Yunior Read online

  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 9716

  Augusta, GA 30916

  THIS BOOK IS A WORK of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  © 2019 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Editor: Teri Thompson Blackwell

  Cover: Covers in Color

  Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

  ASIN: B083STZH9J, B084DQC9R2

  ISBN: 9798610456362

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  Printed in the United States of America

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  First Davonshire House Publishing February 2020

  YUÑIOR

  The Delgado Files- Book 2

  OLIVIA GAINES

  Also by Olivia Gaines

  THE MEN OF ENDURANCE Series

  A Walk Through Endurance: Olivia Gaines & Siera London

  A Return to Endurance By Olivia Gaines & Siera London

  The Art of Persistence By Olivia Gaines

  Intervals of Love

  Enduring Emily

  An Enduring Christmas – Winter 2019

  The Technicians Series

  Blind Date By Olivia Gaines

  Blind Hope By Olivia Gaines

  Blind Luck By Olivia Gaines

  Love Thy Neighbor Series

  Walking the Dawg: A Novella

  Through the Woods: A Novella

  Life of the Party: A Novella

  Modern Mail-Order Brides

  North to Alaska

  Montana

  Oregon Trails

  Wyoming Nights

  On a Rainy Night in Georgia

  Bleu, Grass, Bourbon

  Buckeye and the Babe

  The Tennessee Mountain Man

  Stranded in Arizona – September 2019

  The Zelda Diaries

  It Happened Last Wednesday

  A Frickin' Fantastic Friday

  A Tantalizing Tuesday

  A Marvelous Monday

  A Saucy Sunday

  A Sensual Saturday

  My Thursday Throwback

  Slivers of Love Series

  The Deal Breaker

  Naima's Melody

  Santa's Big Helper

  The Christmas Quilts

  Friends with Benefits

  The Cost to Play

  A Menu for Loving

  Thursdays in Savannah

  DEDICATION

  This book is dedicated to all the die-hard Blakemore fans who need to sit down and escape from the day to day hustle of living. I invite to turn the page and sit down in the possibility of hope. It springs eternal. This book is for you.

  .

  “Easy reading is damn hard writing.”

  - Nathaniel Hawthorne

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.

  Write On!

  .

  Table of Contents

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Intention

  Music PlayList

  Prelude

  Chapter One – The Art of Intent

  Chapter Two – Not a Bad Aim

  Chapter Three – Finding Purpose

  Chapter Four – The Object

  Chapter Five – Knowing the Objective

  Chapter Six – Understanding the Goal

  Chapter Seven – A Thing Intended

  Chapter Eight – Target Acquired

  Chapter Nine – A New End

  Chapter Ten – All By Design

  Chapter Eleven – It’s a Good Plan

  Chapter Twelve – In the Scheme of Things

  Chapter Thirteen – Shoring Up the Resolve

  Chapter Fourteen – One Wish

  Chapter Fifteen – Determination

  Chapter Sixteen – Desire

  Chapter Seventeen – Ambition

  Chapter Eighteen – Dream

  Chapter Nineteen – A Very Bad Idea

  Chapter Nineteen – Aspiration

  Chapter Twenty – Hope

  Chapter Twenty- One – Intention

  Chapter Twenty- Two – Meaning

  Chapter Twenty- Three – Resolution

  Chapter Twenty- Four – Say What Now?

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Intention

  Music PlayList

  Welcome to the Terror Dome’ by Public Enemy

  Jean Sibelius - The Violin Concerto in D minor, Op. 47

  One in a Million, Larry Graham

  A House is Not a Home, Luther Vandross

  Let’s Stay Together, Al Green

  Brahms Violin Sonata No. 3

  Perfect- Ed Sheeran

  Prelude

  HOLA. COMO ESTAS. It’s me, Yuñior.

  I hope this message finds that you are doing well in your life.

  Today, I wanted to take a moment and have, how do you say, the chitchat, before you begin the second part of my story. Understandably you are anxious, but please, allow me a moment of indulgence. I beg your forgiveness on two fronts one, English is not my first language, but my fourth and two, the writing may be the choppy as I pen these words. Wait, you did not know that about me, did you? Colombian Spanish is my first language, then Castilian Spanish, Portuguese, and then English. Yes, there is a difference between the language the native Colombian Indians speak and the standard Spanish, which I speak both fluently.

  My apologies, I digress and shall make this brief since I know you want to get at the heart of the story, which is what our little chat is about. My heart. Yes, I know, you have the anger for me not being honest with Melissa at the end of the relationship. Truth is subjective, my friend. You can place a snake in a container with a label that reads venomous, and at least three people will want to touch the glass, not looking to see the top has no cover. It is the nature of humans. So, is the way of love. It is an odd thing; this love a man has for a woman. This love can defy all logic and all reason making a man believe he can do all things, yes, with the aid of Jesus, but we shall talk about that much later.

  I have met someone. Yes, I am engaged to marry Irena. I do not need you to remind me of my obligations. All of my life, people tell me of my responsibilities to the family and an entire continent. Everywhere my feet touch, people think they know who I am. Even you. Yes, you believe you know the shoes in which I walk. I am here to tell you, maybe you don’t.

  This is not a comfortable journey for me, and I’m struggling between my heart and the duty I must perform. Marrying Irena was never my choice, but when I do, The Delgado influence will extend to the far reaches of Paraguay. The only countries left that will not be governed by our blood will be Peru, Venezuela, Uruguay, and Brazil, which we shall quickly remedy.

  In 18 months, I shall marry. In between that time, I’m going to stretch my legs, limbs, and every other appendage to enjoy being a very virile young man. Come with me on this next leg of my journey. I pray you keep an open mind and prepare to turn the page. I learned a great deal about who I really am, and so will you. It shall be, how do you say...ah, si, hella fun.

  Oh, and please, call me Ed.

  Fondly yours,

  Chapter One – The Art of Intent

  MILLICENT CHANNING Johnson had questions, lots and lots of questions. She took a seat in the Cessna Bombardier Jetplane, taking extra care to fasten her son Chad’s safety belt. His excitement should have been conta
gious, but the very large white man with the mohawk made sitting an uneasy task. Millicent’s husband, Brody, whom the young man with the dark eyes called Mr. Yield, sat across the row from her.

  She cut her eyes at her husband, who only shrugged as he fastened his seatbelt. The young man, who said to call him Ed, also brimmed with excitement in taking them to his home in Colombia. He seemed dangerous and the past had taught her to go with her gut instincts. Treacherous men created hazardous conditions that impacted their lives in negative ways. She’d had enough of being trapped in an unwanted life by a dangerous man. Brody had been a savior, and luckily for her and the boy, he turned out to be a good man. However, her husband’s new friend gave off a vibe that made her skin prickle, and he was taking them to a country notorious for perilous situations.

  “Relax, Señora,” Yuñior said to her. “My home is a wonderful place. The green fields extend as far as the eyes can see. You shall have a good time.”

  “Thank you for the opportunity, but I don’t have a passport, and neither does my son,” Millicent added.

  “No need. We shall disembark at our private airfield, and there are no customs agents on our land,” Yuñior replied. “You and your family will be under my watchful eye and care. No harm will come to any of you.”

  Yuñior handed a covered plate to the large white man, who scowled at the contents. It was the extra waffles with eight strips of crispy bacon he had asked Millicent to prepare in a to-go plate. At first, she wondered if, during the length of the flight, he would want more food, but now she observed the food wasn’t for him. A statuesque, raven-haired woman came down the aisle from what Millicent assumed to be the kitchenette. She held two additional plates and forks, holding them in front of the large white male who forked a Belgian waffle onto each plate.

  “What? No syrup?” the big man asked. He sounded like the monster in Frankenstein learning to use his big boy words.

  “Brody and Millicent, along with Master Chad, the Johnsons, this is Alana, the flight assistant,” Yuñior offered and then pointed toward a dark-haired male who came from the cockpit. “He is Hans, my pilot. Hans, we are ready to get underway.”

  “Sí, Señor,” the man said, accepting the waffle and two strips of bacon. “Thank you for breakfast.”

  The smile he gave to Millicent radiated warmth and genuineness as he took the plate and locked the cockpit door. Seconds later, his voice came across the loudspeaker for Alana to perform cross-checks and prepare the cabin for take-off. The discomfort of it all showed on Millicent’s face, no matter how she tried to hide it, and she couldn’t shake it off. Yuñior spotted the concern as well.

  Chad, holding onto the globe, pointed at South America as he spun the ball around. He asked Yuñior, “Is this where we’re going?”

  “Yes, it is,” Yuñior replied.

  “Uhmm, why?” Chad asked.

  “I would like you to meet my family,” Yuñior said. “We have very few visitors to our home, which is Las Tierras Verdes de mi Atecendents, which translates to the green fields of my ancestors.”

  “Is it very green?” Chad wanted to know.

  “Sí, it is. We grow coffee mostly,” Yuñior said. “Coffee is the main crop of Colombia, and our country is the fourth-largest producer of beans in the world. The green fields are mottled with beautiful flowers and plants with which my brother has started a small business selling cut flowers to retailers. We also grow bananas, a bit of rice, tobacco, some corn, sugarcane, cocoa beans, oilseed, vegetables, fique, panela, forest products, and shrimp. Each village on Las Tierras is responsible for the production of a sustainable, locally sourced product.”

  Millicent wasn’t buying the whole farmer act. He omitted the other primary crop of coca, which was used to make cocaine and opioids. Again, he read her facial expression.

  “My family also grows coca, which we sell to big pharma and the independent businessman,” Yuñior said with a cocky grin.

  Millicent tried to breathe deeply and accept the opportunity for travel, but the man had shown up at her home, uninvited, to whisk her husband off on his adventures. Adding her and Chad to the mix didn’t change her opinion of the young man. It only made it worse. It was bad enough that her husband worked for an organization that treated him like a Golden Retriever, sending him off to fetch wayward balls, and now this. Her lips pressed tightly together since she wanted to scream at Ed and ask him what in the hell he wanted with her husband.

  Again, Yuñior read her face and body language.

  “Señora, I am Eduardo Benicio de la Marta Castanza Delgado, Yuńior. My father is the Drug Czar for the Americas, and I am the primary heir,” he said. “In 18 months, I am to be married to the daughter of the Czar of Paraguay to unite our families. I am taking a gap year to stretch my legs before I have to get married and produce the next generation of caretakers of Las Tierras. It is my duty and an honor that I hold most dear, but my Papa doesn’t play. If I’m to spend time with a new friend, he wants to meet you all. It is a privilege to be invited to my home and to meet my family. Not many receive such an honor.”

  She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry. It is just so abrupt,” Millicent said.

  “My intention is for you to see where and how I live as an attempt to get to know me better,” Yuñior said. “Plus, there will be trips I would like to make with my fiancée, and a chaperone is required. Am I mistaken in assuming you would like to travel the world and not have to pay a dime for the trouble?”

  Millicent allowed herself to smile. “Señor. Ed. In my world, everything has a price, and nothing is free,” she replied. “If these trips will make my husband and me beholden to you, then I’m not sure we were given a choice in the matter.”

  Mr. Yield leaned forward in the seat as the plane began to taxi down the runway. “Honey, you're being rude. He said he would pay us a salary for our time,” Brody cautioned his wife.

  “No, I'm not rude, Brody. What I’m asking for is honesty from the Señor,” she said. “If his intention is to have you watch his back as he stares at the Mona Lisa in the Louvre, then that is one thing. However, if his intention is to have you watch his back while holding a gun as he drops product on the tarmac in some third world country, then that is another. I don’t deserve to sit at home wondering if this trip is the one where I get a call that you’ve been arrested in Mogadishu for drug trafficking or worse!”

  “Whoa! She has a great imagination, no? Especially with the little orange box of a car she rented for you—very practical,” Yuñior said. “I like her!”

  “Yeah, to say the least,” Brody mumbled.

  “I’m all for adventure and Brody getting a second life as an archeologist, but I don’t want to be a widow,” Millicent said.

  “Millicent, where is all of this coming from?” Brody asked, looking at his wife.

  “Where is it coming from? Where?’” she asked, gripping the armrests of the seat as the plane lifted from the ground and gained altitude. “All during our family vacation, there were moments when you and Mr. Mann both zoned out. I don’t know what happened when you went to rescue the Señor, but it changed you. Even Sharon, Mr. Mann’s wife, commented on the difference in her husband when he came back. This is not fair. I deserve to know what these free trips entail and if my family and I are in any danger. So, please forgive me if worrying about our lives makes me rude. Getting an unwanted stray bullet in my ass is rude.”

  Yuñior found himself laughing.

  “For a minute there, I thought she to be the quiet little mouse,” Yuñior said. “She has fire! Good for you Brody the Johnson.”

  “I’m just hoping not to get blistered,” Mr. Yield said under his breath. He didn’t know how much to tell her, and in some cases, knowing a little could be harmful and knowing nothing could be bliss. He looked at Yuñior and held out his hands, giving the young man the floor.

  “My father doesn’t have a great number of enemies,” Yuñior said. “He manages several legitimate businesses, but there are
those who seek to profit off the less fortunate. Mr. Yield’s assignment to rescue me was met with, how do you say...ah sí, hiccups.”

  “What kind of hiccups?”

  “I created a new enemy when we rescued a boatload of children being trafficked by a man named Tito Montoya,” Yuñior told Millicent. “The intentions for the children were not nice. As a father, the idea of your son or Mr. Mann’s children befalling a similar fate is very disconcerting. My offer to travel with me has nothing to do with Tito. I wish to see more of the world and visit museums and have discussions with a man who can offer me insight and education. Is this too much to request?”

  “No, it’s not, but if Tito harms a hair on my husband’s head, he and you both are going to have to deal with me,” Millicent boasted.

  “She’s so cute when she’s all riled up like this,” Yuñior said, tapping her on the nose with his index finger. “Ahh boop!”

  Millicent didn’t feel cute. She felt scared. Yuñior Delgado was scary in a way that she couldn’t put her finger on, which made her anxious as well. He moved down the aisle of the plane to take a seat on the couch. In a matter of seconds, he’d stretched his six-foot frame out on the bench seating, closed his eyes, and drifted off to sleep as if he hadn’t just turned their world upside down.

  Mr. Yield understood what she meant, but he wouldn’t open his mouth. It wasn’t just about the museums and seeing the world. Men like Yuñior Delgado were plotters and planners. This trip to meet Yuńior’s father was part of a greater plan. He felt like a pawn on a chessboard that had just been put into play. Brody Johnson didn’t plan to sacrifice himself for the knight, the king, or queen.

  In the interim, he’d just wait and see. Sometimes that was all a man could do to prepare for the unknown. He had to allow a few matters to play out.

  BEFORE THE PLANE TOUCHED down in Las Tierras, Yuñior was up and changing clothes in the bathroom. He stepped out of the lavatory, no longer clothed in the sharply cut suit that he arrived at Mr. Yield’s house wearing, but a pair of worn black jeans, black boots, a dark green long-sleeved tee, and a black leather vest. The flight was less than five and a half hours, yet he awoke seemingly refreshed.