Page 7 of El Malo

I pierce his gut with my knife three quick times. In this world, it’s kill or be killed. I know this. Michael knows this. The entire CIA knows this. Hell, even Javier and his men know this. Nobody thinks twice when you kill someone defending yourself.

He groans and holds his stomach as he falls to his knees. I grab a fistful of his greasy hair and bring my knee into his chin. Several of his teeth crack from his gums and tumble from his lips. He falls back and I kick the gun away from him. I’m just about to turn and haul ass out of there when he throws a rock at me, hitting me in the forehead.

Stars glitter in my vision and I stumble backward. I lose my footing and tumble down a hill, whacking a few trees along the way. When I finally crash against a big rock and my tooth cuts into my lip, I let out a groan and clutch my now smarting rib. I wait for the guy to come after me, but I don’t hear a sound. After several moments, I pick myself up off the ground and climb back up the slope. As soon as I reach his body, I realize he’s dead. The asshole had enough left in him to lob that rock at me but that was it. I don’t bother concealing the body. Instead, I limp all the way back to my residence. There’s a gate that allows access into the property and I quickly key in the code. It slides open with a whine and I rush onto the safety of Estrada’s land. It’s getting dark and I pray no one will notice. The last thing I need are my girls fussing over me and asking questions.

I open the front door and then push it closed behind me. The house is silent, so I creep through the kitchen to the stairwell that leads to the servants’ quarters. All five house servants sleep upstairs above the kitchen. I don’t bother with the kitchen lights and walk quietly past. I’m watching my feet as I reach the stairs and cry out when I run into something.

The smell.

It hits me like a sucker punch to the gut.

Candy apples.

“Rosa Delgado.” My name on his lips is like when a lion growls out a warning. Low and deadly. Threatening.

I freeze and back up, my head bowed in respect. This job has been successful for me because I play by the rules. Avert my eyes, keep my mouth shut, and avoid a faceoff with him at all costs. The house servants are just part of the background to a spoiled asshole like him. Every bit as mundane to him as the pictures decorating the walls. I’ve tried to remain off Javier’s radar, although sometimes I catch his gaze lingering on me whenever I’m in the room. Curious and intense. The last thing I need is him to stare a little too long. He may not like what he finds.

“Señor Estrada,” I greet, my voice a submissive whisper. With my head bowed, I’m stuck staring at his stomach. His white T-shirt is clean and flawless as it stretches over his ripped muscles. He wears dark, baggy jeans and his white tennis shoes are in perfect shape. Javier may be scum of this earth, but he dresses impeccably. Even I can appreciate that in a person.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, preciosa?” Precious. His finger slides beneath my chin as he tilts my head up.

I’m forced to stare into his nearly black eyes. Eyes that reflect the monster who lives within. The same violence dances in his gaze that did in the men who shot my mother. They’re all the same. Sick. Fucking horrible.

Swallowing down my rage, I start to reply, but then he glowers at me. His strong fingers curl around my jaw, locking me into place as he swats the kitchen light on. I squint against the brightness. Up close, he’s even more frightening. It’s like I can see into the black hole of his soul. It’s terrifying and empty.

“What happened to you?” he demands, his voice trembling with anger.

I wince at his tone and try to avert my gaze. His fingers bite into me, causing me to dart them back his way. “I, uh, was visiting my father. On the way back, I was attacked.”

His black eyebrows furl together and his nostrils flare. “Do you know who it was? I will kill him for hurting my property.”

I want to slap his hand away and spit in his face. I’m not his property. But I know my place and my job. I know my reason for being here. I’m calm because I have to be. It’s what I was trained for.

“Some random guy. I, uh, I got away.” I hate that I’m stammering, and that maybe he can sense my fear.

He releases me and steps aside. I dart toward the stairs, but he stops me, a strong hand tightening around my bicep. “I didn’t say you could leave.” He lets go of me after a beat of silence.

I try not to tremble, and nod. Turning, I find him walking over to the sink. He wets a paper towel and then motions for me to come his way. My heart is racing in my chest and I just want to leave his presence so I can take a hot shower. I want to curl up at the bottom and cry my eyes out. Today is not my day. Instead, I walk over to him and lift my chin. Our eyes meet and I study him up close. It’s not a requirement of the job, but I pretend for a second that it is. His nearly black eyes have slivers of light brown in them. Like tiny cracks trying to let light protrude through them. Now, that, is almost laughable.

Javier Estrada is the darkest of dark.

I’ve seen what he can do.

Over and over and over again.

He’s every bit as lethal as his goons. Probably more so. I know his fist alone can break bones. I’ve heard them crunch. I’ve cleaned up the blood those punches have left behind.

With his eyes locked on mine, he dabs at the cut on my lip. I can tell I’ll have a bruise on my forehead where the rock hit me. All the scratches on my face and arms from my tumble will heal within a few days. I’m fine. I certainly don’t need the cartel king seeing to my wounds.

“I was just coming to speak with you,” he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he studies my reaction.

“Oh?” I give him none. I know this game.

His shoulders relax. “I’m having a party for my father and his family. They’re flying in from Puerto Vallarta in a couple of weeks. I want the house immaculate and ready for entertaining.” He plucks a leaf that’s stuck in my messy hair and pulls it away, causing me to shiver. I wait to see if he’ll drop it on the floor, but he keeps it in his hand. If anything, Javier Estrada is clean.

“Sí, señor.”

He smirks, a dimple forming on his right cheek. “Good. So compliant.”

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