Page 18 of El Malo

Javier

“The dress wasn’t for you,” she throws back at me saucily.

Oh, the dress was for me. The moment I caught a glimpse of her walking by in that dress, I knew it was for me. I’d stood and followed her right out of the house, knowing that every asshole in Acapulco would want a piece of my hot fucking maid in her little yellow dress. And I needed every single one of them to know it was my dress. My maid. Mine.

“Of course not, manzanita.” I smirk at her as I offer her my elbow.

She eyes it warily, her normally completely composed demeanor shattered from that fuckwad. Her father. The stink of sex permeating from the room when the door opened had my hackles raised. I may not have truly spoken to her much during her employment, but I’m not blind. A man can identify a gorgeous woman when she lives in his home and cleans his space. Her scent—sweet like apples—clings to my belongings, and quite frankly, I enjoy it.

But if there’s anything my padre ever taught me, it’s don’t fuck the people you pay to do you a job. Feelings cloud their judgment and then you lose someone good because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.

For four years, I’ve appreciated her feminine curves and attention to detail. Yet, the night when she showed up battered in the kitchen, she awoke something inside me. Curiosity if you will. A desire to bend my father’s rules. Bend her. Specifically, over my desk.

She lets out a heavy sigh and clutches onto my elbow. “You don’t have to take me home. I can walk.”

Over my dead body.

Last time, she almost got herself killed.

“I’m not taking you home,” I rumble as we walk through the scuzzy hotel. When I’d followed her, I called Alejandro and asked him to meet me at the hotel. And as we walk outside, he’s standing beside his white Hummer with his arms crossed against his chest. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of Rosa.

Appreciation.

I think she has the same effect on every man who crosses her path.

Well, except the overweight, balding motherfucker who clearly fucked her one last time before breaking her heart. That I will never comprehend.

Leaning into her as we walk, my lips brush against her hair. “He is blind and fucking stupid.”

She stiffens but gives me the briefest nod. I smirk as I guide her to the passenger side of the vehicle. Her brows scrunch together when I open the door for her.

“You don’t have to be so nice,” she mumbles as she slides in. Her short yellow dress rides up her tanned thighs as she settles on the leather seat.

I grab the seatbelt and reach across her chest, my arm brushing against her fat tits as I buckle her in. “Who says I’m nice?” I arch a brow at her. Our faces are inches apart—so close I can almost taste her. The idea of having her is becoming every bit a goal of mine as all the shit I do for my father.

It’s what we Estrada men do.

We calculate, we conquer, we own.

Right now, I’m calculating how I can make this happen without having it blow up in my face. I'll read her tells and pay attention to her personality. Once I’ve deduced she isn’t going to go batshit crazy after a wild fuck or two, then I will conquer her sweet, supple body. And I already fucking own her, so that’s that.

She clears her throat and Alejandro chuckles under his breath from the backseat. I ignore him and close her inside. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I scan the streets. This evening is semi calm. Normally, I’d be stirring shit up to keep the momentum of this city’s descent into hell going. But not now. Now, I need to take care of fucking business.

When we pass the estate, Rosa sits up and jerks her head my way, suddenly alert and not feeling sorry for herself. “Where are we going?”

“Errands.”

Another snort from the backseat.

“Are we going to go get Araceli? Is she safe?” She turns in her seat and bites on her bottom lip. It’s plump and painted red. Fuck, she’s hot. And she isn’t even trying. The woman doesn’t even realize she’s so goddamned pretty.

“She’s fine—” Alejandro offers from the backseat, but his words die in his throat when he catches my furious glare in the mirror.

At hearing this, she relaxes some, but I don’t miss the way her eyes scan the roads. She’s vigilant. Always watching. It’s something I’ve noticed about her at the house. Nothing gets by her with her staff. Makes me wonder how much of my shit she notices.

Marco Antonio’s words buzz in my head.

“I’m telling you. The way she hit him, with such force, and then the way she pinned him. That’s professional, jefe.”

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