Gringa - in the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord - 2 (13 page)

‘Is the way it is round here,’ he explains. ‘Is
our
way.’

‘Your way? But you must admit, you sometimes kill when it’s not necessary, right?’ ‘Like the time you shot me - that was so not necessary. That was like, overkill.’

‘I think you spy.’

‘Spy, mff! Poor intelligence there,
Amigo
. And you should be sorry.’

‘I am sorry, he says, lifting my hand to his lips then clutching it against his chest. ‘Very sorry.

‘What about the other men you killed? The policemen ...?’

‘
Si!
I kiiiill them.’ He shrugs. ‘So?’

‘Diablo, they were old, they were
policemen
. That’s like, a big deal, you know.

‘No, not a big deal. They kill my mother and father. That’s a big deal. I watch them burn my village for what? To get our land. I remember their faces. I remember the policeman standing and watching as our village burned. I see their faces every night before I close my eyes and every night I promise my mother and father I kill them one day. And one day, I do it. I tell them who I am first before I ...’ He runs his finger across his throat.

‘Christ Diago!’ I hastily put down the bunch of red grapes I was eating.

‘My mother ... they shoot her in the back. Back. She run with Troy but they shoot her. In the back. My father, he push me under the house to save me. Tell me to hide. But is hot, the village is burning and I can’t stay under the house. Then I see them shoot him.’ He closes his eyes and falls silent for a moment.

I gently touch his face. He opens his eyes and stares into mine.

‘That’s all, Payton. Is fair. They police, but they bad police They must die. No place for them on earth, here.’

‘What about Jimmy Gomez?’

He squints at me. ‘You know
everything
. Too much.’

I shrug. People talk you know and I’m lucky I have ears. Two of them. Did you really kill him and take his home?’

‘
Si
. The police work for him. He pay them. He ask my grandfather to sell him the land, my grandfather say no. He arrange to kill my family, all of them, then he take it. The police, they his friends. He pay them to look the other way. I look at Jimmy and say, ‘One day … one day!’

‘Christ! What land you talking about?’

‘Tana-Mera.’

‘Tana-Mera? You
stole
Tana-Mera?’

‘
He
stole, not me. I take my family’s land back.’

“Wow!”

If the FBI heard this conversation, Diago would be spending the night behind bars. This is what they’re waiting for and I have it now. But it’s not recorded.

‘
You
wanted to burn Siempre,’ I remind him. ‘That was bad, uncalled for. Why did you want to do that?’

‘’Cos I was stupid. Mad. I don’t know how to be good, Payton. I was raised to be like this and this is my life. I kill them or they kill me. You treat me bad, I kill you or you kill me. Is like that here. People say be good, be good - how? They no show me. Nobody show me.’

‘Yeah, but Diago,
I
am showing you how to be good, right?’

‘
Si
, you show me and I like that. I want be good for you,’ he says, taking my palm and placing it against his cheek.

A warm, heady sensation oozes through me. As I look into his hazel eyes, the feeling mutates into an urge to reach out and draw his head to my breasts.

But I don’t. Instead, I whisper, ‘Yeah, I like it when …when you are good.’

When we return to the ranch, I look at him and smile. ‘Thanks for the lovely picnic.’

He stares at me.

I step forward and give him a brief hug.

He returns the hug, crushing me to him. We stay in each other’s arms for a few moments, basking in the warmth and tenderness we’re both feeling.

Then he lightly pecks me on the cheek and quickly releases me.

The cheek. How unusual. I’m used to fighting off my dates who try to stick their tongue down my throat.

I lie in bed thinking about the hug and the kiss trying to figure out why he released me so quickly. I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

Diago thunders into the ranch on his horse. ‘Gringaaaa! Payton! Payton, come here!’

I dash outside to see what all the fuss is about. He’s holding the reins to a most beautiful filly I’ve ever seen. She’s young, white and reminds me of a unicorn I used to read about.

‘This is your horse Gringa,’ he says. ‘Is for you. You must give her a name.’

‘For me? Gosh! I’ve never owned a horse before and she is so…so gorgeous.’ Most of all, she isn’t intimidating. ‘Wow Diago, this is great!’

‘Give her a name,’ he urges.

Mmm, young, white, nervous and out of place ...’ I look up at him. ‘Gringa Two,’ I say. ‘That’s her name.’

He looks at me and pulls a face. ‘Gringa too?’

‘
Two
. Diago, she’s young, white and edgy, just like me. So I’m Gringa and she’s like, Gringa Two.’

For the first time since I met him, he guffaws – just throws his head back and laughs. Everyone stares at him in surprise and I find his laughter very appealing.

‘You call that a horse?’ Santana sniggers. ‘Is a donkey.’

Everyone starts to make hee-haw sounds.

‘You’re all wrong,’ I say, lovingly stroking my horse, She’s not a donkey - she’s a beautiful horse and she’s going to take me places.’

As you can imagine, Gringa Two and I are kindred spirits, so we get on famously. Although she is a little bit of a prima donna and sometimes can be a little too demanding – wants a treat before she will let me ride her, won’t go out if it’s cold ...

‘Ride the horse,’ Diago says, ‘Don’t trot.’

‘I’m still scared Diago,’ I protest.

‘Ride!’

‘Diago, I …’

‘Ride!’

‘Diago stop!’

‘Okay, you ride my horse and I sit with you and help you,’ he says and hoists me onto his horse. He whacks his horse and we ride for about five minutes passing beautiful clearings.

‘We’re going too fast Diago,’ I cry over my shoulder.

‘Relax and enjoy the wind in your hair,’ he says and squeezes my waist.

‘Okay.’ With him next to me, I feel really safe.

‘What’s your horse’s name, Diago?’

‘Taxi.’

‘No, what’s your horse’s
name
?’

‘Taxi. Is my horse name.’

‘Taxi?’ I laugh. ‘That’s an funny name.’

He grins. ‘He my taxi,’ he says, patting his horse.

Finally, we reach the top of a hill just in time to see another colorful sunset. We climb off the horse, sit on the grass and I oooh and aaah at the changing lavender and champagne sky.

‘Diago,’ this is really beautiful,’ I whisper. ‘I’ve never seen such breathtaking sunsets like this back home.’

‘
Si
?’ He reaches for me and draws me in front of him. His strong arms circle my waist as he nuzzles my neck.

‘Yeah,’ I say, and angle my neck to accommodate his seeking lips. I close my eyes and bask in the intimacy of his touch. I like being nuzzled by him and I like being held by him. I shouldn’t, but I do. Go figure. I’m trying to.

‘This is beyond beautiful – it’s spectacular.’

‘I know what you mean,
Mi
Carazon
,’ he says, his voice soft and meaningful. ‘Very spectacular. Like you.’

I smile. Nobody has ever called me or referred to me as
spectacular
before. Slowly, I turn my head to look at him and for a moment, our cheeks rest against each other – my smooth against his stubble.

I’m certain he’s going to kiss me.

I want him to kiss me.

But he draws back.

I smile away my disappointment.

We chat as we watch the sunset.

I’m ashamed of the sudden deep longing that’s looming inside of me. I’m not in any way confused - I really
want
him to kiss me.

I know what it is – too much time with Diago. Got to know him on a deeper level and I like him. With him, I feel cared for and protected. And anyway, he’s the only person in the world who gives a damn about me. How can I not gravitate towards him?

But why won’t he kiss me? It’s like he wants this barrier that prevents intimacy between us. I’m feeling rejected, sad.

I understand he’s maybe afraid to let down his guard and all that – something to do with being used as a punching bag by a tyrant, being used as an ashtray by a man he trusted, but still …

Today, I don’t want him to be afraid. I want him to trust me. I want to turn around, hold him and kiss him on the mouth and break down the barriers that keep me out.

‘What you thinking, baby?’ he whispers.

‘Eh ... how lovely this is,’ I lie and gently touch his cheek.

‘
Si?
Is lovely,’ his says, his breath fanning my ear. ‘Very lovely.’ His kisses on my neck intensify. I want to kiss him.

Fuck it! I can’t wait anymore - I jerk my neck around and draw his mouth to mine. He resists and tries to
cheek
me, but I hold onto his neck.

‘Don’t!’ I whisper and kiss him hard, sliding my tongue sensuously into his mouth. After a nanosecond of hesitation, he angles his head eagerly to accommodate mine and allows me my way. I manage to steal a really deep kiss. When I surface for air, I smile and whisper, ‘That’s what all the fuss is about.’

With a guttural groan, he swoops down and kisses me.

Okay, he is the worst kisser I’ve ever came across, but it’s still lovely, warm and I don’t want him to stop. I’ll have lots of fun teaching him later, I’m sure.

When he draws away, I struggle to hide my disappointment.

‘Let us go home to eat,’ he says, cupping my face with both his hands.

‘Yeah ... dinner ... starving …we should go.’ What else do I say: ‘Are you fucking blind? Can’t you see I want you?’

Our ride home is punctuated by mini stops solely for canoodling and judging by the length and intensity of his kisses, I can tell he enjoys kissing me as much as I enjoy kissing him.

We ride on and from time-to-time he squeezes my waist or draws me back to him, enveloping me with his burly frame.

When we reach the ranch, Christa and some of the men are outside. They stare at us with narrow eyes. Maybe it’s something to do with our red faces.

‘We have been waiting for you to have dinner, Diablo,’ Christa chides, frowning at the sight of us riding together.

Bitch is probably frustrated –Diablo’s far too soft these days, too mellow. He seems to have lost that killer instinct she fought so hard to maintain. Since I arrived on the scene, he’s distracted and not interested in hurting anyone. The only way to stoke his rage these days is to wage battle or war against someone or something, reviving the beast in him.

‘Sorry. You should eat.’ Diago’s voice is laden with guilt and embarrassment.

Christa’s eyes grow wide. ‘Without you? We don’t that here Diago. We family, remember?’

Diago nods and alights, then helps me down. As he does, he squeezes my waist and places me on the floor really close to him, forcing us to brush intimately against each other.

‘I
see
you after dinner,’ he whispers, his eyes bright and alive.

I smile. I know exactly what he means.

He squeezes my waist harder. ‘
Si
?’ His voice is pleading. ‘I won the bet.’

So he wants to cash his prize. My smile widens and I nod slowly.

He grins.

Christa hones in on our tête-à-tête. ‘Diago, ever since you met Gringa, you have become soft like …like a girl, eh?’ Her eyes suddenly widen. ‘Santa Maria! You are in love Diago? Everybody -’

‘No!’ Diago roars. Only a fool falls in love.’

‘Ah, that is good, Diablo,’ she says, flinging me a triumphant look. ‘Because love is a roaring fire Diago, but after a fire, there is smoke and the smoke, it burns your eyes. Remember that Diago.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ he says in a cocky voice.

Disappointment rips through my soul at his words, his arrogance. I don’t know what I expected him to say under the circumstances, but I know I didn’t want him to utter
those
words.

Christa twists to look at Santana. ‘Santana, see, we have nothing to worry about.’

I look up and see Santana glaring at me, a murderous gleam in her eye. Maybe she senses something happened between Diago and me today.

Diago glances uneasily at Santana, then at me. ‘Eh ...’ He clams up, at a loss for words.

Disenchanted by his words, I slowly make my way to the dinner table. To cope with my disillusionment, I convince myself that he needs to maintain a certain façade with his men and that’s why he acted so brash, so nonchalant about me.

But I’m too smitten to stay mad at him. Throughout dinner, we steal glances at each other and exchange secret smiles.

Tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight.

To my embarrassment, the men pick up the tension between the two of us and pass lewd comments and I find it hard to ignore them.

I suspect Diago finds it hard too because I notice him frowning.

I hurriedly finish dinner and flee the table, while Diago lingers.

About an hour later, he barges into my room pushes me onto the bed and kisses me and immediately, I forgive all his earlier remarks because, well, I melt like chocolate in his arms.

‘Imasorry,’ he whispers, between kisses.

‘Christa makes you bad,’ I say.

He kisses my nose. ‘That is my mother,’ he chastises.

‘No she isn’t,’ I want to shout, but I don’t. Maybe he has a need to call someone mother. Leave him to his delusions. For now.

Suddenly we hear unfamiliar voices outside. Diago lets go of me and peeps through the blinds.

We have visitors – six men, probably drug dealers. Diago’s brow creases and his eyes turn hard.

He looks at me, a flicker of annoyance on his face. ‘I have to go to them,’ he says, his voice an admixture of irritation and disappointment. ‘Business ...’

Damn Christa! Anything to diffuse this flourishing of emotions between us, I suppose.

I bite my lip, shrug then say, ‘Okay.’

Later, eh?’