I Made a Mistake; I Got to Know Him!

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BEAST – an emotionally-charged, romantic suspense tale.
 
Synopsis:
Put the beast behind bars? Take away his liberty, his life, for good? It would be an absolute pleasure; I was willing to do whatever it took to destroy him; I despised the SOB that much!

But then, I made a mistake; I got to know him, and boy did things backfire after that.  My lessons were profound. I learned that he was broken, scarred, with jagged edges. I learned that I was broken, scarred, with jagged edges too.
We were from different worlds, yet the same – damaged goods intent on hurting each other. In the end, a perfect fit.

Sadly, all that I learned, came too late. For me. For us. Way too late, for once I got to know him, my heart, my liberty, my life – I was willing to sacrifice everything for my beast!

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Warning: This romantic suspense novel is for 18+ and contains foul language, graphic sex scenes, sexual violence and racial themes.

EXCERPT:
“Maria, tell him I’m not hungry, I’m not coming to lunch, so for God’s sake, tell him to stop yelling for me!”
“But –”
“And Maria, tell him that my name is Payton, and that I would appreciate it if he could use my name, and not say, Gringaaa! Gringaaa! Gringaaaaa! I hate it when he calls me that. My name is Pay … ton, okay? You tell him that!”
Muttering under her breath, and with a worried look in her eyes, Maria leaves my room and shuts the door.

Minutes later, the door is flung open and Diablo’s bulk blocks the entire doorway to my room. He eyes me for a few terse moments, before he says, “Come, eat.”

I respond by turning my back on him.  

“Come … eat!”
I turn around and snarl, “Take your food and shove it!”
No one talks to Diablo like that? Well, clearly my anger management classes was a total waste of time.

Suddenly, he lunges at me, picks me up, throws me over his shoulder and carries me out of the room.

Didn’t expect that.
“Leave me alone!” I yell, kicking and screaming. He holds on. I am powerless to stop him – he is Kong, I am that li’l white chick.
Into the dining room he carries me, where the entire gang at Tana Merais having lunch. He dumps me unceremoniously into a chair. “Shut up and eat!”
At the sight of us, me bristling with anger, his no-nonsense look, conversation in the room ebbs, and the air becomes rife with excitement.
I glare at them – Whachu lookin’ at? You fuckers are probably thrilled with the matinee entertainment, right? Right?
My hostility only serves to amuse them further. They exchange fascinated looks between themselves and twirl their fingers at their temples. “Loco.”

Diablo takes a seat across the table from me, points his finger at me, then at my plate. Eat!
I will not eat. I sit with my arms crossed tightly over my chest, my face crimson from humiliation. He eats, I sulk.
The men and women soon lose interest and continues their feasting and drinking.   
Bored and mad as hell, I drum my fingernails on the table.
“Eat!” Diablo mouths.
My response is to drum faster, louder, ensuring that everyone hears me.
A man named Norman, seated next to me, leans in, and in a placating voice says, “Señorita Gringa wanna whiskey?
I look at Norman, look at the whisky, which I absolutely loathe, and give a giant nod. “Yes please, Norman. As a matter of fact, I do want whisky.”
Norman pours half a glass of whisky and places it in front of me. A mother of a shot, enough to knock out a horse.
“Thank you, Norman,” I say, bypassing the glass and reaching for the bottle.
Norman’s eyes grow huge as he watches me take swigs from the bottle.
At the sight of me drinking from the bottle, Diablo frowns.
I really hate whiskey – tastes like gasoline to me. “Damn!” I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “This sure is miiiighty fine whiskey, bartender.”
I take a few more massive swigs, just in case they don’t believe me. Immediately, my anger ebbs and I start to feel a little warm in the toes.  
Everyone stares at me, probably in awe of my ability to knock back whisky from the bottle. Or amused by my unveiled defiance to their leader, who glares at me with hooded eyes, chin to his chest.
He’s angry? Good. You can’t be happy if I’m mad. No, you must be unhappy with me – that’s my motto. Why? Because I’m loco, remember?   
While everyone at Tana Mera merrily feasts on the sumptuous buffet served at lunch, I drink mine, just help myself to the array of whiskey, Tequila, Bacardi, Sambuca – you name it; I drink the lot, including the ‘you name it.’ Copious amounts, directly from the bottle. After which, I line the bottles in front of me and read the labels out loud.
“You should eat, Gringa,” Norman whispers, looking concerned.
I shake my head from side to side.
“Why?”
“I’m on a hunger strike, Norman.”
“Whaaaat?”
Those words just tumbled out of my mouth. Hunger strike? Me? No way!
With a nod, I take a swig from the bottle, then say. “I have no choice, Norman. I just have to end my miserable existence.”
Norman sits with his brow lined.
I reach over and pat his rounded shoulder. “It’s okay, Normal. I’m at peace with my decision.”
“Eh, Señorita Gringa, my name is …”
“Lemme pour you another drink, Norman,” I say. “You look like you need cheering up.” Before he can respond, I top his glass to the brim and hand it to him. “Cheers!” I clink my whisky bottle against Norman’s glass. And break it.
“Oops!”
Amidst laughter from the audience in the room, and from me, Norman scurries to pick up the broken glass and mop up the mess, muttering in Spanish.
Diablo shakes his head from side to side. In a somewhat combative mood, I tilt my head at Diablo – whachugonnadooo, huh? Huh?
For a while, we engage in a staring contest, my eyes flashing with insolence, his eyes turning into slits.
I look away first, but only to reach for another drink.
Diablo stops eating; he sits and stares at me, a thoughtful look in his eye. As if he is wondering how to handle me. Or how to kill me and spare himself the misery of dealing with my defiant self. The latter would be my choice, if I was to be honest. And if I was a killer, which I am not. Not yet, at least.  
The men pass pictures around the table. Usually, I pass on the pictures, because I’m not interested in seeing anything they have to show. But today, I’m bored, so I snatch them out of Norman’s hand. “Lemme see that, Norma!”
“Norma?” The group laughs.
I peer at the picture. “What kind of a flower is this?” I hand the flower picture back to him.
“Eh, Señorita Gringa, iiis not a flower, iiis a, how you say it…?” He snaps his fingers.
“Vagina!” someone shouts.
I peer at Norman. “What?! Gimmee that!” I snatch it out of his hands again and peer at the picture. “Mm. Can’t be a woman’s vagina. It’s too fugly. Has to be a man’s.” I flick the picture back at my bartender and reach for a bottle.
“Eat!” Diablo bellows, slapping the table. “Stop drinking. Eat!”
With a bottle at my lips, I say, “FYI, I’m on a hunger strike, and this is all the nourishment I am getting, so fuck you!”  
There is a collective gasp, before all eyes dart towards their leader. Heads are gonna to roll. My head.

His face turns red, but, to my chagrin, he dishes out a response in Spanish that has his friends and family guffawing. They ask questions in Spanish, he looks at me and answers in Spanish, they laugh, he chuckles, I fume.
“What did he say, Normal?”
“Diablo, he say, fucking you is like … fucking a Colchón sometimes. And, Señorita Gringa, and my name is not …”
“Colchón … mm … mattress, right? He said that, did he?” I let out a long, low whistle. “Well Normal, he should be the last one to talk. I mean, what the hell does he know, huh?” I smile at Norman. “Can I call you “Norm?” I don’t wait for him to answer. “You know Norma, he doesn’t know jack. Foreplay – hell, he thinks it’s something to do with his car’s steering wheel.”
“But Señorita Gringa, my name is not Normal, it is –”
“Oh, of course. It’s Norman, not Normal. What is wrong with me? Silly me. Sorry, Nor …man.”
“My name is Lucas, Senorita Gringa.”
I stare at the man for so long, he starts to flinch. “Lu … cas?”
He nods. “Not Normal, not Norma, not Bartender, is just Lu … cas.”
I blink rapidly at him. “Why didn’t you say something, Norm? Okay, okay, okay, from now on, I’ll call you Lu … cas.” Okay?”
“Eh …”
Troy, Diablo’s brother rushes up to me. “Gringa,” he whispers, “come, let me take you to bed so you can sleep it …”
“Take me to bed. Troy?” I turn my head to smile at him. “Are you better in bed than your brother? Christ, I hope so, Troy!”
Troy, red-faced, starts speaking in vowels to me, “A …e … I … oooo …” He shrinks back, all the while glancing nervously at his brother, who is back to being mad. Good!
“You’re pretty cute, Troy; anyone ever told you –?
Diablo suddenly whips out his knife and flings it ninja-style in my direction. It narrowly misses me and embeds into the wooden beam behind me.
At first, I’m as shocked as everyone in the room. But my recovery is swift. “Ooooh!” I cry, shaking both my hands mockingly. “I’m in trooouble now! Biiiiga trooouble.”

The crowd at the table start to cheer. “Ha, ha! Gringa, you are so funny!” a man says.
“Kiiill her, Diablo!” a woman says. “Kiiiill her, Diablo! Cut her fargin throat. Stab her. Kiiill her.”  
My head bobs. “Yup, the crowd is divided, but hey, that happens in fight clubs.”
With my mouth twisted, I stick up both my middle fingers, one at the murderous bitch, the other at Diablo.
A snarling Diablo jerks to his feet and creeps toward me. I kick back my chair and sidle around, using the table as a barrier between us. “Watch him move, like a … eh, how do you say walrus in Spanish?”
“You will farkin DIE!” he bellows as he chases me around the table.
“And who’s gonna farkin kill me, huh? You?” I dramatically throw my head back and laugh. Bad move – I almost lose my balance in the process.
Diablo strides over to his knife, grabs it off the beam and runs towards me. But, I’m already out of the villa and racing towards the cliff.
“I’m going to fargin kiiiill you!” he promises, as he chases after me.
“Fuck you!” I scream over my shoulder and sprint ahead, handfuls of my long dress in my hands to aid my running.

I’ve never seen the oaf run before, and I’m hoping he’s out of shape and slow. To my dismay, I can actually hear his breathing.  That big lunch and that booze has not slowed him down.
Me, I’m surprised at my slowness, because I’m an athlete – I run marathons on a regular basis, so this should be a breeze.
Then I remember the booze. “Shit!” I didn’t realize how drunk I was until I started running – my feet feel like they’re encased in cement.
Up the hill and through the dense cannabis foliage I run, trying to put distance between us, passing startled villagers tending the cannabis crops. They stop and stare, fascinated by the sight of Diablo chasing a gringa with a knife in his hand, some of them drawing crosses on their chests with their hands.
“That’s right, pray for him!”  I yell, as I run.
Following Diablo, are the men and women from Tana Mera, some on horseback, some on foot, all excited, all not wanting to miss the moment Diablo finally kills the insolent Gringa that has been making his life a living hell for some time now.
The cheering continues:
“Go, Gringa go! Run!”
“Kiiiill her, Diablo! Cut her throat. Stab her. Kiiiill her. Murder the fargin puta!”  
Yes, the crowd remains divided, Diablo continues to burp threats at me, and I run like my life depends on it, because … it does!
To my dismay, Diablo’s breathing grows louder with each step. Knowing that I’m going to die, has a somewhat sobering effect on me, and thoughts, some fitting, some random, fight it out in my inebriated brain.  
Maybe you shouldn’t have insulted him so much?
He deserved it.
In front of his peeps, Payton?
Mm.
Maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much booze? Measure your drinks in the future, will you?
Shaddup! Drinking is all I have right now. In France they drink at every meal.
Mm.
Maybe I shouldn’t have gone on that hunger strike – it’s left me weak.
Hunger strike? What about the three-egg omelette you’ve had this morning? Four pancakes with maple syrup, bananas and strawberries?
Oh, yeah, I forgot about breakfast. Blueberries, not strawberries.  
Hey, don’t be so hard on me; alcohol can cause dementia.
You mean amnesia, right?
Whateva! Man, I wish I had my iPod running playlist right —
Payton, listen, you don’t wanna die.
I don’t care if I die.
Well, shouldn’t you kill him first? Before you die?
“I like the way you think.”
You don’t want to die today, Payton, so do something!
But what? This place offers me no protection from my murderer. What do I do? What? What? What? Tell me?
The rock pool?
The rock pool – of course!
I know for sure that Diablo is no match for me in the water. Very few people are.
I can do this! I can do this! I can save myself!
Energized from hope, and thanks to the voices in my head, I suddenly change course and race toward the water.

Changing route confuses Diablo, and for a few moments, to my relief, the gap between us increases, allowing me a generous lead. I sprint ahead, giving it my all.
To my surprise, big as he is, the son of a bitch leaps into the air, grabs me by the waist and takes me down.
“Let … go … of … me, you fucking freak!” I yell, as I twist, kick and scratch, summoning all that I learned in my self-defence classes.
“Stop it!” he says in a harsh whisper. “What is wrong with you?”
“Leave … me … alone!”
He holds on, we roll on the ground, the audience milling around us and cheering our smackdown.
“Go, Gringa, go!”
“Kiiiill her, Diablo! Cut her throat. Stab her. Kiiiill her. Murder her. You want help? I murder her for you.”  
Bloodthirsty bitch! I make a mental note to also kill her. After I kill Diablo. And make sure she dies screaming, Tarantino style.
Diablo does not kill me, he just holds onto me and tries to stop my thrashing.
Once again, pull a Mike Tyson and sink my teeth into his arm (his ear is out of reach), causing him to grunt in pain and release me.  
I’m free, I win. Yay!
I leave him on the ground and race toward the water.
When I look back, I see Diablo chasing after me, glinting blade in one hand, my white dress in the other, waving it like a peace flag.
Too late for peace, motherfucker!
Something perturbs me – my once cheering audience is unusually quiet. They’ve even stopped offering to murder me. Why?
I slow down to look back at them. Everyone, men and women stare mouths agape at me.
What?
It takes a few seconds for me to realize that Diablo has my dress.  
It takes another few seconds for my brain to register that I’m running in just my bra and panties. “Shit! Shit! Shit! SHIIIIIT!”
I’m at a loss. What do I do? My modesty or my life? My modesty or my life? My modesty or my …

End of adapted excerpt from BEAST – The Gringa Series. A romance novel, FREE for a limited time.

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