Roberto Rojo rolled off the girl, who had said her name was Maria. The sweat was beaded around her forehead, and she was still breathing heavily, her breasts moving up and down with the heaving of her chest as her heartbeat began to subside. Rojo sighed, “Oh man, oh man,” then pulled her closer. She snuggled up to him, wrapping one slinky leg over his torso. Maria had been extremely lucky that Roberto Rojo had taken a liking to her at Domingo Espada’s ranch. While leaving her family to “work” for Espada had seemed, at first, like a good idea, it had turned out to be a nightmare. She had become his concubine and he could do whatever he pleased with her. It was horrible and degrading. One day, Roberto Rojo and his brother, Javier, came to visit Espada. They were two of the most popular matadors in the country. At twenty-three, Roberto was fast becoming a superstar. His sultry looks had been plastered all over the covers of the major Spanish magazines, and his private escapades often found their way into the tabloids.
“I’m not letting you go,” she said playfully. “Forget the bulls tonight, all right?”
Rojo just laughed. “Are you kidding? I will make a million pesetas tonight. Providing I’m not killed, of course.”
“Aren’t you frightened?”
“Certainly. But not of the bull. I get stage fright. I’m afraid of the people in the audience. I don’t like to be booed.”
She laughed. “They never boo you. You’re a hero to them.”
He shrugged, “Yes, well … Still, it’s more of a challenge to go out there in front of all those people than to face a charging bull.”
The phone rang. He groaned and picked it up.
“Sí?”
The voice on the other end was muffled. “Señor Rojo?”
“What is it?”
“You have something that belongs to your manager,” the voice said. “Señor Espada asks that you give it back.”
Rojo sat up, nearly knocking Maria off of the bed. “You tell that son of a bitch Espada to leave me alone! He’s a crook and a liar and a madman. He has single-handedly given the art of bullfighting a bad name. After tonight’s corrida, I’m through with him. I’m changing managers.”
“We beg you to reconsider, Roberto. Your life may depend on it.”
“Is that a threat? Are you threatening me?” Rojo was furious. How dare they call him here! “How did you find me, anyway? How did you know what room I was in?”
“That doesn’t matter now. So, do we take it that your answer is no?”
“That’s right, it’s no!” He slammed down the phone. “Bastards,” he muttered.
“Who was it?” Maria asked, a little frightened at the show of temper.
“Someone who works for my ex-manager,” he said. “Espada knows you’re here. I don’t know how he found out, but he did. He wants me to give you back.”
Her eyes widened with fright.
Roberto kissed her. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” He kissed her again. “Espada is trying to control his matadors in ways that he shouldn’t.
It’s part of his grand plan to get his party elected. I’m supposed to be there in time for his speech and stand up there with him. He thinks that if the matadors are part of his political machine, then the rest of the people will follow him, too. Most of the toreros I know can’t stand him. He’s double-crossed them, cheated them, and disgraced the art.”
Rojo got up and slipped on the terry-cloth robe that the hotel supplied. He opened the doors to the balcony and stepped outside. He deeply inhaled the fresh air and used the serenity of the landscape to help calm down.
“Want to take a shower together?” Maria called.
Rojo thought that was an agreeable suggestion. There was still time before he had to get to the bullring.
He went back into the bedroom and gazed at the naked girl on the bed. Perhaps he had time for one more.…
“Let’s do it again first.”
She laughed. “Roberto! You are a machine! No, thank you. You have worn me out. I’m taking a shower.”
Maria got up and went into the bathroom. Roberto was about to follow her, but there was a knock on the door downstairs.
“Christ, who could that be?” he muttered. He bounded down the wooden stairs into the living room. Without bothering to look through the peephole, he unlatched and opened the door.
An absolutely stunning woman with long, flowing dark hair stood in the hallway.
“What do—oh, hello,” he said.
“Roberto Rojo?” Margareta asked, smiling seductively.
Oh, he thought. She was a fan. She probably wanted his autograph.
“How did you find me?” he asked. “The hotel is supposed to keep autograph seekers like you away.” He didn’t recognize her, as Margareta had never met him when he had visited Espada’s ranch.
“I was very determined to see you,” she said.
“Well. Normally I would turn you away, but since you are so beautiful …”
He held the door open and gestured for her to enter. She sauntered in, pausing to run her index finger along his chin as she walked by him.
“Oh, I see you’re not alone,” Margareta said, indicating the sound of the shower upstairs.
“Uhm, no,” Rojo replied. “Another fan. You know how it is.”
“I sure do,” she said. “Now. I want you to sit down in this chair while I take my clothes off for you.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Sit in this chair.” She pointed to one of the living room chairs facing the television.
“But what about … ?” he asked, pointing upstairs.
“We’ll ask her to join us,” Margareta said. “If she’s not interested, then she can leave.”
Rojo laughed and practically jumped into the seat. The terry-cloth robe parted, revealing his tight, muscular body. Margareta moved around in front of him and let the backpack slip off to the floor. Then, she slowly pulled down the zipper on the front of the bodysuit, from her neck all the way to her crotch. The suit parted, revealing her shiny, tan skin. She was wearing nothing underneath.
Rojo’s eyes bulged as he swallowed loudly.
Margareta stepped out of the suit, kicked it behind her, and then straddled his lap. She ran her hands up and down his chest and leaned in to kiss him.
As he closed his eyes and explored her mouth with his tongue, Margareta guided him into her. Rojo’s grunts and moans quickly covered the sound of the shower upstairs as the strange woman rocked back and forth on his lap; leisurely at first, then faster and harder.
Margareta allowed herself a cry of pleasure as she climaxed with him. They remained motionless for a minute, clutching each other.
“What is your name?” he asked breathlessly. His eyes were closed.
She slowly disengaged from his body as the sound of the shower stopped. She reached down to the backpack and unsheathed a knife that was fastened to it. She brought it out and readied it.
“Some men call me Mantis Religiosa,” she said.
Rojo opened his eyes. “Why?”
She paused a second, holding his chin up in her left hand. “Because of what those insects do to their mates. Oh, I almost forgot. I’m here to deliver a message from Domingo Espada.”
With that, she swiftly drew the knife across Roberto Rojo’s throat. Blood shot out in an arc, drenching them both.
Rojo’s eyes bulged in horror. His hands grabbed at his neck as he fought for air and made horrible gurgling sounds. Margareta stood back as he slipped off the chair onto the floor, gagging and struggling for life. Margareta placed her foot on the back of his head and kicked it into the floor. That shut him up. He would die in silence.
Then she realized that she had unintentionally killed him the “Union Way.” Margareta had heard stories of how the Union would sometimes make a statement by leaving a victim with a cut throat. Would this be interpreted as such? She smiled. It would be a good joke on Espada. Why not? She would soon be a full-fledged member of the Union. She was merely “between jobs.”