IMPERFECT MONSTER
Jennifer Bene
Contents
Title Page
1. Andre
2. Nicky
3. Andre
4. Nicky
5. Andre
6. Nicky
7. Andre
8. Nicky
9. Andre
10. Nicky
11. Nicky
12. Nicky
13. Nicky
14. Andre
15. Andre
16. Nicky
17. Andre
18. Nicky
19. Nicky
20. Andre
21. Andre
22. Andre
23. Andre
24. Andre
25. Nicky
EPILOGUE
END NOTES & ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
About the Author
Books by Jennifer Bene
JENNIFER BENE
Text copyright © 2018 Jennifer Bene
All Rights Reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN (e-book): 978-1-946722-20-1
ISBN (paperback): 978-1-946722-22-5
Cover design by Laura Hidalgo, Beyond DEF Lit. https://www.beyonddeflit.com/
Created with Vellum
This one is for you, lovelies. The readers that make my dream of writing books (even dark and twisty ones) a reality. Imperfect Monster is the first book I’ve written in the first-person point of view, but it was how Andre appeared in my head, and once he started talking he didn’t want to stop. I hope that you like this one, lovelies. It’s exciting and dark and thrilling, and I have to say… nothing is better than how amazing it feels to be able to write for you.
Thank you all. <3
_
Author Note: Spanish is used occasionally throughout the book, but not often. One word is ‘cuadro’ which is Columbian slang for friend, dude, bro, etc. My ARC team suggested I share that ahead of time so it doesn’t distract you. Enjoy!
One
Andre
“Cabrón! You’re fucking cheating!” Diego threw his cards across the table, and the others laughed as José dragged the pile of wrinkled cash towards him.
“I don’t cheat, pinche idiota. Maybe you wouldn’t lose so much if you learned to bluff,” José mocked him, smoothing out the bills one at a time to pile them in his hand. The insults continued to fly as another hand was dealt, but I was tucked on a couch to the side, nursing a bottle of tequila. They’d been gambling since mid-morning and drinking since breakfast, but time didn’t matter much in this house.
Especially not when things were so quiet.
Paulo García had been keeping his cards close to his chest, not talking about his plans, not making any moves — that we could see anyway — which was fucking up all of my plans in the process.
Over two years.
Thirty-one months of my life spent with these assholes, and I still didn’t have enough to get out.
Taking another swig of tequila, I let it burn its way into my belly, numbing me further. The warm metal of my gun dug uncomfortably into my spine, but even that was dulled by the alcohol as I adjusted my seat on the couch.
Screw it.
I had more than a decent buzz going, which wasn’t strictly by the book, but I could no longer bring myself to give a fuck about the drinking. Not when the bottle did such a good job of taking my mind off the rest of it. Off all of the terrible shit I’d done before this, and now...
Now, I'd done so much worse working for Paulo.
“Andre, come play a hand!” Marco called out, all broad grin, friendly, but I just waved at him.
“I’m good, cuadro.”
“He’s still pissed that I took all his money last week!” José laughed loudly, and the other men joined in.
Raising my middle finger in the air I felt my lips tilt up. “Besa mi culo, puto. You wish that was all my money.”
Jokes came fast, the men nudging each other at the table as they continued to bet, but I just muttered under my breath as the brief smile disappeared. What was worse — having nothing to report, or actually liking the criminal fucks I spent my days with?
The only answer to those questions? Tequila.
I had just taken another long drink when a buzzing sound came from the area by the front door. Diego hopped out of his seat to check the security feed, his low whistle followed by a quiet chuckle. “Well, hello.”
“Who is it?” Marco asked, the game stopping as the others turned towards the man.
“One hot piece of ass by the looks of it, and she looks pissed.” Diego laughed a little louder as another buzz came through the security system.
“Is jefe expecting someone?” José was a lot more serious, glancing up the broad, curving stairs.
“Hell if I know, he hasn’t told me anything,” Marco added, but he stood as well, which left only me reclining on the couch — still not giving a single fuck.
The buzzing returned, longer this time, and there was a shout from the top of the stairs. Paulo appeared in a rumpled button-down shirt and linen pants, irritated. “Why the hell isn’t someone handling the door?”
“We don’t know if we should let her come up the drive, jefe.”
“Her?” Paulo’s expression changed, a hand pushing through his dark hair as he moved down the steps. When he approached the security screens, Diego stepped back to give him room. “Well, well… we should see what she wants.”
“You know who she is?” José asked, and that was when I saw the gun in his hand, resting at his side. A soldier through and through, ready to protect his general.
“No, I don't, but let’s see what fun we can have.” The cold humor in Paulo’s voice made my stomach turn. If this bitch had any brains at all she’d turn around and run from the ornate gate that barred the entrance to Paulo’s estate before it even opened.
Just as Paulo moved towards the door, José appeared at his side, almost blocking him. “Allow me, jefe. She may be some puta, but I should still check her first.”
Grabbing José by the back of the neck, Paulo tapped his forehead to his. “You always have my back, hermano. Of course, give her a thorough check before she comes in — then we can discuss what the little blonde wants.”
The front door opened an instant later, but Paulo strolled into the sitting room, making his way to the wet bar. One of the most violent drug lords ever to come out of South America, and he looked like he was on vacation with his casual clothes, and falsely friendly demeanor. My grip on the tequila bottle tensed as I stared at the man, but I made sure my expression was blank. It didn’t matter how much I hated him, I was his until the job was done.
“Not curious about the girl, Andre?” Paulo asked, tilting up his fresh drink to take a sip.
“Why should I be curious when I can get the play by play just from listening?”
“Well, José seems to think she’s a security risk.”
“If you need her handled, I’ll do it, jefe. Otherwise, I see plenty of ass walking around Miami.” I stayed still. Discussing shit like this was practically second nature now.
Paulo chuckled, leaning back with his elbows on the bar. “That’s what I like about you, Andre. Cold as ice.” He waved his drink at the men crowding the front door where a buzz of conversation ha
d picked up. “The others are so hot tempered, they don’t think. You think.”
“Emotion clouds judgment.”
“You’re right. My father used to say… mata a tu corazón, o te matará. Do you know this phrase?”
I hadn’t heard it before, but I knew what it meant, and it fit Paulo perfectly. “Kill your heart, or it will kill you.”
A shark’s grin spread across Paulo’s features. “Exactly. Emotion makes you weak, and weakness is death.”
“Your father was a smart man,” I answered, voice on automatic, but the words were almost overridden by the feminine shout that came from the front door.
“Are you in there, Paulo García? HUH?”
The man’s eyebrows lifted the tiniest fraction, his chilling smile not shifting. “Let her in, José.”
“Keep your fucking hands off me.” The blonde who stumbled into the room from the foyer was clad in shorts and a form fitting blue shirt that had some phrase across it in pale, swirling text. Male laughter followed her, and I forced myself to be still, not even breathing so I wouldn’t move.
She was definitely American, and fucking beautiful. As I turned my eyes back to Paulo I knew the man smelled blood in the water. A wicked hunger waking up in those coal black eyes — the same hunger that I hated myself for feeling. “Hola, señorita. What can I do for you?”
“Do for me?” Her voice was practically boiling with rage, tanned cheeks flushing with it as she held out a thick envelope. “How about leaving my little brother the fuck alone? I’ve got your money, and I want you to take it and then never fucking speak to him again — any of you! That is what you can do for me, asshole.”
Marco and Diego started laughing behind her, amused by her little outburst as they looked over her curves, her strong legs, all the way down to the multi-colored running shoes on her feet. Even Paulo seemed vaguely amused as he spread his arms wide. “I have no idea who your brother is, belleza, but if he owes me money that was his choice.”
“Fuck you! I know you hurt Chris, threatened him, but this is it. Take your money, and get out of his life!” She shook the envelope again, shouting, and my cock twitched at the same moment my stomach dropped.
José stepped up beside her, grabbing her arm in a tight grip. “You do not speak to him like that. Apologize.”
The girl’s eyes flicked to the gun in his hand, and she swallowed instead of shouting again, which was the first smart thing she’d done. José was as loyal as a dog, vicious as a pit bull, and almost as unpredictable as Paulo. “Look, I’m just here to deliver the money, and then I’m leaving.”
“Of course. It’s fine. Bring me the envelope, José.” Paulo held out his hand, and the man released her arm to snatch the thick packet from her fingers. Crossing the tile, he delivered it and then stood at his master’s side, glaring down the feisty girl who had more spirit than sense. Opening the flap, Paulo flicked through the money inside for a second before handing it back to José. “Count it.”
“Look, you have your money, so now you can leave Chris alone. He’s done with all of this.” Her voice was wavering, and my eyes were glued to the shallow breaths making her breasts rise and fall. The fear was creeping in now that her rage was fizzling out, her eyes moving quickly over everyone in the room as she realized her situation.
That’s right, girl. You walked yourself into the lion’s den. Now, run.
“What is your name?” Paulo asked, and I cursed internally, struggling to maintain my cool composure. He wants her.
“You don’t need my name.”
“Oh, but I asked for it, and you’re in my house.” The subtle threat was there, Paulo García still wearing his shark’s smile as Diego and Marco moved closer behind her.
She twisted at the waist to look at them, taking a few short steps into the room to gain some space, but they followed her. “I’m leaving, but Chris is done. Okay?”
“Chris who?” Paulo tilted his head, shrugging as he laughed softly. “I do not know his last name.”
José slapped the envelope of cash onto the bar. “Twenty thousand.”
Paulo’s brows lifted a fraction. “This is a good amount of money for your little brother to owe me, especially when I do not even know his name.”
“It’s Chris Harris.”
Faking confusion, Paulo turned to José. “Do you know this Chris Harris?” His eyes skimmed the rest of the room, touching on me for a moment. “I feel I should know this name if he owes me money.”
“I don’t know him,” Diego answered, moving close enough to the girl’s back that she jumped, taking another step deeper into the room.
“Me either.” José shrugged, eyes sweeping her from top to bottom.
Finishing his drink, Paulo set it on the bar and then clapped his hands together. “Well, this seems unfortunate, belleza. I’ll need to make some calls. You should sit, have a drink.”
“No, I’m leaving.” She turned and found herself looking at Marco’s chest, his grin broad as he grabbed her shoulders.
“Jefe told you to sit.”
“I need to go.” The girl was either incredibly brave, or seriously stupid, but I was still impressed that she wasn’t crying already. Diego had circled her, and now he approached her from the back. She stiffened, hands fisting at her sides as I forced down another mouthful of tequila, trying to prepare for what was going to come next. Trying to convince myself I wasn’t tempted by her curves, her fire.
You should have run when you had the chance.
“But if you leave, how will I know whose account all this money goes to?” Paulo snapped his fingers, pointing at the wingback chair angled towards the couch. In a moment Marco and Diego had forced the struggling girl into the seat, a hand on each of her shoulders as she argued and then sputtered into silence.
Her wide, blue eyes landed on me, but I didn’t react to her fear, her wordless, desperate plea — I just took another drink.
Approaching slowly, each step casual, Paulo made his way towards her. “Now, while I look into your little brother’s account, you’ll stay right here.” He raised a hand when she opened her mouth to speak. “I just need to know your name so I can explain who I have as my guest.”
“No,” she whispered, and Diego chuckled above her.
Definitely brave, and definitely stupid.
“This is your last chance to tell me your name, belleza, before I have Andre ask you.” Paulo’s head tilted towards me, and I lifted my eyes to the man without a reaction. “And I do not think you want him to ask you.”
The girl swallowed hard, clearly shaking in fear, the flush in her cheeks disappearing as her eyes went wide on mine. I knew what she saw. Tattoos, black muscle shirt, black pants, and an empty expression — because that’s what I was, empty. I’d made full-grown men piss themselves in fear, and this little blonde didn’t stand a chance if Paulo spoke the command.
Finally, she broke her gaze from mine to look back at Paulo, speaking softly, this time with much less venom in her tone. “It's Nicky… I mean, Nicole.”
Two
Nicky
“Nicole…” My heart was pounding in my ears, but nothing could block out the way Paulo García repeated my name, rolling it around in his mouth, thick with his accent. “Well, Nicole Harris, I will look into your brother and see what debts he may have. Until then, have a drink, relax.”
One of the men beside the chair brushed his knuckles against my cheek, and I jerked away from him, only to be snapped back into the seat by a harsh grip on my shoulder. Pain radiated from where his fingers dug into my skin. When the man grinned above me I pressed my knees together, trying to shut down the fear.
This is for Chris. Just don’t let them know you’re afraid.
“I don’t want a drink. I want you to accept Chris’ payment so I can leave. Then you’ll never hear from either of us again.” As hard as I’d tried to sound confident, my fucking voice still wavered when the one with the gun approached.
Paulo shrugged. “
It will depend on what I find, but my men will take good care of you. I have calls to make.” The one with the gun flashed his teeth in what I imagined was supposed to be a smile. “Play nice for now.”
For now.
The words planted ice in my veins, and I shifted under the grip of the men on either side of the chair, my eyes flicking between the man with the gun and the terrifying one on the couch who hadn’t spoken a word. As soon as I looked at him, he lifted the bottle of alcohol and took another drink, those dark eyes never leaving me.
“Yes, jefe.” The one with the gun nodded, and then Paulo García left the room.
Somehow, I’d actually felt safer with the drug dealer than I did now, and I berated myself for being so fucking stupid as to come inside. I could have stayed on the front porch, or in the damn circle driveway. Thrown the money at him and left, but, no, I needed to come in and let my temper loose.
God dammit, Chris. Who have you pissed off now?
“What would you like to drink?” The one who hadn’t touched my cheek spoke, his grip on my shoulder easing slightly.
“I don’t want a drink! I want him to clear Chris’ debt so I can leave.”
“You’re not leaving until jefe says you can leave.” Gun guy slipped the weapon into the back of his pants as he spoke. “So, you should have a drink as he suggested.”
“No.”
“Do you like tequila? Vodka?” The first man asked it again, stepping away from the chair I was still held in by the asshole that had dared to touch me.
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