Gringa - in the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord - 2

Free Gringa - in the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord - 2 by Eve Rabi

Book: Gringa - in the Clutches of a Ruthless Drug Lord - 2 by Eve Rabi Read Free Book Online
Authors: Eve Rabi
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
    Maria explains: when Diablo was six, arsonists burnt down his village and killed his parents. He was found wandering around with two year old Troy on his back. Christa, a drug dealer from another village, who was always on the lookout for kids she could ‘adopt’ with the sole purpose of using them as cheap labor on her cannabis plantation, heard about the village being destroyed and decided to do some pillaging herself.
    She and her husband Jimo, rode into the village, rounded up a whole lot of orphaned kids, including Troy, Diablo and Santana and took them to her home. She promised Diablo that if he stayed and helped in her plantation, she would prevent the authorities from placing him and Troy in different foster homes.
    Since Diablo was terrified of losing his only brother, he agreed. Diablo looked a lot older than six, so he was made to work longer and harder in the Christa’s plantation.
    But he was smart and strong and challenged Jimo’s abusive, unfair rules and regulations. To keep him in line, Jimo beat him on a daily basis. Jimo’s favorite punishment – hold little Diablo’s his head underwater until he passed out. Then get someone to administer mouth-to-mouth until Diablo recovered. Christa stood by and laughed while it happened.
    ‘So that’s why he’s afraid of water! Not because he’s a pussy.’
    ‘No, Senorita,’ Rosa says. Diablo not a pussy, Senorita.’
    ‘Christa – gosh, how could she allow this when she herself had kids?’
    They tell me that some nights; Diablo was chained to a dog kennel, while the others slept inside the house.
    Jimo also extinguished cigarettes on Diablo’s palms and later progressed to Diablo’s body.
    Some weekends, a drunk Jimo held an open day where he invited everyone, including people from his neighboring villages to view the animal called “Diablo” who was chained to a fence.
    Children were allowed to throw stones, poke and humiliate Diablo, while he was paraded in chains. Over time, Diablo became reclusive and even when he was released from his chains, he chose to hide in the dark shed away from people.
    ‘Jimo is such an asshole!’
    ‘He biiig asshole, Senorita,’ Maria says, tears filling her eyes, ‘very biiig asshole. Diablo put tattoos all over his body to hide the cigarette scars.’
    ‘So that explains the tattoos. Ohmigod!’ I put both my hands on my head, ‘I got Diablo wrong.’
    ‘Everybody get Diablo wrong,’ Rosa says.
    I put down my glass. Suddenly, I no longer wanted to drink and party. I’m really sober now and …there’s that word again – sad. Why the hell did they have to tell me all this? Upset my status quo? I was happy with the way things were – Diablo was a brutal thug who killed for fun and I was going to let him hang for his sins.
    Now I have this feeling inside me – the same feeling I felt when I realise that my mom had gone to a better place without me.
    Rosa looks at the bottle and gawks. ‘Maria you finish it all!’
    ‘No, I do not finish it. You finish it. So shut up!’
    ‘You shut up!’ Rosa replies.
    ‘No, you shut up!’
    ‘No, you shut up!’ Rosa rises to her feet and moves slowly towards Maria, her eyes wild and fiery.
    ‘Wait!’ I cry.
    ‘You a bitch!’ Rosa says.
    ‘You mother a bitch!’
    ‘Wait, what happened after …?’
    ‘You talk about my mother?’ Rosa hisses.
    ‘Ladies!’ I shout.
    Rosa turns her head slowly to look at me, her eyes slanted. ‘Go bring us ’nother bottle, then we tell you more.’
    ‘Tell me first then I’ll bring you …’
    ‘No!’ Maria intervenes, ‘You bring us cheese too. Cut it into small blocks, put on a plate, bring it here then …’
    For fucks sake! The bitches are taking advantage of my good nature. They are my servants and I am their boss, master – whatever and I need to remind them of that.
    I glare at them and will myself to tell them off.
    ‘Eh, Vodka or Tequila?’ I find myself asking, meekly at that.
    ‘Vodka,’ they

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