Page 11 of El Malo

I stick to the shadows as I make it to the hotel. When I have emergency visits, I simply go to the front desk and ask how many rooms are available. Then I ask for which rooms are available with a view. And finally, which rooms have queen beds versus kings. Eventually, via process of elimination, I can figure out which room Michael will be in.

The walk over is uneventful, thankfully, and I learn that all the rooms but one are available. So I walk down the hallways and listen for sounds of movement. When I hear Michael’s voice, I rap on the door ten straight times.

“Fuck.” His muffled voice is filled with irritation. I try not to let it bother me. If I’m here the night before, there’s a problem. That’s what he’s bothered about.

I swallow down the nerves that are eating me alive and stay strong. Tears threaten and I hate how weak I’ve become. I’d spent so many years hardening my heart from the outside world. But my girls and sweet Leticia back at the house have become family. I can’t let anything happen to them. The lines of this job are becoming blurred. I’d never admit that to Michael or they’d have me pulled so fast my head would spin. By the end of next week, I’d be sitting at a desk in Virginia pushing paper around.

Screw that.

After what feels like way too long, the door opens wide. Michael’s hair is messy and lipstick is smeared on his face. I blink in confusion. When a young woman with giant tits in a skintight yellow bandage dress walks past me, I let out a shocked sound. As soon as she exits through the door in the hallway, he ushers me inside and closes the door behind me.

“What is it?” he demands.

I scan the room. Takeout cartons litter the desk. The television plays some telenovela, but it’s muted. A giant bottle of tequila sits beside the bed. The blankets are ruffled and I see three torn condom packages peeking out from under the bed. Bile rises in my throat and I turn my accusing glare to Michael.

“Are you…are you cheating on me?” His form blurs and distorts as tears stream down my cheeks.

He walks over to me and grabs my shoulders. The scent of tequila is strong on his breath. “We aren’t anything, Rosa. You’re my subordinate.”

That’s not what he said when he was fucking me every Saturday for four goddamned years.

“You asshole,” I hiss and give him a shove.

He stumbles back and glowers at me. “Why are you here? What’s going on?”

Angrily, I swipe at my tears with the back of my hand. “Araceli shot one of Javier’s men to protect me. He’s dead.” A choked sob escapes me. “He was trying to rape her and I stepped in.”

He charges forward and grabs my bicep. “Why did you step in? You know the rules, Daza. Stay the fuck out of their business. Just listen. Listen and report back. Your duty isn’t to protect anyone.” He gives me a hard shake and I yelp. “Were you made?”

I try to jerk from his grip, but his fingers bite harder into me. “N-No, I wasn’t made. And I couldn’t sit around and watch her get hurt!”

“Listen to yourself!” he roars. “You’re losing your grip.”

“I’m losing my grip?” I shriek. “You’re fucking women behind my back. I thought you loved me! You’ve gotten so weird lately. You won’t even have sex with me without your shirt on!”

It happens so fast.

His face becoming enraged. His hand rearing back. The exploding pain on the side of my head.

I crumple and fall to the floor, my palm tenderly caressing my cheekbone that smarts in pain. I’m dizzied and upset. My heart is crushed.

“Shit! Rosa,” he grumbles, regret in his tone. “Goddammit. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s the fucking tequila. Come here, baby.”

He sits on the floor and pulls me into his lap. A loud, ugly sob wracks through me and I clutch onto him despite him smelling like the woman who just left. Sweetly, he strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, hugging me tight. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” I say, although I don’t really. But I do know I’m desperate for his affection.

“I’m under a lot of stress.”

“Okay.”

“I do love you,” he murmurs. I stiffen because it’s the first time he’s ever said it. “But…” I cringe as he continues. “But it’s hard to have a relationship with someone you see for a few hours once a week.”

My stomach hollows out. “I wish I could see you more.”

“I know.”

I sit up and look at him. Guilt shines in his gaze. He leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. I shouldn’t want him, not still wearing that woman’s lipstick and scent, but I do. I straddle his waist and cradle his face with my hands. We kiss slowly like teenagers and my heart sings.

“We can fix this,” I breathe against his mouth. “I forgive you.”

“I know we can,” he assures me. “And as much as I’d love to do this all night and keep you with me, you need to tell me what happened. Then, you need to get back. I’ll walk you there so you’ll be safe. Tomorrow, on your day off, we’ll talk more.”

I hug him and nod.

We can fix this.

I think.

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