Rosa
I have a thundering headache and a mountain of regret. But she’s home. Araceli walked in just as I finished my shift looking surprisingly refreshed. She assured me Marco Antonio wasn’t cruel to her. He took her to a safe house and interrogated her about me and Julio and what happened. Then, he took care of her until she was ready to come back.
After all four of us gushed over her return, I took her back to my room. She thanked me and promised me she was fine. I have no choice but to believe her.
“These,” Yolanda says as she reenters my room. Since we’re close in size, she’s taken it upon herself to be my personal stylist. The moment she found out Javier was taking me out, I thought she was going to faint. She hands me a pair of big gold hoops.
“I can’t wear these,” I whine. “They’re as big as my head.”
She laughs and ignores my protests as she sets to putting them in my ears. “It will draw his eyes to your neck.” After she gets them in, she lifts a questioning brow at me. “Have you slept with him?”
“Yolanda!” I cry out, embarrassment heating my flesh.
She shrugs. “We’re girlfriends. I know you’re our boss, but you’re like a big sister to us. Spill the details.”
My heart clenches in my chest. Truth be told, I’ve enjoyed letting her fix my hair and apply my makeup. It’s one of the most normal things I’ve ever done in my life. I’m so abnormal, it feels strange to be normal. I've spent so much time with vengeance in my future that I haven't stopped to enjoy the little things in the present. Like letting one of your girlfriends doll you up before a date.
“We haven’t even kissed.” I bite on my bottom lip.
“But,” she urges.
“But we’ve done other stuff,” I whisper. “Don’t tell the other girls.”
She smiles. “Your secret is safe with me. Does he have a big cock?”
A flush spreads over my skin. I’d gotten a glimpse of his cock this morning and also felt it as it rubbed against me. My job was to seduce him, but in reality, he’s the one who seduced me. “Of course he does. You can’t be someone like Javier Estrada and not back up that attitude and power with something worthwhile.”
“Did he go down on you?”
I close my eyes, but then I’m right there. With his hot breath tickling my center. Quickly, I pop my eyes open. “Yes.”
“Oh, God, you lucky bitch. He’s so dreamy.”
I want to chide her and remind her he’s a criminal, but I won’t expose myself even to her. “Very dreamy.” He’s a dreamy bad guy, that much I can admit.
“You’re going to have sex with him tonight. Did you shave your pussy cat?”
Laughing, I nod my head. “I’m good,” I assure her. “And why are you so sure I’ll have sex with him?” The thought makes my core throb. He’s the enemy and I have butterflies dancing in my belly at the thought of getting naked with him again.
“He’s taking you on a date, Rosa. He likes you. But he isn’t the type of man to not follow through all the way. You’re getting laid.”
“Maybe,” I say with a sigh. I walk over to the full-length mirror and hardly recognize myself. Yolanda lent me a white bandage dress that’s not only short but extremely fitted. It’s low cut and shows off everything. Cleavage. My curvy hips. Toned thighs. She’s curled my dark, chocolate-colored hair into loose beach waves that hang down in front of my shoulders. But it’s my face I hardly recognize. She’s given me fake lashes that make my eyelashes seem thicker and fuller and painted my lips matte red. I look like a movie star.
“Hot damn, mami. You’re looking so fine tonight.” Javier’s deep voice rumbles from the doorway.
I jerk my head his way and my mouth goes dry. He wears a pair of light gray slacks and a white button-up shirt. The top two buttons have been left undone, giving him a slightly casual look, especially with the way the sleeves are rolled partway up his arms. His gold watch is big and shiny, catching the overhead light and glimmering. I bet it costs more than any of his cars. Javier loves fashion. The ink on his forearms snakes out past the material and gives a sharp contrast to his sleek outfit. Dangerous yet impeccable. If his style had a name it’d be villain chic. His belt is black and has a texture like maybe snakeskin. On his feet, he wears a pair of shiny black dress shoes. When my eyes make their way back to his, he’s grinning at me, an incredibly hot dimple making itself known.
“You look pretty fine yourself,” I murmur, a genuine smile tugging at my lips.
Yolanda laughs but then slips out of the room, leaving us alone. Like a jaguar in the jungle, he prowls my way. His hands find my hips and I shiver.
“As much as I want to throw you down on your bed and have my way with you, I promised you a night out,” he utters, his thumbs running circles on my hips.
I gaze up at him, enjoying being the center of his attention. I’d thought seducing this man would be difficult. Turns out, it’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.
Because he’s seducing you, Rosa…
Since we’re dressed nice, I expect to go eat at one of the fancy hotels along the ocean—one of the few undisturbed by crime places left in Acapulco. Instead, he drives me to the heart of the city. His men ride behind us in Marco Antonio’s Land Rover, but Javier is driving us in his 1957 cherry-red Chevrolet Thunderbird. It’s been completely restored and I’ve never been so in love with a car before. The radio plays a new up-and-coming Mexican band and Javier taps on the steering wheel as he sings along.
I can’t stop staring at him.
For a bad guy, he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.
His black hair is styled in a tousled way and he’s left some black scruff on his cheeks rather than shaving. My palms itch to run my fingers along his sharp jawline and down his neck that’s corded with lean muscle.
The rain patters on the car, but Javier isn’t bothered as he weaves through the streets as though he comes this way all the time. It makes me realize how sheltered I’ve been due to my job. Michael has made it clear that my job was to remain on the estate and to not venture out into the dangerous city. Whenever we’d go out to dinner, it was always someplace we could walk to and bring back to the hotel room. I’m now passing buildings I’ve never seen before. Even in the rain, with them all lit up, it’s beautiful. We pull up to a building that has people standing outside the door with umbrellas waiting.
“They look too busy,” I say, a slight pout to my voice when I realize it’s a restaurant.
“Not too busy for an Estrada,” he replies cockily. He climbs out of the car where Arturo waits with an umbrella. When my car door opens, Javier stands beside it with his arm outstretched and the other one holding an umbrella. I accept his hand and he pulls me close to him to protect me from the rain. It’s hard to remember sometimes that he’s evil personified. A murdering leader of a Mexican cartel. Él es el malo. He is the bad guy. But with his strong arm wrapped around my waist and smelling like heaven as he behaves as a perfect gentleman, I find the line blurring for me.
Michael never opened doors for me.
Not even back in Virginia where we met. Then, it was always drinks after work and I’d end up in his bed. In the beginning, our relationship was hot and had hope for a future. But about six months after coming to Acapulco, he changed. Started drinking more. Keeping me at arm’s length when it came to emotions. Fucking me as though it was his right, but he didn’t even seem to enjoy it half the time.
Javier’s fingers tighten around my waist when we pass a guy who eyeballs my tits in the dress. He walks us past the line and into the dark, tiny restaurant. As soon as he closes the umbrella, an old man with a mustache rushes over to him.
“Javier, mijo!” the old man greets with a wide grin. “Siéntate con tu bella dama.” Come sit with your beautiful lady.
“Gracias, Jorge,” Javier says and flashes me a smug grin as we follow the old man.
“¡Levántense!” Jorge orders a couple of teenage boys when we reach a table near the back.
The boys groan and leave, carrying their plates with them. Jorge produces a wet cloth from his belt and quickly cleans the table as if two seconds ago people weren’t just dining there. This place reminds me of my favorite restaurant and the old man treats Javier like Ana treated me.
Like family.
Pain crushes my heart as I take my seat. I can’t look at him. I’ll see their eyes. The ones who stormed in and shot up everyone I cared about. He is the enemy. I need to remember that.
“Dos margaritas de cocos,” Javier says to Jorge. His tone sounds dismissive. “Rosa.” He grabs my hand and I wince. “What is it? Do you want to go somewhere nicer?”
My eyes sting with tears and I blink rapidly to rid them. “N-No. This is perfect. Just reminded me of a restaurant I used to eat at as a girl in Ciudad Juárez.” I lift my gaze to find him staring intensely at me. The slivers of light brown in his dark eyes seems to brighten and flicker with worry. “I’m fine,” I assure him. “I just really miss their tacos al pastor.” That’s not a lie.
He studies me for a minute before he reaches for the menus tucked behind the salt and pepper shakers and about seven different types of hot sauces. This place is kind of dingy and old, but it’s perfect. It even smells like my childhood.
“Lucky for you,” he tells me, his eyes narrowed as if he’s watching my every facial tick and blink. “They have the best tacos al pastor in all of Mexico.”
I lift a brow. “I doubt it could beat Miguel’s. He was the master.”
“Was?”
Swallowing, I throw him a bone. One thing we learned in training was that you give them nibbles of the truth so that when you deliver your lies, they flow more easily from you.
“He was killed,” I tell him softly. “Gangsters he owed money to.”
The tense moment is interrupted when Jorge sets down two giant margarita glasses. They each have a skewer sticking out of them with cut bananas, strawberries, and fat marshmallows. I’ve never seen a drink like this before.
“Rosa no cree que sirvas los mejores tacos al pastor en México,” Javier tattles, a playful grin back on his handsome face. Rosa does not think you serve the best tacos al pastor in Mexico.
“I didn’t say that,” I argue.
Jorge puffs out his chest and waggles his meaty finger at me. “Verás, bella dama.” He storms off as though he’s on a mission. You will see, beautiful lady.
“I can’t believe you told him that,” I say with a groan as someone sets some chips and salsa down in front of us. My stomach grumbles in appreciation. I pick up a tortilla chip and dip it. “He’ll probably poison us now.”
He pulls his gun from his back and sets it on the table. “Jorge knows better than to fuck with El Malo.”
I glance around the bustling restaurant and nobody notices his chrome and black, long barreled Desert Eagle. One glance tells me it’s .50 caliber. Same one he pulled on Marco Antonio this morning. They hold seven rounds.
“They don’t care,” he assures me. “But you do. Are you familiar with guns?” His probe sends my heart rate skyrocketing.
“I’ve shot them before,” I tell him before taking a sip of the light brown margarita. It’s heavy on the tequila but tastes really good.
“Full of surprises, manzanita.”
I flash him a quick smile and change the subject. “When will Sr. Estrada arrive?”
A smile, filled with love and respect tugs at his lips. “Father and Tania will be here Friday.” He sips his margarita. “We’re having a party Friday night.”
Normally, when he has parties, we prepare all the food but then are to stay out of the way. I wonder if this still applies to me.
“I want you there,” he says, his voice dark and dripping with intent. “Do you have a swimsuit? The weather will be nice by then.”
“No, I don’t have much, but maybe I can borrow one—”
“When we get home, use my computer to order whatever you need.” His eyes narrow at me. “The password is candyapple.”
I swallow down another sip of my strong margarita. I’m trying to keep the satisfied look off my face. If I have access to his computer, there’s no telling what I could uncover for the agency. This whole seduction operation is giving us more progress and access than we’ve had the entire four years I’ve been here. Michael was right. This is working.
“Thank you,” I say.
While we wait on our food, he pulls his pack of little cigars out and lights one. He leans back in his chair, his sharp and hungry gaze boring into me. I feel like this date is a test and if I can pass it, he’ll let me into his world.
I can do this.
“You’re beautiful,” he tells me.
Heat floods my cheeks and I fight a smile. “You’re a romantic, Javi.”
His eyes lazily slide to my lips, down my throat, and settle on my cleavage. He exhales a plume of sweet smelling smoke and it clouds the air around us. I feel as though he’s creating this bubble for us—an intoxicating haze I’ll never be able to climb my way out of. With his intense inspection, I find myself fidgeting under his stare. He brings his cigar back to his lips and sucks, his scruffy cheeks pulling in. His full lips part and the smoke pours out like a snake slithering out of its trap. It slides my way and swirls around me.
Only Javier Estrada could make smoking little candy apple cigars look so hot.
“You’re blushing, mami.”
I laugh. “You’re practically making love to your cigar.”
His grin is immediate and I’m rewarded with the dimple I’m growing quite fond of. “I’m good with my mouth as you well know.”
I bite on my lip and relax in my seat. Despite charming the enemy, this is kind of fun. I’d never tell Michael that. You won’t find on any of the reports to the CIA that I enjoyed a date with one of Mexico’s most nefarious men. That I let him stick his tongue inside me. His finger in my ass. They’d pull me and send me back to Virginia faster than I could blink.
“You were okay,” I tease.
His eyes darken as he leans forward, his little cigar stuck between his teeth. Damn, he’s hot. Too hot. I’m going to fuck everything up because of this man. He gets inside my head and makes me forget who I am.
“Should I drag you across this table, spread you right open, and feast upon your sweet cunt again to remind you that I am better than okay?” He smirks and then takes another drag on his cigar. “We both know I was your motherfucking best.”
With those words, he blows the sweet smoke at me before leaning back in his chair. Jorge arrives with several dishes and I don’t even have to dig in to know this food will be better than anything I’ve ever tasted.
Javier stubs out his cigar and we eat, discussing some musicians we both like. He keeps the margaritas coming. Once I’m stuffed and tipsy, he throws down some money, shoves his Desert Eagle back into his pants, and helps me to my feet. I stumble, not quite used to the high heels, and he pulls me to his chest. My thigh rubs against his and something metal is smashed between us.
“Are you happy to see me?” I tease, tilting my head up to look at him.
His palms find my ass and he squeezes. “Give me some credit, manzanita. Surely you don’t confuse my switchblade for my big cock. Do you remember the way I rubbed against you this morning?” He nuzzles his face against my hair near my ear. “You were so wet for me.”
I still am.
Heat floods through me and I want to beg him to take me home now. I’m seconds away from mauling him in front of everyone at this busy restaurant. He chuckles and pulls away before guiding me outside and into the rain where his men wait. Marco Antonio walks us to Javier’s car that sits in the same place we left it. He gets soaked while he makes sure we stay dry. Being with Javier is like being with a prince. A dark, fucked up prince, but still a prince. He has men who bow to him. An entire city of people who quake in fear of making him angry.
Once we’re settled in the car, his hand seeks out my bare thigh and he squeezes me there. The small act of affection has me desperate to return it. I slide my palm over his. He darts his gaze my way, studying me like he always does.
“You’re beautiful, Rosa.”
I give him a thankful smile. Javier may be a lot of bad things but he’s good things too, and complimentary is one of them. He says such sweet, seductive things to me. And what he doesn’t say, his body language does for him. His hungry stares. The way he prowls toward me whenever I’m near.
He turns his palm up and I slide my fingers to interlink with his. Satisfied at holding my hand, he settles in his seat as he maneuvers the streets. His head moves to the beat and he taps the steering wheel along with the drums in the song. This man loves his music.
“Club Cielo,” he says as we pull into a spot. The rain continues to pour, but we’re not letting it put a damper on things. “I want you to have some fun and then I have business to take care of here.”
A cold dose of reality drenches me, sobering me up some.
I’m here to spy.
Not turn into a girly pile of goo who’s enjoying the best date of her life.
Focus, Daza, focus.
“Of course, baddie,” I tease, despite the strain in my voice.
Always so in tune to me, he senses it. “You know who I am,” he reminds me.
Nodding, I stare out the windshield to the sleek club. “El Malo.”
He leans my way and slides a hand into my hair. I gasp when he pulls me to him. His lips that smell of tequila are close to mine but not close enough to touch. “We’re going to dance, we’re going to drink, and we’re going to have a good time. I’ll take care of business on the way out.” He runs his thumb along my jawline. “And then when I get you home, Rosa, I’m going to fuck you. I’m going to fuck you and stake my claim on whatever it is that’s happening between us.”
“Okay,” I breathe out in agreement. He could ask for anything right now and I’d say yes as long as he gives me the kiss I ache for.
His fingers slide to the back of my skull and he grips my hair almost to the point of pain. He clutches my throat with his other hand. “I’m greedy, manzanita. When I want something, I find a way to have it. I will have it. And as you know, I take care of my things once I get them.” He doesn’t choke me, simply holds me in an almost reverent way. “If you’re not ready for me to suck you into my world, you need to back out right the fuck now.”
I part my lips and meet his blazing gaze. “You’d let me climb out of this car and walk away if I said I didn’t want to be sucked in?”
His lips quirk up on one side. “Fuck no. You’re already here. You belong to El Malo now, so deal with it.” And with those words, he presses his soft lips to mine. I let out an appreciative moan that gives him access to my mouth with his insistent tongue. He swipes it across mine and I’m already drunk off him. One simple taste and I need more. So much more. I kiss him back hungrily, my palms seeking out his muscled shoulders. I want to touch him like he touches me. Everywhere. Possessively. All at once. Our tongues duel for the lead, but he wins because he involves his teeth. Reminds me he’s the powerful one here. I cry out when he nips at my tongue. His palm slides down my throat and along my chest until he has my breast in his hand. Each place he touches burns as though his hands are on fire. I want him to burn me.
I’m dizzy and drunk for him.
I try to climb into his lap, but we’re interrupted by a rap on the glass.
“For fuck’s sake, Marco,” he roars.
I shrink away back to my seat. My door opens and Arturo stands ready with an umbrella. Marco Antonio and Javier are in a yelling match that sounds like it might end with a fist to the face, but Javier storms away from him in the pouring rain. His Desert Eagle gets pulled from his back and my heart rate quickens. But he doesn’t fire it. Instead, he jerks his shirt untucked and hides it in the back of his pants again. He yanks the umbrella from Arturo’s grip and holds it over me as we walk inside. The sweet romancer from moments ago has morphed into this raging demon.
It’s just the wakeup call I needed.