The Untouchables

8. Carlos Quintero

As soon as I walk into his office, Quintero kicks out his guests with the guards and closes the door behind us.

He turns to me, rubbing his chin. "Tell me that you succeeded," he orders.

I nod. "They both agreed to keep working with you."

He gets dangerously close to me, his breath on my lips. "I've spent the last few days killing my concern with alcohol. What wasn't clear when I told you to contact me when you had news?"

"I was in a hurry. I had to make sure none of them attacked you before we talked."

Quintero grabs my neck, a choking sound comes out of my throat. He forces me to get on my knees as he unbuttons his pants.

"What are you doing?" I ask, even if it's obvious.

"Cállate. I'm giving you what you deserve," he says, his voice huskier than usual.

I don't deserve any punishment. "I did what you wanted. It's your turn to keep your word."

"I will let you go, but you'll pay for not doing things my way."

"Doing things my way just made everything faster! I didn't-"

"¡Cállate!" he yells, finally obtaining what he wants. But not everything.

I won't let him take me like an animal.

I stand up. "Fuck you, Carlos," I spit.

He laughs, raising his eyes to the sky. "You're brave. But you should grow the fuck up and know when it's not the case to be so."

He hits me with the back of his gun and I fall. My head spins too hard to let me get up again, blood flows into my eyes and I see the world through the lens of hell.

"You're pathetic. I should've ended your miserable life before, I'm sure you would've thanked me from heaven. The only reason I'll let you live is that it's what you asked me in exchange for my partners' extended collaboration," he says, crouching next to me.

Twinges of pain in my head add moments of total black to my vision already blurred by tears. From my side, I let myself fall on my stomach and crawl to the exit door. But Carlos has other plans for us.

He pulls me back by my feet and I can't help but stare at the pattern of blood that my head draws on the ground. He turns me on my back and positions himself between my legs, moving the cloth of my panties to the side.

The head of his cock presses against my slit. I punch Carlos in the guts, but he doesn't move. He sticks his tongue in my mouth, keeping a hold on my neck so tight that I'm forced to bring my hand around his strong arm, scratching and pushing and hitting it without any result.

He slides in and out of me with ease, uncaring of my pain every time he stretches my tight pussy. The sound of his breath gets louder and my screams get muffled in his mouth and silenced by the twinges of pain in my head. I look at him losing control inside of me as a tingly sensation grows between my legs.

I wish I could leave my body. Instead, Carlos remembers me that I'm trapped in this shell, and it's a shell that he owns as I suddenly reach the climax, traveling in a trance between agony and sexual gratification. He groans like an animal over me, then falls to my side when he's done, panting.

I let the tears fall down my cheeks. "You are evil."

"Usually, I'm an ángel de la muerte. But you begged me to let you live, remember?" he asks, standing up and adjusting his pants.

With the strength left in me, I fight the shame of my existence and talk. "Can I go home now?"

"Tomorrow night I'll have a party to discuss business with Navarro and Hernandez. Cover the bruises with some makeup and show up with a decent dress from the guests' wardrobes."

"I just want to go home," I beg, again.

Carlos towers over me, hands on his hips, his eyes running over my body as his mouth contorts in an expression of disgust. In his eyes there's some pity though.

"I don't want to ruin my favorite suit," he says.

He takes off his jacket, grabs the neck of my sweatshirt and punches me in the eyes. My head lazily moves back towards the ceiling and I meet his cold eyes again. His fist opens my cheek. This time I don't bother moving as I start to forget why this is happening. When he hits me again, my world is already all black.