it and his desk is not one of them. Yanking two bobby pins from my bun, I ignore the way my hair begins sliding from its neat position and I attempt to pick at the lock on the desk drawer. I’m still working at it when I hear keys jangling.

Oh, God.

He’s coming.

I abandon the bobby pins in search of a hiding place. My quickest result is under the desk. I crawl underneath and try to make myself as small as possible. The door creaks open and footsteps across the wood floors can be heard as he approaches his desk. He whistles a jovial tune, something no cartel leader should even know how to sing, as he sits down in his chair. With him this close to me, in his lair, my heart rate thunders in my chest. Sweat breaks out over my flesh.

Maybe he won’t see me.

He taps away on his computer.

Ping.

My eyes widen when I see the bobby pin that’s fallen from the keyhole to the floor. I’m hoping he didn’t hear it, but he slides away from the desk slightly. His muscled, tattooed arm reaches down to pluck it from the floor. I hold my breath and wait for him to continue working.

“I know you’re down there, manzanita.” His voice is low and threatening. “Question is, why?”

The breath I’d been holding onto escapes in a ragged rush. “I-I-I can explain.”

I’ve barely gotten the words out before I’m being dragged out by my ankle. I let out a shriek of surprise. He fists the front of my uniform and hauls me to my feet.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I’m staring up at well over six feet of pure masculine glory. Javier is a lot of things. Ruthless. Cold. Murderous. Delinquent. But he’s also fine. So damn fine. And his male parts right now are speaking to my female parts.

“Start talking fast,” he murmurs, his brown eyes flickering with fury. Today, his black hair is slicked back and his cheeks are scruffy. The sides of his head have been recently shaven, accentuating the longer part on top. I’m not blind. He’s hot. Ridiculously so. But it doesn’t make him any less mean.

As if on cue, he pulls a knife from his pocket. A mewl escapes me when he gently pokes it into my side between two ribs. My mind whirs with an explanation, but I have none. I can’t tell him I’m with the CIA. He’d do terrible things to me.

“Not fast enough,” he hisses. He slides his knife to my middle button and he slices between the two folds of fabric. The button flips off and clinks to the floor. Panic rises up inside of me, but I’m frozen. He repeats his action for the bottom two buttons. I close my eyes when he slips his hand between the gaping material to touch me over my white cotton panties. “Cat got your tongue?”

I cry out in shock when he rubs his knuckle against my clit. Our eyes clash together and evil dances in his gaze. Knowing he got a reaction, he repeats his action. I whimper, ignoring the jolt of pleasure, and push backward away from him. My ass hits the edge of the desk, locking me in.

“Talk to me, manzanita, or I’ll cut every piece of clothing off you and make you talk. In fact, I’ll make you scream,” he threatens, his incessant rubbing on my clit dizzying me.

“I-I…w-was…just…”

He slides his hand into the top of my panties and his longest finger slips between the lips of my pussy. A groan pushes out of my mouth. Something resembling a feral growl rattles through him as his finger seeks my warmth. I’m so focused on what he’s doing that I forget what I am…who I am…I forget everything. A thick finger pushes into me and I cry out. He curls it, his long digit stroking a place I never knew existed. I’m embarrassingly wet for him and I can’t make sense of that.

I’m sick.

This shouldn’t be happening.

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