Page 12 of El Malo

Javier

Marco Antonio paces my office, his face bright red with rage. He looks like a fucking tomato. This man, my brother in most senses of the word, is losing his mind.

Over a maid.

With my brows lifted, I wait for him to explain again why I’m supposed care. Julio got his ass shot for trying to rape a maid. Big fucking deal. I thought that guy was sketchy to begin with. The only reason I kept him around was because he was strong and ruthless.

Not strong and ruthless enough, though, apparently, if a couple of maids could end him.

“Look at the footage. You’ll see,” he tries again.

I have enough bullshit to deal with. The last thing I care to do is play detective and watch a video of two scared maids fearing for their lives and killing in defense. I’ve seen enough of that in my lifetime. Hell, I’ve seen a little bit of everything. This is taking up precious time. What I want to discuss is the fact that Mayor Velez, a week later, hasn’t given me what I asked for.

Money.

He owes me.

I’ve kept his name out of the media. I know all about his little addiction. And by little, I mean little. He has a thing for teenaged boys. If his wife knew, she’d cut his balls off. I know because I know everyfuckingthing there is to know about Guerrero. I paid him a visit last week and said he could pay me nine hundred thousand pesos to keep quiet, not that I needed the money anyway. He also promised he’d put the heat on Cielo, one of Acapulco’s hottest night clubs, as long as I didn’t show anyone the pictures I’d acquired of him and his little indiscretions. I promised because Club Cielo attracts a lot of tourists and I want it gone.

My end goal is to run every successful business out of Acapulco.

Send them straight to where my father has a giant portion of the market of hotels in Puerto Vallarta. It’s a strategy we’d implemented years ago and have been working tirelessly on ever since.

I’m lost in my thoughts when Marco Antonio turns his laptop my way and points.

“Just watch,” he orders.

I smirk, slightly amused at his bossy tone. As my second-in-command and my most trusted friend, he gets away with a lot of shit that not even Arturo or Alejandro would slide by on.

With eyes glued to the screen, I watch the young maid as she cleans. Julio enters the room. He must say something vulgar or frightening to her because she winces and backs away. She tries to get away, but he manages to pounce on her and pin her to the bed. He’s just got her panties down her legs when she arrives.

I sit up because despite her hair being pulled back and not wearing any makeup, I know she’s beautiful. I’d had the rare opportunity to see her up close last week rather than watching from afar as she cleans. My cock, which hasn’t been interested in much lately, had thickened in my jeans. I’d wanted to fuck her right over the kitchen sink, but my brain reminded me I don’t make rash decisions. I think them through. Fucking the maid—my best one no doubt—would have been an epic nightmare. She would’ve fallen in love or some shit. I’d have to let her go—or force her away depending on her level of clinginess—and then I’d have to deal with bringing another maid into my home to take her place.

Nobody else manages to adhere to my level of cleanliness like she does.

The other maids are good, but the head maid goes beyond what’s expected of her. She may not think anyone notices, but I certainly do. I’ve noticed a lot about her in the years she’s worked for me. And not just the way she cleans. I’m not immune to her full, luscious lips that were made for sucking cock. I can’t ignore the way her juicy ass stretches the fabric of her maid’s uniform. She’s fucking hot, even though she tries her damnedest not to be.

My cock stirs and I ignore it as I watch the recording.

On the screen, she hits Julio with her broomstick. More fighting and then she breaks the broomstick on him. I snort when she stabs at his stomach with it. She’s not afraid or trembling, no, she’s fierce. Protecting the young one as though it’s her duty. Julio struggles and then the young maid picks up the gun. The fucker is dead in the next instant. The head maid—Rosa Delgado—rushes over to the young one and plucks the gun from her grip. In the next moment, Marco Antonio shows up.

He pauses the video and then motions at the screen. “See?”

Leaning back in my chair, I shake my head. “I don’t see. What I do see is a tough woman protecting one who was nearly raped. Moving on—”

“No,” he growls. “I’m telling you. The way she hit him, with such force, and then the way she pinned him. That’s professional, jefe.”

I’m already bored of this conversation. I sit up and grab my pack of little cigars, desperate for a taste of candy apple nicotine. Plucking one from the pack, I light it and take a drag. The sweet smoke lingers on my tongue and instantly calms me.

I blow out a puff and sit back in my chair, thoughts of my mother lingering in my mind. Images of her when I was a young boy cutting apples for me and ruffling my hair. Pain lingers in my chest, but it’s mostly dulled. My father ached for so long when we lost her. Sure, he’s playing daddy to a new family now, but I don’t know if he’ll ever get over her death.

“What do you want me to do about it?” I demand. “Call her in here and spank her?” The thought is an enticing one. I’d seen the way her ass looked in her jeans. It’s an ass worthy of a whipping, that’s for sure. My cock hardens and I quickly push away thoughts of her ripe ass. The maid Marco Antonio is so worried about isn't a threat to me. If anything, I'm a threat to her.

“I just think we need to keep an eye on her.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And we need to deal with Araceli.”

With my cigar between my teeth, I glower at him. “Who the fuck’s Araceli?”

He rolls his eyes and it reminds me of when we were kids. Fucking dick. “She’s the maid holding the smoking gun. Keep up here, asshole.”

---