Javier
“The dress wasn’t for you,” she throws back at me saucily.
Oh, the dress was for me. The moment I caught a glimpse of her walking by in that dress, I knew it was for me. I’d stood and followed her right out of the house, knowing that every asshole in Acapulco would want a piece of my hot fucking maid in her little yellow dress. And I needed every single one of them to know it was my dress. My maid. Mine.
“Of course not, manzanita.” I smirk at her as I offer her my elbow.
She eyes it warily, her normally completely composed demeanor shattered from that fuckwad. Her father. The stink of sex permeating from the room when the door opened had my hackles raised. I may not have truly spoken to her much during her employment, but I’m not blind. A man can identify a gorgeous woman when she lives in his home and cleans his space. Her scent—sweet like apples—clings to my belongings, and quite frankly, I enjoy it.
But if there’s anything my padre ever taught me, it’s don’t fuck the people you pay to do you a job. Feelings cloud their judgment and then you lose someone good because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants.
For four years, I’ve appreciated her feminine curves and attention to detail. Yet, the night when she showed up battered in the kitchen, she awoke something inside me. Curiosity if you will. A desire to bend my father’s rules. Bend her. Specifically, over my desk.
She lets out a heavy sigh and clutches onto my elbow. “You don’t have to take me home. I can walk.”
Over my dead body.
Last time, she almost got herself killed.
“I’m not taking you home,” I rumble as we walk through the scuzzy hotel. When I’d followed her, I called Alejandro and asked him to meet me at the hotel. And as we walk outside, he’s standing beside his white Hummer with his arms crossed against his chest. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in the sight of Rosa.
Appreciation.
I think she has the same effect on every man who crosses her path.
Well, except the overweight, balding motherfucker who clearly fucked her one last time before breaking her heart. That I will never comprehend.
Leaning into her as we walk, my lips brush against her hair. “He is blind and fucking stupid.”
She stiffens but gives me the briefest nod. I smirk as I guide her to the passenger side of the vehicle. Her brows scrunch together when I open the door for her.
“You don’t have to be so nice,” she mumbles as she slides in. Her short yellow dress rides up her tanned thighs as she settles on the leather seat.
I grab the seatbelt and reach across her chest, my arm brushing against her fat tits as I buckle her in. “Who says I’m nice?” I arch a brow at her. Our faces are inches apart—so close I can almost taste her. The idea of having her is becoming every bit a goal of mine as all the shit I do for my father.
It’s what we Estrada men do.
We calculate, we conquer, we own.
Right now, I’m calculating how I can make this happen without having it blow up in my face. I'll read her tells and pay attention to her personality. Once I’ve deduced she isn’t going to go batshit crazy after a wild fuck or two, then I will conquer her sweet, supple body. And I already fucking own her, so that’s that.
She clears her throat and Alejandro chuckles under his breath from the backseat. I ignore him and close her inside. Once I’m in the driver’s seat, I scan the streets. This evening is semi calm. Normally, I’d be stirring shit up to keep the momentum of this city’s descent into hell going. But not now. Now, I need to take care of fucking business.
When we pass the estate, Rosa sits up and jerks her head my way, suddenly alert and not feeling sorry for herself. “Where are we going?”
“Errands.”
Another snort from the backseat.
“Are we going to go get Araceli? Is she safe?” She turns in her seat and bites on her bottom lip. It’s plump and painted red. Fuck, she’s hot. And she isn’t even trying. The woman doesn’t even realize she’s so goddamned pretty.
“She’s fine—” Alejandro offers from the backseat, but his words die in his throat when he catches my furious glare in the mirror.
At hearing this, she relaxes some, but I don’t miss the way her eyes scan the roads. She’s vigilant. Always watching. It’s something I’ve noticed about her at the house. Nothing gets by her with her staff. Makes me wonder how much of my shit she notices.
Marco Antonio’s words buzz in my head.
“I’m telling you. The way she hit him, with such force, and then the way she pinned him. That’s professional, jefe.”
I flit my gaze over to her hands. She wrings the bottom of her dress in a nervous manner. If she was fucking spying like Mr. Conspiracy Theory thinks, she’d be relaxed. Not this. The woman is rattled. A bit curious but mostly uneasy. But she’s riding around with Guerrero’s biggest monster. A devil in an expensive suit with a disarming smile. She better feel unnerved.
She doesn’t ask any more questions until we pull up to the shed.
“Stay,” I bark, pinning her with a hard stare. “I’ll be back in fifteen minutes.”
Alejandro grumbles. “I don’t get to come, do I?”
He knows his job. Fucking babysit my hot maid.
“Nope.”
“Figures. I really hate that dickhead.”
I shrug as I climb out of the Hummer. “I’ll save you a finger.”
Rosa gasps, but I don’t spare her a glance. Most women in the city know the level of crime here. And, she of all people, knows I’m the one who stirs the fucking pot. I stride over to the key panel and punch in the code. I’m gained entry and I step into the dark metal building. As soon as the door slams closed behind me, I hear him.
“Help! Someone help me!”
Velez.
I crack my neck and roll it along my shoulders to stretch out the tension. Having Rosa on my mind is screwing with my thoughts. It’s not often I’d prefer to take home a woman than rip off a man’s fingers with a pair of pliers.
I walk through the empty building until I find the room in the back. Bright light shines below the door. Pushing into the room, I let satisfaction roll through me to see my victim sitting bound to a chair.
Naked.
Mayor Velez likes to get naked after all.
With fucking underage boys.
As soon as he sees me, his face crumples. Tears stream down his face and I haven’t even done anything. Yet.
“Buenas tardes, Alcalde.” Good evening, Mayor. I unbutton my smoke-gray linen Versace jacket and slide it down my arms. I hang it from a hook on the wall. This suit cost me nearly fifty-six thousand pesos. I’m not keen on soiling it with the mayor’s blood, sweat, and tears. A lightweight durable suit where you don’t sweat your balls off in the Acapulco heat is hard to come by.
“N-No, p-please,” he begs.
Ignoring him, I walk over to the far wall and pull down my rubber apron. I slide it over my head and tie it around my back. The putrid scent of piss fills the air and I groan. Thank fuck the little shit is sitting over a drain. When I’m done with him—whenever that might be—I’ll hose him down and all evidence of our fun will slide down the tiny hole at his feet.
“I can get you the money.”
“You didn’t, though,” I say as I unbutton my cuffs and start rolling one sleeve up.
“I needed m-more t-time, Señor Estrada.” He sobs. “P-Por favor.”
He begs and pleads as if this will sway my decision. I roll up my other sleeve to my elbow and then walk over to the toolbox. “You know how things work, hijo de puta.” I hold up a hammer and inspect it in the light before setting it down. “You obey or you don’t.” I pick up the pliers. “Sencillo.” Simple.
“Not simple,” he argues, his voice reaching shrill heights. “M-My wife. She would have killed me for t-taking the money from our savings and—”
“I. Will. Kill. You,” I roar as I stalk over to him. My Gucci leather shoe splashes in his piss puddle and it makes me want to grab him by his thinning hair so I can punch his fucking skull in. Dealing with this motherfucker was not on the agenda. Hours ago, I had my finger inside the tight pussy of a beautiful woman. Had this asshole not fucked up my day, who knows where I would’ve gotten with her. But now I have to go get back into the car with her smelling like this dickhead’s piss.
“I promised my bodyguard I’d bring him a souvenir,” I say with a manic grin. “I wonder what he’d like. A finger? A toe? Your tongue?”
He trembles, but there’s nowhere for him to go. His wrists are bound behind him and tied to the chair. Each ankle is tied to a leg of the chair. I lift my leg and step on his small, limp old man cock with my soiled shoe, pressing it into the chair beneath him. He howls in pain when I dig my toe forward, smashing his balls too.
“Please d-don’t cut off my penis,” he begs, snot running from his nose over his salt and pepper mustache.
“Oh, Velez, such little imagination. You’ve been watching too many American eighties movies. I’m not the bad guy from a Sylvester Stallone movie. Nobody is coming to save you. You’re not going to free yourself from your bindings and punch your way out of this shit.” I playfully slap his sweaty face. “And I’m not going to cut your little pecker off. I don’t have my tweezers with me to find the damn thing,” I say, my lips turning up in a predatory smile. “The things I have planned for you are much more violent.”
“N-No, please! I have money in my safe at my office. The code is 87654. Take it all. Just take it all.”
I let up on smashing his cock and balls and step away from him. Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone. I hold up a picture of his wife. “I talked to Val.”
“Don’t hurt her. She’s innocent,” he chokes out.
I laugh so hard tears spring to my eyes. “You fool. You fucking fool. Your sweet wife is not innocent. You should have heard the swear words coming out of her mouth when I told her about your little addiction. At first she didn’t believe me, but I showed her the pictures. The latest kid. He’s what, same age as your son?” I shake my head at him. “Your wife gave me the money.”
“W-What? She paid you to protect me from my shame?”
Another dark laugh. “No, Velez. She paid me to make you fucking suffer.”
His eyes grow wide with horror. “She wouldn’t.”
I flip to the video recording of Val. She’s destroying his home office and screaming. Tears stream down her face. When I told her how many boys and the extent of her husband’s perversions, she cracked. Went fucking mad. In the recording, she turns her tearstained, hate-filled face to the camera. “I hope you suffer,” she hisses. “I hope you suffer slowly.”
I end the recording and pocket my phone. Velez sobs. Val is packing her shit as we speak and moving out of the city. Nobody, not even in a crime-ridden city, wants to be associated with that sort of horror. Even fucking criminals have to draw the line somewhere. That makes Velez the lowest of the low.
With my back to Velez, I whistle to a new Luis Fonsi song I heard at the club last week as I choose a long, thin wire from my toolbox. Once I’m satisfied with one that’ll do the job, I turn and face the piece of shit. He’s purple and practically hyperventilating. I keep whistling and dance my way back over to him, careful not to splash in his piss. Squatting in front of him, I push his laughable, urine dripping cock out of the way and grab hold of his big-ass balls. He squeals like a goddamned stuck pig when I pull his nuts toward me.
“You might feel a little pinch,” I taunt, baring my teeth at him. When will the men in this city learn you don’t fucking blow off an Estrada? They should have learned from my father. They sure as hell should have learned from me. Word gets around. These motherfuckers know who runs this show.
I wrap the thin wire around his balls and twist it. Then, I latch the pliers onto the twisted wires and begin turning. His screams get louder and louder as I twist the metal. Each turn makes his balls bulge more and turn purple. Once I’m close to breaking the skin but still tight enough to hurt like a motherfucker, I stop. I rise to my feet and ruffle his drenched-from-sweat hair.
“Someone will be by each day to give it a few turns.” I grin at him as I step away and walk over to the wall. “Eventually those fuckers are going to fall right off.” I toss the pliers into the box and yank off the hot-ass apron. “I told you I wasn’t the type of man to cut your dick off.” I shrug as I hang my apron. “Now Marco Antonio? I can’t promise he won’t be feeding you your own cock later for dinner.”
He screams and cries as I wash up at the sink. Once I’ve got that sick fuck’s ball sweat off my hands, I grab my jacket and toss it over my shoulder. Another song flips into my mind and I start whistling that one as I leave Velez to sit and stew about what happens when you fuck with Javier Motherfucking Estrada.
You lose.