Page 33 of El Malo

Javier

Marco Antonio is going to get his ass kicked before the night is over. We may be friends and he may feel like a brother to me, but he needs to learn to not fuck with me when I’m with Rosa. It’s like he’s trying to sabotage our moments on purpose. I know he doesn’t like her and has his suspicions, but it’s not his place. When it comes to her, I know what I’m doing, goddammit.

She’s nervous, no longer the woman who was practically melting in my car. Now, she’s alert and rigid. We may be walking into Aldo Mendez’s stomping ground, but these people are afraid of me. And if his men try anything, my guys will slaughter them all before they even have a chance to come at me.

The music is loud and the club is full. It’s close to the hotels, so there are some American tourists here. Annoying as fuck but nothing I can do about it. If they knew what was good for them, they’d take their asses back to their resort where they belong. They’re on El Malo and Osos’s battlefield and they don’t even realize it.

I escort Rosa over to the bar and motion to the expensive bottle of Don Julio on the top shelf. The bartender, wise to who I am, reaches up and pours two shots without so much as a question if I can afford it. I hand one to Rosa, and together, we knock them back. Whatever has her tense as fuck begins to loosen its hold by the third shot. She starts dancing in place and I watch her in amusement. Something catches my eye and Arturo is behind her.

“He’s here,” he mouths.

I nod as I take another shot. Once Rosa has had hers, I grab her wrist and tug her onto the busy dance floor. We push past some sweaty bodies until we find a place to dance. I twist her in my arms and pull her back flush against my chest. Her hips start moving to the rhythm, her round ass rubbing against my cock that’s been hard for her since this morning when I was fucking her with my tongue. I move with her, learning her pattern quickly, and let my palms roam up her ribs. She collects her hair in her hands and lifts it off her sweaty neck and flashes me a hungry look. I run my palms down past the material of her dress to her thighs and inch it up. Her head tilts back and slides to the side, inviting me in.

“Oh, mami, you look good enough to eat,” I say loudly near her ear so she’ll hear over the music. Then, I run my tongue up the side of her sweaty neck. Her salty taste makes me want to lick it all from her. She drops her hair and one hand comes up behind her to cup the back of my neck. I bite on her flesh and suck it hard, my intent to mark her for everyone to see. Every asshole who’s been eyefucking her since we walked in can see she is with me. She is El Malo now. Marco Antonio can have his reservations, but I don’t give a fuck. I want her and nothing will stop me from having her.

She twists around and wraps her arms around my neck, her body never stopping its sensual dancing. I grab her hips and pull her against me, my dick hard between us. The lust swimming in her eyes is something I could get high from. Leaning forward, I nip at her bottom lip and grab the back of her thigh, lifting her leg to my waist. I maneuver myself so my hard cock through my clothes rubs against where she’s no doubt dripping for me. Her eyes flutter and her head tilts back.

Goddammit, she’s gorgeous.

I grind against her and bite her chin and jaw and throat. With our clothes fully on, I dry-fuck her right in front of everyone. I own her cunt and stake a motherfucking claim. Her tits jiggle as I thrust against her. She tenses for a second before an orgasm shudders through her. Several grungy guys nearby are watching with salacious grins on their faces. I glower at them to look the fuck away. They must see my hate and fury for anything other than the woman who's in my arms because they back away and look elsewhere.

As soon as she calms, I ease her leg back down and kiss her nose.

“Water,” she croaks.

I laugh at her but then shoot each male in the vicinity a warning glare before pretending to pop each one of them in the skull. If that isn’t a warning that I’m packing and I’ll put them down like dogs, I don’t know what is. An American woman with red curly hair walks up to Rosa and starts dancing. I figure she’s safe enough and Alejandro is only a few feet away. Stalking over to the bar, I see Marco Antonio in a discussion with Arturo. Once I have her glass of water in hand, I walk over to them.

“Mendez is pissed, jefe,” Marco Antonio barks out. “Saw him and a couple of his guys watching you with your girl on the dance floor.”

My girl. About time he starts to get that through his thick skull. Earlier, in the parking lot, I was about to deck him for warning me about her for the fiftieth goddamned time. I know what the fuck I’m doing and it doesn’t concern him.

“Let him be pissed,” I snarl. “I’m pissed he thinks he can undo everything I’ve done. He answers to El Malo. Guerrero answers to El Malo.”

With that, I storm back over to my girl. But when I’m about six feet away, I stop dead in my tracks. Motherfucking Aldo Mendez with his shaved tattooed head is dancing with my girl in his arms. Unlike five minutes prior where she enjoyed the hell out of our dancing, she’s stiff and nervous. She doesn’t want that asshole touching her.

I don’t want that piece of shit touching her.

“Rosa,” I bellow, my voice carrying over the music.

She starts to pull away and his tattooed-covered hand gropes her tit. Red. I see motherfucking red. He glares at me over her head, his spider web tattoos all over his face making him look like some kind of fucking demon. I smash the water glass by slamming it to the floor.

“Let go,” she cries out and elbows him hard in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Then, she lifts her leg and kicks behind her, aiming for his balls. Her foot hits its intended target because he stumbles backward. She starts for me when I see him reach into the waistband of his jeans. I pull out my switchblade and pop it out as I charge past her. I’m on him in no time, my hand gripping his arm and forcing it up toward the ceiling. He fires off one, two, three shots and people start screaming and running.

“You do not fucking touch what’s mine!” I roar as I ram the knife into his right side and then drag it all the way across his abdomen to the other side. His eyes are wild as he stares into the orbs of the devil himself. I hope he spends the rest of eternity wherever he ends up with my hateful face on loop in his mind.

You don’t fucking touch Javier Estrada’s property.

He chokes and his gun falls to the ground.

With my left hand, I shove my hand into his now gaping stomach and grab onto whatever I can get my hands on. Hot, meaty organs are in my grip. As I pull at them, I hike my foot up and kick his hip, sending him jerking backward. His entrails are yanked straight from his body and he falls to the floor as useless as the day he was born. Except now, he’s not kicking or screaming, he’s fucking still.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

I twist around, the dead fuck’s innards still in my fist, and lock eyes with the wide ones of Rosa. My men have their guns raised and several bodies litter the floor. People have scattered and the music no longer plays.

“He fucked with El Malo!” I yell to anyone who will listen. I slam the guts to the floor with a messy splatter and stalk back over to his corpse. I carve an E and an M in his forehead and do the same with the men my guys took down. By the time I’m finished, I’m covered in sticky blood. I fold my knife up and shove it in my pocket.

Rosa doesn’t cower when I stride over to her and snag her delicate wrist with my bloodstained hand. I clutch her neck and draw her to me so my hot breath that’s rushing out in heavy pants comingles with her.

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