Malo an age gap romance.., p.1
Malo: An Age Gap Romance (Ruthless Kings Houston Book 3), page 1
MALO
RUTHLESS KINGS HOUSTON
BOOK 2
K.L. SAVAGE
Copyright © 2024 by K.L. Savage
All rights reserved. Except as permitted by U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, establishments, or organizations, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously to give a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. MALO is intended for 18+ older, and for mature audiences only.
Content Warning:
This book contains topics that might be triggering for some readers such as drug use and overdose.
MALO
When I meet her at the MC’s bar I only want to forget those I let down, the one I couldn’t save. The shame has me sliding back into old habits even though they will only hurt me and the club.
When she takes something from me I decide to take her only to learn she’s being forced to work for our biggest enemies.
We have a common enemy, and she’s willing to do whatever it takes to get her father back. But with her loyalties torn, can we trust her? And can she trust me, when she met me at my lowest?
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Epilogue
Also by K.L. Savage
CHAPTER 1
MALO
“Get back!” Sin calls to me as he lifts his foot and slams it into the door. Once, twice, three times—and then, the door flies off its hinges and crashes to the ground. Sin jerks his head at me and Q to follow him in. I roll my shoulders back and follow his lead.
An acrid stench fills the air as I step inside, and I hear a handful of screams and yells throughout the house. From one of the rooms down the hall, a woman sprints out, trying to cover herself up as best she can with her arms. Her skin looks stretched tight across her bones, a sure sign she’s been using. But we’re not here for any junkies. We’re here to search out Las Rosas Negras before they do any more damage to this city than they already have.
“Upstairs,” Sin barks at me, nodding to the staircase. There are several holes in the walls, the light through the grimy windows picking up all the dust hanging in the air. Q and Sin split up to clear the downstairs, searching for something, anything to let us know where Las Rosas Negras might be and what they might be planning to do next.
Upstairs, a handful of women are cowering against the back wall of the house, most of them half-undressed, covering themselves with whatever grimy shirts and jeans they grabbed from the floor, hair lank and eyes wide as they watch me. I pay no attention to them, brushing past them to look into the room where they carry out their work. In the dim light, it’s hard to make anything out, but the black rose that represents Las Rosas is nowhere to be seen.
“Get inside,” I bark at the women, pointing to the room I just cleared. “And stay out of our way.”
The women scuttle past, none of them daring to make eye contact with me. I don’t blame them. They probably see a lot of shit, working at a crackhouse like this, and they know when it’s serious enough for them to keep their mouths shut. We’re only interested in getting the scum off the streets before they take everything Beast has been working for.
I search through the adjacent rooms, but find them empty. The back windows are open and it looks like whoever was here made a break for it through the low windows, their fall cushioned by whatever shit they were on. Fuck!
The Rosas must have known there was trouble brewing. It’s been a few months since Beast kicked off the op to eradicate the stragglers from El Serpiente’s twisted tribe. All the hard work we’ve put in and it still hasn’t been enough. There are enough people loyal to him, or at least still terrified enough of what he might do to them if they dare turn their backs on him. Pulling this weed out by the root is turning out to be much harder than any of us could have imagined it would be.
“Down here!” Sin yells, drawing my attention. I head back toward the stairs, trying to ignore the scent of smoke in the air.
I reach a room off the main entrance, where Q and Sin are standing over a man who looks to be around my age. It’s clear he was only here to make use of the wares, a dirty pipe sitting next to him, the glass still glowing hot from his last hit. His eyes are bleary and distant, as though he can hardly even tell we’re right there in front of him.
“What did you find?” I ask. Sin grabs the man’s arm and twists it around. There on the inside of his wrist is a small black rose tattoo, a sure sign that he’s loyal to Las Rosas Negras.
“We can get something out of him once he’s sobered up,” Q remarks, and he grabs the man and pulls him to his feet. His head is lolling wildly, like he can barely keep himself upright, and there’s a loose, sloppy smile on his face. It’s clear he’s nowhere near reality right now, but when he comes back down to Earth and realizes what’s going on, he’s going to freak. We need to get him somewhere secure, locked down so he can’t cause more trouble than we can handle. Hard to know how much he’s going to remember when he comes down from the high he’s on right now, but if we’re lucky, he’ll be scared enough to hand over any information we need.
“Get him out of here,” Sin snarls, glowering down at him with pure hatred in his eyes. Q yanks the man toward the door and I go to follow them—until I spot a small bag out of the corner of my eye, and slow in my tracks.
I glance after the guys to make sure they’re gone before I make a move for it. I should leave that shit right where it is, and I know that, but there’s a part of me that craves the relief I know only something that strong will give me. Stupid? Probably. But I don’t give a fuck. In that moment, all I can think about is how much I want to forget about everything that’s going on in my head, the memories of what happened to Harley—and how responsible I feel.
It doesn’t matter how many times they try to tell me there’s nothing more I could have done, I just can’t get it out of my head, can’t stop thinking about what I could have done differently. My eyes dart to the door to make certain Sin and Q are out of sight. I know I don’t have long before they notice I’m lagging behind, and when they do, they’ll likely clock what I’m up to, and that’s the last fucking thing I need right now.
I grab the baggie and stuff it into my pocket before I can overthink it any further. Better to have it and not need it, than need it and be tormented by thoughts of it sitting here, right? I zip my pocket shut, making sure it’s not going to fall out and expose me, and follow them out into the sweltering afternoon sunshine.
“You okay?” Sin calls to me, as he shoves the man into the back of the cage we brought just for this purpose.
I nod. “I’m fine, just checking to make sure we didn’t miss anything,” I lie quickly. Far from true, but he doesn’t need to go stressing about the truth.
I throw my leg over my bike and follow them away from the house. All my thoughts consumed by the contents of my pocket. I can already imagine the relief I’ll feel when I take that hit for the first time. Is it the smartest way to go about handling any of this? Probably not. But when the memories come at me hard, when the guilt is so damn strong, sometimes you have to take drastic measures to make certain you come out the other side in one piece. At least that’s what I tell myself.
CHAPTER 2
MARIA
“Maria,” my father calls to me, raising his hand to wave me over. “There’s room over here, see? Next to the waterfall.”
I blink and stare at him for a moment. What’s going on? I can’t remember how I got here. I glance around, trying to orient myself. Ah, yes, I remember now. I’m just outside Mazamitla, Magic Town, a
But my father is standing just a few feet away, a basket slung over one shoulder, out of which I can already see bread and fruit peeking. A picnic, just like the ones we used to have when I was a kid. It’s been so long since the last time I had one with him, it’s hard to believe this is real…
Especially when I know how far he is from me right now. But, for some reason, there he is, just a few steps away from me, finding us the perfect picnic spot as the sunshine glints off the clear water beyond him. Is this a dream? It has to be a dream.
I make my way across the rocks toward him, making sure not to slip, but the path is clear in front of me. I’m barefoot, a towel slung over my shoulders, and a swimsuit covering my body so I can dive into the water and swim after our picnic. It’s always been my favorite way to spend time with him, blowing off steam with the cool water and soft breeze, and, judging by the smile on his face, he has missed this just as much as I have.
“Careful,” he warns, offering me a hand so I can traverse to the large, flat rock he’s laid a blanket out on for us. The food is simple, but God, it looks good—the mango glistening with juice, the bread fragrant with freshness, a few hunks of hard cheese in a small package used to keep the blanket from moving too much in the wind. I grab an apple and take a huge bite, the juices running down my chin, and then dive into the water and let it rush over my head.
“You coming in?” I call to my father.
He grins. “Maybe in a minute,” he calls back, and takes a bite of bread. Then, all at once, I feel like he is getting further and further away. I frown, and try to close the distance between us, but it’s no good. He’s drifting away from me, his face blurred, like paint smudged while it’s still wet. I try to call out to him, but there’s nothing coming out of my mouth—useless silence. I reach out to grab the rock, but it’s gone, the water rising up to swallow me—
With a start, I jerk upright in the dank room I’ve been forced to occupy for these last few weeks. My heart pounds in my chest, the memory of my father is so strong I could cry just thinking about him. Is this my brain’s way of torturing me, or is this its way of trying to make me feel better? I have no idea. I’m not sure I want the answer.
“Come on, Maria,” I mutter, trying to pull myself together.
I have no idea where my father is right now, or what exactly he is doing, I just know that we’ve been forced away from each other, and I don’t have a clue when I’m going to see him again. He’s trapped in a prison somewhere in Monterey, the last place I saw him, just like I’m trapped here in Houston, and it hurts—no, it aches to think about how far he is from me at this moment. We’ve never been this far apart for so long, and I’m sure he must be feeling this pain just as much as I am right now.
“Miss you, Papi,” I whisper into the darkness around me. The only light is filtering in through a grimy window above the bed, like I’m in a prison cell. Outside, I can hear the shriek of police sirens, a reminder of just how bad things are here. I don’t even want to think about what is going on to cause that kind of commotion. I know Houston has a bad reputation, but this part of the city in particular is rough in ways I could never have prepared for.
And I would never have had to, either, if it hadn’t been for him. This game he’s forced me into, twisting me to play by his rules, giving me no choice but to live in this tiny room and obey his instructions whenever he deigns to contact me.
No matter how horrible this place is, I would prefer to hide out in this room than I would to go and… do what he wants me to do. It’s so sick. I could be making a real difference with my PhD, going out into the world and actually making a change that would benefit people’s lives, but no. When he looks at me, he sees me as only good for one thing, and he’s not going to pretend like he gives a damn about what’s going on between my ears.
As though on cue, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. Well, not my phone, but the phone he gave me so he can keep tabs on me any time he wants to. If I don’t answer in a matter of minutes, I know he’ll send someone down here to check on me.
Or, worse, he’ll take it out on my father.
My stomach twists into knots at the mere thought of what he might want me to do tonight. I pick up the phone, and look down at the messages waiting for me. Instructions. To get dressed in the clothes they left for me, get out on the street, and, well, get to work.
My stomach twists at the thought of what I’m going to have to do. I need to keep myself together, but it’s so hard, when all I want to do is just scream. I should be used to this by now, used to taking commands from him like this, but it goes against every fiber of my being to just defer to him like this.
My mother raised me to stand up for myself, to push back when I’m faced with someone trying to control me like this, and I can’t help but wonder what she would have thought about the situation I’m trapped in right now. I’m glad she’s not around to see it. I know she would be horrified if she found out what I’m expected to do, let alone how my father’s skills and talent have been twisted into a tool for some of the most evil people I’ve ever met.
A small pile of clothes wait for me on top of the shabby wardrobe at the far end of the room. I pick them up—well, what little of them there is, anyway. There’s barely enough here to keep me from a public indecency charge, and I would never have chosen to wear these clothes myself, if I’d had the choice. I know there are plenty of women out there who love to show themselves off, but I’ve never been into that kind of attention from random men.
Something I’m going to have to get used to sooner rather than later, if I’m going to survive in this world.
I change out of the baggy tee and sweatpants I’ve been hiding out in since I got here, and I feel my hands trembling as I pull on the tiny strips of fabric I’m wearing for my evening tonight. A pair of shorts that cut off to show off half of my ass cheeks, and a bodysuit that’s basically just a handful of neon-pink strips tangled into something resembling a bathing suit. My whole body will be on display like this, and I can already feel the lecherous gazes of the men I have to walk by, their wolf-whistles and calls of appreciation at my outfit. There’s only one reason why someone would dress like this, and it’s not as though I am in any place to deny it.
I look down at my body in this outfit, stepping into the high, strappy heels that go with it. I feel as though I am lifting out of my body, dissociating just to get through this. I know what is expected of me, I know what part I have to play, but I still can’t believe this is actually happening. It feels impossible. To have fallen so low from where I was just a few months ago…
I might not be locked up like my father was, but I was just as much in a prison as he was.
I make my way over to the door, wobbling dangerously in the heels as I go. I have to be careful, the last thing I need is a twisted ankle on top of everything else. Pushing open the door, I glance up and down the corridor, checking to see if anyone is watching me, but it looks empty, much to my relief. I don’t want to have to deal with any comments about this outfit before I get out on the street. I’m sure I will get plenty of those as it is.
I fight back the tears that want to form in my eyes, and grit my jaw as I head down to the doorway. If there’s one thing I’m not going to give them, it’s the satisfaction of seeing me cry, seeing how much it kills me to do something like this. I know he would only get off on it.
I take a deep breath, push the door open, and step out onto the sidewalk beyond. I just need to think of my father. He’s the reason I’m doing this, to keep him safe.
CHAPTER 3
MALO
Idrum my fingers on the bar in front of me, trying not to think too hard about the small bag waiting for me in my pocket.
I know there’s not a damn thing I can do with it without attracting the attention of the bar patrons or my brothers.
But I’m pissed. Pissed that today didn’t turn up anything more useful. Pissed that we haven’t been able to confirm that Las Rosas Negras are out of this city for good. That guy we found at the crackhouse, he might not even be working for them anymore, but he’s a reminder that their roots still run deep in this place. No matter how hard we’ve worked to clear them out, there are still people who sympathize with them. There are still people who are willing to play along with El Serpiente’s twisted games.
