Page 5 of El Malo

Rosa

Ipull my ball cap low on my brow as I trot along the street toward the Pueblo Viejo hotel. It’s been around since the beginning of time and I don’t think they’ve painted since. The building was once white but now each time a breeze rolls in from the ocean, old flecks of the paint scatter in the wind. The place is in shambles.

But it serves my purpose.

I sneak in a side door and begin looking under doormats. The room varies from time to time, although the location remains the same. Each Saturday, I meet my “father.” Not David Daza, my real father. No, I meet Michael Stiner. Stiner and I go way back. He’s my only friend in this godforsaken world. The only person who knows the real me.

I finally lift a mat that holds a dirty brass key. This hotel is so old it doesn’t have fancy key cards like most newer hotels. They’re old-fashioned and dirty keys are their thing. I quickly push the key into the hole and step into the room that reeks of stale cigarette smoke and mildew. Michael has opened the sliding glass door to let in some ocean breeze, but it doesn’t help. Just stirs up the dust and lifts the smell into the air. I don’t tell him this. Not that he’d listen anyway.

He’s standing in front of the open doorway, staring out at the ocean past the busy street. Michael is taller than my five-foot-six frame by four or five inches. Over the years, his once fit body has grown pudgy, especially his stomach. And sandy-blond hair, he used to style in a frat boy way, is now thinned out and he combs it over to hide the fact he’s losing hair. But his looks mean nothing to me. It’s his heart. I know, deep down, he loves me, even if he never actually says the words.

“Hey,” I mutter as I come up behind him and hug him. I inhale his scent. The lingering smell of greasy French fries makes my stomach grumble. The house cook, Leticia, makes things Javier approves of. Lots of fresh fish and vegetables. Because our fearless leader is obsessed with his physique, the rest of us suffer. No fried foods or sweets. I get to indulge once a week, on my day off, with my quasi boyfriend.

“Hey, babe,” he says, his hand patting mine that now rests on his protruding stomach. “How are you doing?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “Been better. Save me any fries?”

He grunts. “Nah, they were shit anyway.”

I try not to pout because I’d eat moldy fries at this point. Instead, I pull away. He turns in my arms and smiles at me. Michael has a boyish look about him that’s charming. I fell for his smile years ago.

My stomach growls and I hope we can at least grab me a bite to eat before we get down to business. Michael has other plans. His mouth crashes to mine and he kisses me. I can taste the onions from his burger and it’s almost enough to have me recoiling. But then his fingers tenderly slide into my hair and I melt against him. I want the kiss and affection to last longer because I’m feeling emotionally brittle this week, but we’re already moving past that as he pulls away my hat and starts tugging at my T-shirt.

“I missed you,” I tell him as I raise my arms.

He tears off the shirt and sends it hurtling to the filthy floor. I try not to cringe and think about what sort of yuck I’ll collect on my clothes. He tugs at my bra hook, but after a few seconds of fumbling, I do it for him. I toss my bra on the dresser as he works on the buttons of my jeans. Soon I’m naked and he drops his pants to his ankles. He pushes his white briefs down his thighs and they stop at his knees.

“Bend over,” he orders, his voice rough as he strokes himself hard.

Today, of all days, I need him on top of me and kissing my mouth. The memory of my mother’s death is plaguing my every thought. I want to ask him of these things but instead, I let him bend me over the bed. I hear the tear of the foil packet behind me and then his shirt tickles my ass as his dick pokes against me. This is his new thing. Fucking me with his shirt on. Another item on a long list of stuff that bothers me. I don’t care if he’s gained weight. I just crave that skin-to-skin connection.

“Michael,” I beg, fisting the worn duvet.

He pushes inside me and real tears spring to my eyes. God, it’s only been a week of no contact and I didn’t realize how much I missed this. With his hands digging into my hips, he ruts against me. I don’t even care if I don’t get off. I can tell it’s one of those days. Something is equally bothering him and I’ll take one for the team.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

On the seventh pound into me, he comes with a groan. His thrusting slows. I stare at the floral pattern on the bed as he pulls out of me and disappears into the bathroom to deposit the condom. My legs start to shake so I rise to my feet and quickly pick up my panties from the floor. I’m just stepping into them when he waltzes out of the bathroom. His flaccid cock shrinks back up and hides beneath his shirt, as though it’s done for today.

He walks past me and dresses quickly. I do the same and then sit down on the bed. My brows furrow together when he rummages around in his bag. He eventually produces a tape recorder and sits in the desk chair.

“Okay, tell me everything,” he instructs.

I swallow down my emotions and let the anger that’s guided me through the years flood back into place. For it was the anger that had me getting straight As in school. The anger that got me into the academy. The anger that landed me in a well-sought after position with the CIA.

Agent Daza.

Working undercover as Rosa Delgado.

I’d scoffed when they gave me the name Rosa. It’s my real name. But my superiors, including Agent Michael Stiner, assured me that having the same first name would be more believable because I’d always answer to it.

I let out a steady breath and launch into every minute detail of each conversation over the past week since I saw Michael last. I give him descriptions of men who have visited the estate. Names. Locations. Times. The CIA is gaining intelligence at this point. No raids or shutdowns. The chaos that is Guerrero isn’t something that can be stopped with a task force. It’s too out of control. They’re trying to learn the infrastructure of El Malo and their rivals. Picking them apart and dissecting how they work. Then, once they’ve gained enough information, they’ll infiltrate the groups when they’re better equipped to do so.

My eyes flit out to the ocean as I talk. It’s a bright sunny day, but the high winds tell me a tropical storm could be headed our way. Tropical storms mean prep work to the outside of the Estrada estate. I begin to fret over the newly cleaned patio furniture and cushions. If the wind is this bad now, the cushions are probably scattered out to sea by now. Nobody but me thinks about these things. Nobody but me—

“Rosa.”

I blink away my daze and meet Michael’s blue-eyed stare. He wears a disapproving frown that makes my stomach hollow out. Tears threaten and I blink them away.

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