Rosa
My nerves are on edge. It’s been a week since my run-in with Javier, but I’ve been unsettled ever since. Each time I think he’ll stop me and narrow his gaze on me, he doesn’t. He goes about his very busy days. In and out of the estate. Always on the phone. I’ve learned that he’s beefing up security for his father Yoet and Yoet's wife Tania's arrival, which means they’re bringing more bodyguards into his home. All of them are professional, not like the thugs in the city. There are a few, though, with wandering eyes.
Like the one named Julio. He’s tall and strong like the rest but something in his eyes gives me the creeps. I’ll certainly have my eyes on that one.
Clearing my head, I quickly tie my hair into a bun and look at my reflection. A faint yellow bruise remains on my forehead, but the cut on my lip has since healed. I’m fairly back to normal, which I’m glad for. Tomorrow I’ll see Michael and the last thing I need is for him to worry over my safety and pull me out. I’ve come too far to be pulled out now.
I exit my room and head to meet with my staff to go over some tasks. Our time is running out and we have much to do. In the servant’s quarters, it’s broken into two rooms. Since I am the head maid, I have my own room. The other four share one. Loud music plays on the stereo. Yolanda. I’ve told her a million times to keep it down, but she’s nineteen, beautiful, and has a bit of a rebellious streak. I fear for her future the most. I’m about to get on to her but when I walk in, I can’t help but smile, which is rare these days.
Yolanda has a hold of Leticia’s hands—disfigured from arthritis—and they’re dancing. The nearly eighty-year-old woman whose face is lined with heavy wrinkles and is always frowning is laughing. My heart squeezes in my chest. Silvia and Araceli are also dancing. Both giggling at Yolanda’s over the top theatrics.
These women are the closest thing to family I have. I know I run a tight ship, but the more time I spend here, the more I realize I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. There have been many sad, lonely nights that Leticia would let me put my head in her lap as she’d stroke my hair. Just like my grandmother used to do. I would silently cry, soaking her lap, and she would just hum unfamiliar songs to me. Those days are fewer the longer I am here, but they still come. Like last Saturday. After my altercation and then subsequent run-in with Javier, I was upset and rattled. Leticia sensed it. Cuddled me and told me to let go of all the pain. Of course I didn’t, but in that moment I was free.
I shake away the feelings in my tender heart and clear my throat. Araceli squeaks and rushes to turn off the radio. They are all dressed in their uniforms, but Yolanda doesn’t have makeup on yet and the two younger women haven’t put up their hair. Leticia is ready, though.
“Buenos días, señoritas,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend.
Araceli flinches at my tone. I know I’ve become hard and sometimes I wish I could be softer for them, but it’s too difficult to be all the parts of me. Some of those gentler aspects of myself are forced into the shadows.
“We have a busy day ahead of us. Arturo wants the second floor fitted with new décor that’s been brought in. As of last night, the boxes were all stacked up in the hallways. I’ve already washed the new bedding for those rooms. We’ll need to put most of our efforts into making those rooms extra special for Señor Estrada’s father.”
“Emiliano will be coming?” Leticia asks, her features warm. “He must be three now?”
I blink at her in confusion. There are a lot of things I may know, but I can’t remember Yoet and Tania’s son’s age. Last time he’d been at the estate, he was an infant. “Um, I’m not sure.”
Leticia beams. “I will make sure I’ve prepared plenty to eat for the little one. I’ll ask Arturo for any dietary restrictions.” A sigh escapes her. “I miss my grandchildren. They’ve moved out of Guerrero and I don’t see them as often. What a joy it will be to have little Emiliano here.”
I force a smile. Having a child in a murderer’s lair isn’t exactly exciting news to me. It makes my already brittle nerves crack and fray. I’d hate to have to call in backup to help a toddler if things go sour. And I know myself, the innocent come first. Over this job, over everything. I let out a heavy sigh. I hope it doesn’t come to that.
“Will Tania be here?” Yolanda asks as she smears on her blood-red lipstick.
I choose my battles carefully with her. Today I’m not going to argue over her outrageous lip shade.
“She is Javier’s stepmother, so I assume so,” I say with a huff.
Silvia snickers. “She’s younger than Javier. Do you think they’ve ever had sex? What if Emiliano is not Yoet’s but his son’s instead. Oh, the drama!”
“¡Cállate!” I hiss. “You have been watching too many telenovelas. And you will address him as Señor Estrada. Señor Estrada loves his father dearly. He would never hurt him.”
The last thing I need is for these young women to gossip themselves into getting hurt. Talk like this, if heard by the wrong person, could end badly.
“You want all of us working on the second floor?” Araceli asks, her voice mousy. Today she’s got her thick hair pulled into a high ponytail that seems to accentuate her big brown eyes. Even with no makeup, she’s the most beautiful woman in the room.
“Leticia will prepare meals per usual and I’ll maintain the rest of the home. But, yes, I want the three of you working up there. Please divide up,” I snip, pointing at Silvia and Yolanda. “We don’t have time for games. There is too much to do.”
Both women nod.
“If you don’t have any questions, you’re free to get to work. Stay away from the men in the house. There are new ones and they don’t appear to be trustworthy,” I warn, my heart rate quickening.
Yolanda and Silvia giggle.
“Especially you two. Tomorrow, on your day off, you can flirt to your heart’s content outside of this estate. Although, I must warn you, the violence is getting to be ridiculous,” I grumble.
Yolanda puffs out her chest and arches a brow. “My brother’s best friend comes and gets us. He has guns, so we’re always safe. We’ve been taking Araceli with us.”
Pride surges through me. For as careless as Yolanda is sometimes, she does take on the big sister role of the other two girls.
“Gracias, cariño,” I tell her honestly.
She nods and pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Let’s get this house ready. I have a date tomorrow and I’d like to spend the evening preparing.” She waggles her brows at us. “I have to shave everything.”
All the girls giggle, including myself and Leticia.
My heart is full and I’m ready to face the day.
I’m just stepping out of Marco Antonio’s room with my broom when I run into a giant, manly wall. Julio. He stops long enough to drop his gaze to my chest that is modestly secured behind my uniform. But it’s as though he takes the time to imagine what’s hiding in there. It causes a shiver to run up my spine.
He simply grunts as he staggers toward the stairwell at the end of the hallway. The sun is dipping below the horizon outside the windows and this creep is already drunk. I’m inclined to tell Arturo, but he’s not here today. He and Alejandro have left to acquire some guns. I overheard that conversation when I was dusting the plants in the living room. Javier has been with Marco Antonio all day, showing the men entry points on the perimeter. The men following him are straight-spined and serious. They’ll do his bidding because Javier pays really well.
I’m shaken from my thoughts when I hear a door slam upstairs. Those girls better not be playing again. With my broom still in hand, I rush down the hallway and quietly up the stairs. All the doors are open. Yolanda is in one room with her headphones on dusting a ceiling fan. Silvia is scrubbing a bathroom down in another room. Her soft voice rings out as she sings. So that leaves Araceli. I walk down to the room that’s to be Emiliano’s. Earlier when I’d checked on them, she was unpacking toys for his stay.
I hear her cry out from beyond the door and anxiety floods through me. Julio headed up here moments before. So help me if he touches her…
I burst through the bedroom door and the scene before me stuns me for a moment. She’s bent over the bed with her dress pushed up her hips and her panties wrenched down her thighs. Her legs kick and flail, but Julio is holding her down, working to get his cock out of his pants, is much stronger.
“¡Suéltala!” I yell, rushing forward. Let her go!
“Vete, puta,” he growls as he reaches for his weapon tucked in at his waistband behind him. Leave, cunt.
My instincts take over and I rush for him. I swing my broom hard against the side of his face. He lets out a groan of shock and then he’s no longer interested in Araceli. Rage gleams in his eyes as he charges me. I strike him again, harder with the broom, and it breaks in half, hitting the wood floor with a clatter. He stumbles and knocks into the end table, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. His gun falls from his waistband and also hits the ground. Araceli redresses behind him and when our eyes meet, I see tears streaming down her cheeks.
He rushes for me again, but I drive the now pointed end of my broom into his gut and push him against the wall.
“You do not touch her,” I hiss. “You do not touch any of them.”
He reaches a long arm for me and grabs my throat. I can smell the tequila on his breath. I’m starting to see stars at his grip, so I push the pointed end of the broom harder into his stomach. Any harder and I’ll break the skin. Obviously he doesn’t care because he chokes me harder.
Pop!
His gun goes off and for a moment I worry I’ve been shot. But then I realize I’m staring at his lifeless eyes and blood is spattered all over the wall behind his head. I let out a surprised shriek the moment his hand falls from my neck and I rush backward, stumbling over my own feet. Araceli stands beside the bed with both arms raised, his gun in her grip. Her entire body trembles and tears don’t stop rolling down her face.
“Araceli,” I cry out. “What have you done?”
She turns her gun on me, a wildness in her eyes I’ve never seen. “H-He was going to r-rape me. I t-told him no.” Her bottom lip quivers uncontrollably. “I was s-so scared.”
“I know,” I say, forcing my voice calm. “Hand me the gun, cariño.”
Her arms drop and I rush over to take it from her grip. Marco Antonio bursts through the door, his eyes flaring with fury.
“What happened?” he roars.
Araceli flinches and I hug her into my arms. “He was assaulting her.”
“He tried to rape me and I shot him,” she explains, her voice shaking. “He was going to kill Rosa.”
He glowers at us and I lift my chin. If I have to fight my way out of this room to protect us, I will. Marco Antonio may be big, but I do have a gun in my hand.
“Go to your rooms,” he barks out. “I’ll handle this.”
As we pass, he yanks the gun from my grip. I allow it because I don’t want to cause anymore strife. We’ve already done enough damage. I don’t know what they’ll do to us, but something tells me this won’t go ignored.
Yolanda and Silvia are waiting in the hall with fear in their eyes. When they see us, they rush forward and envelop us in a sisterly hug that has my heart swelling. These people—the ones hugging me—are why I am here. To bring down bastards like Javier and his men in order to protect them. To protect other innocent people in this city who are prisoners in their own town because violent men run the streets destroying everything. Eventually it will happen. Every last one of them will be brought to justice in some way.
“Let’s get to our rooms,” I say, attempting to sound authoritative despite the shake in my voice. I quickly usher us through the house. Yolanda and Silvia retire to their room, but I bring Araceli into my room. She lies down on the bed and curls into a fetal position. Quickly, I fetch her some clothes from her room and then help her get comfortable. Once she’s settled, I change out of my bloody dress and pace my room. I’ll see Michael tomorrow and can report this to him, but protocol dictates that I notify the agency immediately of anything detrimental like this.
You’ll have to leave her alone.
I struggle with what to do. In the end, my job wins over. I kiss her temple and then change my clothes. After I ask the other two ladies to keep an eye on her, I leave the estate. It’s getting dark and I hate to be out here so late by myself, but Michael and my superiors need to know of this latest development.
I stick to the shadows as I make it to the hotel. When I have emergency visits, I simply go to the front desk and ask how many rooms are available. Then I ask for which rooms are available with a view. And finally, which rooms have queen beds versus kings. Eventually, via process of elimination, I can figure out which room Michael will be in.
The walk over is uneventful, thankfully, and I learn that all the rooms but one are available. So I walk down the hallways and listen for sounds of movement. When I hear Michael’s voice, I rap on the door ten straight times.
“Fuck.” His muffled voice is filled with irritation. I try not to let it bother me. If I’m here the night before, there’s a problem. That’s what he’s bothered about.
I swallow down the nerves that are eating me alive and stay strong. Tears threaten and I hate how weak I’ve become. I’d spent so many years hardening my heart from the outside world. But my girls and sweet Leticia back at the house have become family. I can’t let anything happen to them. The lines of this job are becoming blurred. I’d never admit that to Michael or they’d have me pulled so fast my head would spin. By the end of next week, I’d be sitting at a desk in Virginia pushing paper around.
Screw that.
After what feels like way too long, the door opens wide. Michael’s hair is messy and lipstick is smeared on his face. I blink in confusion. When a young woman with giant tits in a skintight yellow bandage dress walks past me, I let out a shocked sound. As soon as she exits through the door in the hallway, he ushers me inside and closes the door behind me.
“What is it?” he demands.
I scan the room. Takeout cartons litter the desk. The television plays some telenovela, but it’s muted. A giant bottle of tequila sits beside the bed. The blankets are ruffled and I see three torn condom packages peeking out from under the bed. Bile rises in my throat and I turn my accusing glare to Michael.
“Are you…are you cheating on me?” His form blurs and distorts as tears stream down my cheeks.
He walks over to me and grabs my shoulders. The scent of tequila is strong on his breath. “We aren’t anything, Rosa. You’re my subordinate.”
That’s not what he said when he was fucking me every Saturday for four goddamned years.
“You asshole,” I hiss and give him a shove.
He stumbles back and glowers at me. “Why are you here? What’s going on?”
Angrily, I swipe at my tears with the back of my hand. “Araceli shot one of Javier’s men to protect me. He’s dead.” A choked sob escapes me. “He was trying to rape her and I stepped in.”
He charges forward and grabs my bicep. “Why did you step in? You know the rules, Daza. Stay the fuck out of their business. Just listen. Listen and report back. Your duty isn’t to protect anyone.” He gives me a hard shake and I yelp. “Were you made?”
I try to jerk from his grip, but his fingers bite harder into me. “N-No, I wasn’t made. And I couldn’t sit around and watch her get hurt!”
“Listen to yourself!” he roars. “You’re losing your grip.”
“I’m losing my grip?” I shriek. “You’re fucking women behind my back. I thought you loved me! You’ve gotten so weird lately. You won’t even have sex with me without your shirt on!”
It happens so fast.
His face becoming enraged. His hand rearing back. The exploding pain on the side of my head.
I crumple and fall to the floor, my palm tenderly caressing my cheekbone that smarts in pain. I’m dizzied and upset. My heart is crushed.
“Shit! Rosa,” he grumbles, regret in his tone. “Goddammit. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s the fucking tequila. Come here, baby.”
He sits on the floor and pulls me into his lap. A loud, ugly sob wracks through me and I clutch onto him despite him smelling like the woman who just left. Sweetly, he strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, hugging me tight. “I didn’t mean it.”
“I know,” I say, although I don’t really. But I do know I’m desperate for his affection.
“I’m under a lot of stress.”
“Okay.”
“I do love you,” he murmurs. I stiffen because it’s the first time he’s ever said it. “But…” I cringe as he continues. “But it’s hard to have a relationship with someone you see for a few hours once a week.”
My stomach hollows out. “I wish I could see you more.”
“I know.”
I sit up and look at him. Guilt shines in his gaze. He leans forward and kisses the corner of my mouth. I shouldn’t want him, not still wearing that woman’s lipstick and scent, but I do. I straddle his waist and cradle his face with my hands. We kiss slowly like teenagers and my heart sings.
“We can fix this,” I breathe against his mouth. “I forgive you.”
“I know we can,” he assures me. “And as much as I’d love to do this all night and keep you with me, you need to tell me what happened. Then, you need to get back. I’ll walk you there so you’ll be safe. Tomorrow, on your day off, we’ll talk more.”
I hug him and nod.
We can fix this.
I think.