Page 50 of El Malo

He scoops me into his arms and walks through the gate. I curl against him, praying he’ll save me from certain death. It’s an odd feeling being afraid of the one who will no doubt kill you yet craving his comfort at the same time.

The lights inside the house are bright as Marco Antonio carries me in. Upon entering the living room, I get a whiff of strong cigar smoke along with Javier’s and Yoet’s laughter.

“What the fuck?” Javier bellows. A chair scrapes across the floors and then I’m being pulled into his strong, warm embrace.

I scramble to wrap my arms around his neck. My tears that had been falling freely get caught in my throat as I start crying hysterically. Javier’s heartbeat in his chest thunders against me.

“Rosa, what happened?” he demands. He’s barking out orders to his men and it’s all a blur to me. All I care about is him. When he tries to pull me away so he can look at me, I shriek and claw at his neck.

Yoet starts growling at his men and I hear him tell Javier to deal with me. That he’ll take care of it. I cling to Javier. Deal with me how? Take me out back and put a bullet in my skull?

But we don’t go outside.

When I peek out past his neck, I realize we’re in his bathroom. He walks into the shower, turns it on, and then steps back out.

“Manzanita, listen to me,” he says softly. “I cannot help you unless you talk to me.”

Help me?

He eases me to my feet but doesn’t let go. I’m shaking violently and weak. I grasp onto his suit lapels for dear life. Finally, I work up the courage to look at him.

His perfect, handsome face cracks open something deep within me. I want to lock him up in this moment where he thinks I’m beautiful and wonderful. Not in another moment where I admit to him that another man fucked me. He blurs as more tears form.

“Talk to me,” he begs, his voice cracking. “Please.”

“I d-don’t w-want to d-die. I w-want t-to stay w-with you,” I chatter, snot and tears running past my lips.

With his thumb, he swipes away the wetness draining from my nose and kisses my forehead. “Michael hurt you.”

I cough, my sobs making me gasp for air, and buckle in his arms. He steadies me before tilting my chin back up with his knuckles.

“Yes or no, Rosa?”

“Y-Yes.”

His thumb strokes my sore jaw as his eyes skim over my face. “He hit you.”

I nod, my chin wobbling wildly. “D-Don’t kill m-me, Javier.”

Our eyes meet and hate blazes in his gaze. He knows. I don’t have to tell him because he’s clever and figured it out. But I tell him anyway.

“He f-forced me. I didn’t want to,” I whisper and then close my eyes, waiting for the worst. “I didn’t w-want to.”

“Oh, Rosa,” he growls.

I wince as I wait for it to come. The wrath. The fury. A knife. A bullet. His fist. But instead of the worst, he pulls me to him. He strokes my back and hisses violent whispers speaking of revenge and murder.

Not mine.

Michael’s.

And he’s sorry?

“I will skin that motherfucker alive,” he vows. “I didn’t realize you were going, mi amor. I’m so sorry. Lo siento mucho.”

I jerk my head up and our eyes lock. Tenderness and sadness are in his dark brown gaze. “You’re not going to kill me?”

“No, Rosa. I’m going to clean you.”

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