Book Blitz for You Will Pay for Leaving Me with Author Eve Rabi

Title – You Will Pay for Leaving me  

Author – Eve Rabi  

Genre – Woman’s Fiction  

Publisher – Eve Rabi  

Cover Artist – Eve Rabi

 

SYNOPSIS:

“A compelling and heartbreaking story about love, lust and revenge.”

Blurb:

To the world it looked like I was the luckiest woman on earth. I had every material possession I could want or desire. Women envied me, while men strove to be like my successful and charismatic husband, Tom.

Little did everyone know that behind closed doors, Tom, the man I had chosen to have and to hold was a brutal tyrant who abused me and controlled everything aspect of my life.

In spite of his controlling ways, I found the strength to take my two children and leave.

I started a new life, met a wonderful man named Bear in record time and fell madly in love with him. Bear was everything Tom wasn’t and my children and I lived a blissful existence.

But Tom was livid at my new-found happiness. As promised when I left him, he took revenge for my leaving in the most horrific way possible, then sent me to prison.

Over time, I learned his game and when I realized he wasn’t going to stop, I knew it was time to fight back and fight dirty.

 

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EXCERPT:

The first time Tom hit me, I was eight months pregnant. Slapped me across the face. Unexpected and so hard, I saw tiny white stars even though I was indoors.

I was twenty-two, he was thirty-five.

I was eight months pregnant and waddling like a duck, he was eight-one kilos and took part in triathlons, ran ten kilometers almost every day, had wheat-grass and quinoa for breakfast, a green salad with no dressing for lunch, and usually ate lean chicken breast with three different colour vegetables for dinner.

Fit, disciplined and focused – that was my husband.

Throughout my two years of marriage, I’d seen bursts of his rage – towards me, towards others and his road-rage, now that was the worst – it terrified me. Especially since he liked to take it out on trucks drivers. The bigger the truck, the greater his rage. 

Deep down, I guess I did fear being hit by him one day, but I didn’t expect it that day – the day of my second wedding anniversary.

I was so stunned by the slap that I didn’t move away or try to defend myself. I just stood and gaped at him, one hand on my cheek, the other on my swollen belly.

“I take care of everything!” he hissed. “All you had to do was to chill the Kristal and you forget to do that. A small thing like that. Chill …the …Kristal – how hard is that, huh?”

To celebrate our wedding anniversary, Tom had invited eight couples to a four-course, sit-down dinner at our house, located in the upscale suburbs of St Ives, Sydney.

He had hired caterers, wait-staff and a barman. Like all of Tom’s parties, it promised to be interesting, excessive and showy.

It was true, all I had to do was chill the Kristal, as he took care of everything, without consulting me once, or asking what I would like to serve our guests.

I didn’t mind though, as Tom was extremely capable, highly efficient and he had flair. I didn’t, so if I did make a suggestion of just about anything, he’d usually scoff at it and shred it to bits, making me feel like the hillbilly that I was. So over time, I stopped suggesting or contributing and left everything to Tom.

That suited him just fine.

With pregnancy hormones, my brain sometimes became a pile of mush and I tended to forget a lot of things. I would walk into a room and forget why I was there, and often at a mall, I couldn’t remember the level I had parked my car on.

It annoyed the hell out of Tom as he didn’t suffer fools gladly, and just about everything I did was foolish to him. Irritated him.

“See what you do to me!” he snarled, his nostrils flaring, his lips a thin line. “You make me like this.”

After throwing me a look of disgust, he adjusted his tie, straightened his 5’8” frame and walked towards the door of our bedroom.

“Put on a darker shade of lipstick, wear the necklace I bought you for Christmas and be downstairs in five!” he flung over his shoulder as he strode out of our bedroom.

With my hand on my cheek, I sat on the bed, shrouded in disappointment.

How could he hit me, I asked myself? How could he hit a pregnant woman? His pregnant wife – who does that?

There was no way I was going to go his party after he had just hit me. I would leave quietly through the back door before our guests arrived, I decided. I wouldn’t even tell him that I was leaving.

Fuck him and his party.

The doorbell went. Too late, our guests had just arrived.

“The place looks wonderful, Tom.”

“Thank you.”

“Yes, it’s fabulous, Tom. Marvelous. Where’s Arena?”

 “She’ll be down in a sec,” I heard Tom say.

I didn’t know what to do. How could I possibly not turn up when guests had already arrived? After a lot of thought, I decided that I would go to the party, but I would leave immediately after it. I would have it out with him and call the cops if I needed to. I may have been twenty-two years old, but I wasn’t stupid enough to let him hit me and get away with it.

I scrambled up from the bed and walked over to a mirror where I eyed my cheek, red from his slap.

I picked up some concealer and dotted it over the redness. Didn’t work. His imprint on my cheek showed through the concealer.

I tried green concealer. That worked – my redness disappeared. That was the first time I learned that green concealer covers redness, better than yellow or beige concealer.

Over the years I used a lot of green concealer and I became an expert at concealing ‘flaws.’

Luckily, my hair was in a bob, deep mahogany and fell in a sharp point two centimeters below my ears and covered most of my cheek. (Hairstyle as per Tom’s orders. He instructed me to wear my hair exactly that way. He was in awe of Victoria Beckham.)

I decided that if for any reason, someone enquired about the marks on my face, say the concealer faded or something, I would simply say that I had an allergy –a new facial that didn’t quite agree with me. (Over the years, my friends were surprised at how many facials didn’t agree with me.)

Still dazed, I adjusted my clothing, darkened my lipstick, put on the chunky gold necklace and waddled downstairs. As instructed.

When I reached the last stair of the spiral staircase of our $2.6 million dollar home, which had a spa, sauna, tennis court and an Olympic-size pool, I plastered a smile on my disappointed lips and greeted our guests.

 

 

 

AUTHOR BIO:

Eve Rabi lives in Sydney Australia, but was born in South Africa. She is the author of 22 books and is known for her kick-ass leading ladies, her alpha males and her ability to make you cry and make you laugh as you fall in love.

   

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Book Blitz for Gringa with Author Eve Rabi

TITLE – Gringa

AUTHOR – Eve Rabi

GENRE – Modern Romance

PUBLICATION DATE – December 9, 2013

PUBLISHER – Eve Rabi

COVER ARTIST – Eve Rabi

Blurb

I was twenty-one, a sassy college student who took crap from no one. While holidaying in Mexico, I was accosted by The Devil of Mexico called Diablo and shot, because the s.o.b. mistook me for a spy.

I survived, only to encounter him again months later. How’s that for luck?

Furious and sick of all that I’d been through because of him, I slapped him, told him to go to hell and braced myself for the bullet. He could shoot me – I no longer cared.

But, to my surprise, he became fascinated with me and blackmailed me into becoming his woman. He’d slay the entire village that sheltered me, if I rejected his proposal.

He was Kong, hairy, tattooed from fingertips to face, with scary ass piercings, blood-shot snake eyes, a ruthless killer and above all, he was my murderer – how could anyone expect me to say yes?

To save the village I had to.

He took me by force, terrorized me into submission and made me his. To make matters worse, I had to put up with his ruthless, backstabbing family who hated me and wanted to kill me.

I despised the bastard and I told him that. Spark flew. Fists too.

But, the more I rejected Diablo, the more he wanted me.

At times he wanted to kill me because of my insolence, but other times he just wanted me to love him.

I was his Gringa and in an attempt to get my love, he began to change for me. Drastic changes that made me laugh at him at first, then made me curious.

As the days went by, I found myself drawn to him and I began seeing him differently. When I found out about his past, everything changed.

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AMAZON (KINDLE)

Book Excerpt

(Please Note This Excerpt Is For 18+ And Contains Some Strong Language)

He grabs me by the scruff of my neck and drags me out of the room to the lunch table.

‘Leave me the fuck alone!’

He shoves me into the dining room. It’s Saturday so that entire gang is

there, in the mood to party and to be entertained. Watching Diablo drag

me to the table gets them excited.

Humiliated and seething, I sit down and drum my nails on the table. I don’t eat or look at him.

‘Eat!’ he orders.

I ignore him and drum louder, furiously.

A man named Norman, seated next to me, leans over and says, ‘Señorita gringa want Whiskey?

‘Yes please, Norman.’

Norman pours the whiskey and places the glass in front of me.

‘Thank you Norman,’ I say, bypassing the glass and reaching for the bottle.

Norman’s eyes grow huge when he sees me taking giant swigs from the bottle.

It’s awful. I hate whiskey. Tastes like gasoline to me.

‘Damn!’ I say, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘This sure is mighty fine whiskey, Norman.’

‘Eh, Señorita gringa, my name …’

‘Lemme pour you one, Norman.’ I top his glass to the brim and hand it to him. ‘Knock yourself out,’ I chuckle.

Diablo’s not smiling.

Yeah, I’m supposed to be nice to him now that the FBI is involved. Well, fuck the FBI and Fuck him.

As lunch progresses, I’m feeling a little more relaxed now. Warm in my

toes and even a little confident. Well, they’re eating lunch and I’m

drinking mine – whiskey, Tequila and some other shit on the table.

After a few more swigs from the bottles, I cross my arms over my head

and whistle Hit me Baby One More Time by Brittany bitch. Totally out of

tune, but hey, who gives a fuck right now.

Diablo’s hairy face reveals little, but somehow I don’t think he’s

comfortable with my drinking. Hell, I’m not comfortable with my

drinking, but screw him.

They’re passing around pictures. Pornographic pictures and the conversation becomes steamy.

Usually, I pass on the pictures, but today, I snatch them out of Norman’s hand. ‘Lemme see that!’

I peer at the picture then burst out laughing. ‘That’s the fugliest flower I have ever come across,’ I say.

‘Eh, Señorita gringa, iiis not a flower, iiis a, how you say it…?’ He snaps his fingers.

‘Vagina,’ some other fucker calls out.

I peer at him. ‘What?!’ I snatch it out of his hands again. ‘Gimmee

that.’ I stare at the picture. ‘Mm. Can’t be a woman’s vagina. It’s too

fugly. Has to be a man’s.’ I hand him back the picture and go back to my

 neglected bottle.

‘So many Gringas,’ Antonio says, perving over the pictures. At the mention of the word ‘Gringa’, all eyes zero in on me.

Am I embarrassed? Hell no!

‘Hey, don’t look at me,’ I say and down another Tequila, whiskey –

whatever – I’ve lost track of what I’m drinking. ‘I don’t roll that way.

 Why don’t you ask the fugly asshole at the end of the table?’

There is a collective gasp in the room and all eyes dart towards Diablo, including mine. Now he’s gonna be really pissed. Great.

But his amused response in Spanish brings on some guffawing.

‘What? What did he say, Norman?’

Norman is pissed enough to explain. ‘Diablo say, is like a fucking a

Colchón sometimes. He say, is a big let down. And, Señorita Gringa, and

my name is not …’

‘Colchón … mattress? He said that, did he?’ I let out a long, low whistle. ‘Well Norm, what the hell does he know, huh?’

I smile at Norman. ‘Can I call you “Norm?” I don’t wait for him to

answer. ‘He don’t know jack. Foreplay – hell, he probably thinks it’s

some kind of sugar-free chewing gum or something to do with his car’s

steering wheel. Huh, Norm?’

‘But Señorita gringa, my name is not Norm, it is not Norman, it is Lucas.’

I stare at him for so long, he starts to flinch. ‘Lucas?’

He nods.

‘Why didn’t you say something, Norm? Okay, I’ll call you Lucas from now on, Norm.’

‘Eh …’

Santana almost falls off her chair laughing.

I look at Norm. ‘Now Norm,’ I point to Santana, ‘she’s probably laughing

 at what I said. Or she’s laughing at what the fuckwit at the end of the

 table said about me – the mattress – whatever shit …but, you ever seen a

 donkey laugh, Norm?

‘No, Señorita gringa. But my name …’

‘Never? Well, it’s your lucky day, Norm, cos you’ve seen it now.’ I jerk my head towards Santana.

Well, that magically erases the smile of donkey’s face.

‘You biiitch!’ Santana screeches. ‘I fargin’ kiiill you!’

I smile and raise my bottle at her. ‘Take a “fargin” number and get in “fargin” line.’

Troy comes up to me. ‘Gringa,’ he whispers, ‘come, let me take you to bed so you can sleep it … ’

My eyebrows shoot up. ‘Take me to bed? Are you better in bed than your brother? Christ, I hope so, Troy!’

Troy turns scarlet and shrinks back, all the while glancing nervously at Diablo.

Diablo looks at everyone around him falling out of their chairs with

laughter and his breathing becomes like that of an emphysema patient –

raspy and labored.

‘He really is lousy in bed Troy. And you know what? I don’t like him. He’s hairy and yuuuuck! He won’t let me visit my … ’

Diablo slams his fist onto the table, rattling the table and animating plates, cutlery, glasses.

‘Fuck! Look what you did Satan – you nearly made me spill my …’ I jerk

back and peer at the label on the bottle in my hand. ‘What the fuck is

this shit? Anyhoo, you’ve made me lose count of how many drinks I had.

Have to start all over again. In case I have to drive.’

Diablo suddenly whips out his knife and flings it ninja-style at me. I duck and it hits the wooden beam behind me.

‘Ooooh!’ I cry shaking both my hands mockingly. ‘I’m in trooouble now! Biiiiga trooouble.’

‘Go gringa, go!’ some of the men cheer.

‘Whoookay!’ I say.

Diago stands up.

I stand up too and look him in the eye, my eyebrows disappearing behind my spiky fringe.

Breathing heavily, he creeps slowly to me, but I’m ready for him. I kick

 back my chair and sidle around, using the table as a barrier between

us.

‘Watch him move, like a … eh, what you say for walrus in Spanish?’

The men laugh harder. Even Christa laughs.

‘You will farkin’ die!’ Diablo roars.

‘And who’s gonna farkin kill me, huh?’ I ask, dancing on the spot. ‘You?’ I throw my head back and laugh.

More laughter around me.

Diablo runs 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 kiiiill you!’ he yells as he chases me.

‘Fuck you, motherfucker!’ I scream over my shoulder and sprint ahead. I

don’t care if he kills me, I just don’t want to be assaulted by him.

He’s super strong and I stand no chance against him if he does. I’ve

never seen him run before and I’m hoping he’s out of shape and slow.

Well, the big lunch should make him sluggish.

But to my dismay, I can actually hear his breathing. I’m surprised at my

 slowness. Must be something to do with the booze. I have to admit, I

didn’t realize how drunk I was until I started running. Too late now.

I run up the hill and through the dense foliage, passing startled

villagers tending the cannabis crops. They stop and stare when they see

Diablo chasing a gringa with a knife in his hand. Behind Diablo are his

men, some on horseback and some on foot, not wanting to miss the moment

Diablo finally kills the insolent Gringa.

‘Go, gringa go!’ I hear.

I run faster than I ever did in my life.

‘You will die!’ Diablo threatens behind me, still brandishing the knife.

 His breathing is getting louder and I know I have to do something.

The rock pool! I know for sure that Diablo is no match for me in the water. Very few people are. I head for the pool.

Changing route confuses Diablo and for a few moments, the gap between us increases, allowing me some respite.

I’m desperate to reach the rock pool so that I can shake the enraged animal behind me.

But to my dismay and my surprise, he catches me.

‘Let go of me, you fucking freak!’

Meet Our Author

AUTHOR BIO

Eve Rabi lives in Australia, but she was born in South Africa.

She is the author of 20 books and is known for her kick-ass leading ladies, alpha males and no holes-barred love stories.

Oh, and let’s not forget about humour, it’s a must in her books.

To quote a smashwords.com reviewer: “When you pick up an Eve Rabi book, forget sleep. She writes gripping page turners that will keep you reading till the very end.”

Follow Links

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LOVE STORIES BY EVE RABI

Deception – A Palace Full of Liars – Book 1

Deception – A Palace Full of Liars – Book 2

Burn’s World – Book 1

Burn’s World – Book 2

Burn’s World – Book 3

Burn’s World – Book 4

CAPTURED – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover – Book 1

CAPTURED – My Sworn Enemy, My Secret Lover – Book 2

Gringa – A Love Story Book 1

Gringa – A Love Story Book 2

Gringa – A Love Story Book 3

Gringa – A Love Story Book 4

THE CHEAT – A Tale of Lies and Infidelity – Book 1

THE CHEAT – A Tale of Lies and Infidelity – Book 2

You Will Pay – For Leaving Me (This book is free to Eve Rabi Fans)

Obsessed with me –Book 1

Obsessed with me –Book 2

Betrayed – He’d get his Girl at Any Cost

My Brother, My Rival (Book 1)

My Brother, My Rival (Book 2)