Javier
Marco Antonio paces my office, his face bright red with rage. He looks like a fucking tomato. This man, my brother in most senses of the word, is losing his mind.
Over a maid.
With my brows lifted, I wait for him to explain again why I’m supposed care. Julio got his ass shot for trying to rape a maid. Big fucking deal. I thought that guy was sketchy to begin with. The only reason I kept him around was because he was strong and ruthless.
Not strong and ruthless enough, though, apparently, if a couple of maids could end him.
“Look at the footage. You’ll see,” he tries again.
I have enough bullshit to deal with. The last thing I care to do is play detective and watch a video of two scared maids fearing for their lives and killing in defense. I’ve seen enough of that in my lifetime. Hell, I’ve seen a little bit of everything. This is taking up precious time. What I want to discuss is the fact that Mayor Velez, a week later, hasn’t given me what I asked for.
Money.
He owes me.
I’ve kept his name out of the media. I know all about his little addiction. And by little, I mean little. He has a thing for teenaged boys. If his wife knew, she’d cut his balls off. I know because I know everyfuckingthing there is to know about Guerrero. I paid him a visit last week and said he could pay me nine hundred thousand pesos to keep quiet, not that I needed the money anyway. He also promised he’d put the heat on Cielo, one of Acapulco’s hottest night clubs, as long as I didn’t show anyone the pictures I’d acquired of him and his little indiscretions. I promised because Club Cielo attracts a lot of tourists and I want it gone.
My end goal is to run every successful business out of Acapulco.
Send them straight to where my father has a giant portion of the market of hotels in Puerto Vallarta. It’s a strategy we’d implemented years ago and have been working tirelessly on ever since.
I’m lost in my thoughts when Marco Antonio turns his laptop my way and points.
“Just watch,” he orders.
I smirk, slightly amused at his bossy tone. As my second-in-command and my most trusted friend, he gets away with a lot of shit that not even Arturo or Alejandro would slide by on.
With eyes glued to the screen, I watch the young maid as she cleans. Julio enters the room. He must say something vulgar or frightening to her because she winces and backs away. She tries to get away, but he manages to pounce on her and pin her to the bed. He’s just got her panties down her legs when she arrives.
I sit up because despite her hair being pulled back and not wearing any makeup, I know she’s beautiful. I’d had the rare opportunity to see her up close last week rather than watching from afar as she cleans. My cock, which hasn’t been interested in much lately, had thickened in my jeans. I’d wanted to fuck her right over the kitchen sink, but my brain reminded me I don’t make rash decisions. I think them through. Fucking the maid—my best one no doubt—would have been an epic nightmare. She would’ve fallen in love or some shit. I’d have to let her go—or force her away depending on her level of clinginess—and then I’d have to deal with bringing another maid into my home to take her place.
Nobody else manages to adhere to my level of cleanliness like she does.
The other maids are good, but the head maid goes beyond what’s expected of her. She may not think anyone notices, but I certainly do. I’ve noticed a lot about her in the years she’s worked for me. And not just the way she cleans. I’m not immune to her full, luscious lips that were made for sucking cock. I can’t ignore the way her juicy ass stretches the fabric of her maid’s uniform. She’s fucking hot, even though she tries her damnedest not to be.
My cock stirs and I ignore it as I watch the recording.
On the screen, she hits Julio with her broomstick. More fighting and then she breaks the broomstick on him. I snort when she stabs at his stomach with it. She’s not afraid or trembling, no, she’s fierce. Protecting the young one as though it’s her duty. Julio struggles and then the young maid picks up the gun. The fucker is dead in the next instant. The head maid—Rosa Delgado—rushes over to the young one and plucks the gun from her grip. In the next moment, Marco Antonio shows up.
He pauses the video and then motions at the screen. “See?”
Leaning back in my chair, I shake my head. “I don’t see. What I do see is a tough woman protecting one who was nearly raped. Moving on—”
“No,” he growls. “I’m telling you. The way she hit him, with such force, and then the way she pinned him. That’s professional, jefe.”
I’m already bored of this conversation. I sit up and grab my pack of little cigars, desperate for a taste of candy apple nicotine. Plucking one from the pack, I light it and take a drag. The sweet smoke lingers on my tongue and instantly calms me.
I blow out a puff and sit back in my chair, thoughts of my mother lingering in my mind. Images of her when I was a young boy cutting apples for me and ruffling my hair. Pain lingers in my chest, but it’s mostly dulled. My father ached for so long when we lost her. Sure, he’s playing daddy to a new family now, but I don’t know if he’ll ever get over her death.
“What do you want me to do about it?” I demand. “Call her in here and spank her?” The thought is an enticing one. I’d seen the way her ass looked in her jeans. It’s an ass worthy of a whipping, that’s for sure. My cock hardens and I quickly push away thoughts of her ripe ass. The maid Marco Antonio is so worried about isn't a threat to me. If anything, I'm a threat to her.
“I just think we need to keep an eye on her.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “And we need to deal with Araceli.”
With my cigar between my teeth, I glower at him. “Who the fuck’s Araceli?”
He rolls his eyes and it reminds me of when we were kids. Fucking dick. “She’s the maid holding the smoking gun. Keep up here, asshole.”
I take another drag of my sweet habit. “Call me an asshole again and I’ll shove my fist up yours,” I bark out, a plume of smoke clouding around me. “What do you plan on doing with her?”
“She’s damaged goods now.”
Sometimes Marco Antonio takes his job a little too damn seriously. “She’s. A. Maid,” I grit out. “This is a waste of my fucking time.”
“You’re right,” he grunts. “I’ll take care of it. Where are we on Velez?”
His sudden change of subject to more important matters has me sitting up and resting my little cigar in my ashtray.
“We’re going to make the motherfucker wish he’d never been born,” I growl.
He cracks his neck and grins at me. My brother of sorts and best friend has the ugliest mug I’ve ever seen, but he somehow lands a fuck-ton of women in his bed. I’ll never understand that one. “Is he a dead man?”
“Right now, he’s a man with a target on his back, but I want him in one piece. I want him taken to the shed.”
His eyes darken with delight. Taken to the shed is a figure of speech. We have an empty manufacturing building, “the shed,” in town that we use to torture, maim, and eventually kill. When motherfuckers mess up, we take them to the shed.
“I’ll have Arturo and Alejandro round him up.”
He leaves and I rise from my chair. I snuff out my cigar and walk through my house. It’s quiet and one would almost assume it’s empty, but it’s filled with people who work for me. In another week, it’ll be bustling with activity. I feel like I haven’t seen Tania and Emiliano in ages. While Tania and I don’t always see eye to eye, I have nothing but love for her son. My brother. I grin just thinking about the little shit. The kid is getting so big.
I’m walking through the house when I nearly get knocked over by a woman. It takes all of two seconds to gather my senses and realize it’s her. Rosa Delgado. The feisty maid. Tonight, she doesn’t look like she’s been through physical hell like last week. More like literal hell. Her eyes are bloodshot, her button nose pink, and her fat lips swollen and red. A slight bluish bruise is forming on her cheekbone and I wonder if Julio gave that to her earlier.
“We have to stop running into each other like this,” I tease as I steady her by her biceps.
All sadness bleeds from her expression and a flare of defiance flashes in her big brown eyes. My cock reacts—again—and I hold her right where I can look at her for a moment longer. Her hair isn’t in a bun. Thick, wavy, cascading down her front like melted chocolate spilling down the side of a sundae. It makes me want to twist my fingers in it and see if she tastes like chocolate too.
“My apologies,” she manages to croak out.
I look past her at the front door. “Where have you been?”
She stiffens. “Out.”
Narrowing my eyes, I study her features. Deception flickers in her eyes and I wonder if Marco Antonio might be onto something. She doesn’t like my inspection because she forces her features calm and gives me a small fake smile.
“Do you need something, señor?”
You. On your knees. Putting those dick sucking lips to use.
“I always need something, manzanita.” Little apple.
She steps away from my hold and my hands fall to my sides. Her clothes are plain and not very feminine, but the curves she seems to want to try to hide scream for attention. They’ve certainly got my attention.
“How are the preparations coming for my father and his family?” I ask, stepping closer and enjoying the way she bumps against the pillar behind her. “You know, in between killing my men and all.”
“I, uh…” she trails off and her eyes plead for me to understand.
I do understand. Women in this world are outmatched and hunted by the predators who go by the name men. She’s lucky she has me for a boss. I am one of the few men in this country who knows you catch more flies with honey. The Estradas don’t abuse women. Weak motherfuckers abuse women.
I am anything but weak.
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Get some rest. There is still a lot to do. You know how picky my father is.”
She nods quickly. Everyone knows my father is a spoiled sonofabitch. But he’s the best man I know. He may love his food prepared a certain way and have his OCD tendencies, but he has always treated me as a business partner and his most prized possession. With Emiliano in the mix, he shares that love with his little boy, but I don’t feel slighted in any way. He may be ruthless to others but first and foremost, my father is a family man.
“Rosa,” I murmur as I run my knuckle along her cheekbone. “Put some ice on this.”
She winces as though my words physically hurt her. It confuses me for a moment, but I step away to let her go. Perhaps she’s got a lot more going on in that head of hers that she doesn’t let others see.
But don’t we all?