Big Girls & Bad Boys: 8 Scorching Hot BBW Alpha Male Romance Novellas Box Set

by D. H. Cameron

  “My friends, I know we all favor a free Cuba. We tolerate Batista only because he opposes the communists and their revolution. Our goal is to liberate Cuba, to bring true democracy and justice to the people. However, Castro and his socialist movement is our immediate problem, the one we must eradicate before all else. Time is short. With Yaguajay fallen, Batista and his corrupt government is cornered. I would celebrate such a thing if it were not for the alternative that looms,” Marco told the group and paused to let them absorb his words before continuing.

  “We must wait, however. Now is not the time to move. All is not lost yet but we must move only when the winds are in our favor. I have heard your arguments and I take them all to heart. Each of you has presented compelling arguments. For now, ready your men, Alejandro. Remain vigilant and if necessary, join with the Batista forces to repel the rebels. However, we must be ready to take advantage of any situation that may allow us to take control. Maria, plead with the Americans for aid. I know you do so already but they must be made to listen. Without their support, I fear all is lost no matter the outcome. Enrico, we need intelligence. Find out what you can. With the information you gain, our path may become clearer. All of us must be ready to act on a moment’s notice,” Marco finished.

  The group paused a moment to consider his words and then the banter resumed. This time, however, it seemed less a debate than a discussion of the details about how to move forward. Marco and the others planned and plotted and the details were lost on me. I understood that some number of freedom fighters were already engaged in fighting the rebels. Others waited for the right opportunity to present itself, regular men and even women ready to fight for freedom. Real freedom.

  The woman, Maria, was in contact with the American government, the Central Intelligence Agency it seemed, and private donors including many expatriate Cubans such as Marco’s parents. They funneled money not to the Batista regime but to those seeking true freedom and it appeared this group was one of several. These groups waited for an opportunity to arise between the two warring factions and take control of Cuba and give it back to the people. Maria seemed to be the one coordinating that effort.

  Finally, some were engaged in more clandestine efforts. Spying and infiltrating not only the rebels but the Cuban government. I was sure one of the men at the table was an important figure in the Batista government. What appeared at first as a loose collection of patriots was in fact an organized opposition and Marco was among this group’s leaders if not the head of the group. My heart swelled with pride and admiration as I watched him work, leading these various factions towards a common goal. I knew as I witnessed this meeting that I had made the right choice. I needed to be by Marco’s side.

  Not because he would be the one to keep me safe in these dangerous times but because I wanted what he did. I desired for Cuba to be free. I had no part in this fight, or rather I didn’t until that moment. Marco loved his homeland and its people and I loved him. I wanted for Cuba what he did and I found myself willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. I had been swept up suddenly in the struggle and I would stand with Marco, Cuba and its people for good or ill.

  I thought I understood what that meant and I was willing to endure whatever was needed. How could I not? I loved Marco. How could I not fight alongside him for Cuba? How could I not want what he wanted? I knew my decision was rash and probably made without fully understanding the consequences but I didn’t care. Marco’s courage was rubbing off on me, I suppose.

  The meeting began to break up. Before Marco and I departed he faced the group and they turned to regard him as one. “Cuba libre, mi amigos,” he announced with a conviction I’d rarely seen and to which they replied as one.

  “Cuba libre!”

  ~~~

  ~10~

  Marco and I left the meeting first and the rest were to filter out slowly afterward so as not to draw attention. Marco didn’t take the time to introduce me and I understood why. The group posed no immediate threat to Batista’s regime but if Castro took power Cubans like Marco and his band would be targets. Marco explained that men like Castro were never tolerant of dissent. Opposing views were dangerous to them. That’s why his sister had been murdered. Teachers, scientists, clergy, journalists and the like that weren’t willing to embrace the new regime would be considered enemies because ignorance was a tool of the oppressors.

  “Soon, businessmen such as myself will be added to the list of enemies,” Marco told me once we were in his Cadillac and safely away from the casino.

  “Why? How will people live without work? How will Cuba survive?” I wondered.

  “I do not offer only jobs and wages. I offer pride. I offer opportunity. I have men and women working for me that used to be poor but now own a home and a car. Some have left the factory to open their own businesses. Manuel and his cafe are but one example. That is not acceptable to men like Castro. He will tell the people that I am robbing them. He will seize my assets in the name of the people but those assets will be owned by the state and controlled by the central planners. The poor, the lazy and the ignorant will believe him and give Castro their support. The rest will have work but it will be no more than slavery to the state,” Marco explained. I shook my head in disgust.

  Maybe growing up in America was the reason I took these things for granted. Freedom, liberty and self-reliance were a given. That was the American way. But in Cuba, they had a dictator who allowed commerce and personal freedoms as long as his corruption went unchallenged. Now, Castro and his revolutionaries threatened that less than perfect balance. They promised justice but now I knew that justice for some meant something else entirely for men like Marco. For him it meant ruin. There could be no equality under Castro without stealing from some and giving it to others and ultimately that equality would ensure all were poor and servile.

  “Why is this happening? Why can’t these men let us be?” I asked.

  “They seek power and wealth, like most men. But they seek to take it rather than earn it. They have no honor. They lie, cheat and steal. Batista and Castro are but two sides of the same coin. Their methods and politics differ but the outcome is the same. Misery and oppression,” Marco explained as we drove to his home, taking a circuitous route just in case someone watched. Once home, the festive days of the past week had faded and were replaced with a somber mood.

  Marco poured us rum and he lit a cigar. He didn’t relax in his chair, however. He sat on the edge like a restless animal. I had to admit I felt it too. Something had changed. Not between us but the world around us felt different. Castro’s victory in Yaguajay was more significant that anyone knew. There was still hope but it was waning. Little stood between Castro and the capitol, Havana. Little stood in the way of his victory. The question had become when, not if, he would prevail.

  The next day we discovered how important the battle of Yaguajay really was. On December 31, 1958, New Year’s Eve, the rebels battled Batista’s forces in a chaotic battle for Santa Clara. Marco received updates from his compatriots via telephone during the day and by that evening we had learned the outcome was all but assured. The revolutionaries had prevailed and held Santa Clara. Batista had been cornered and the revolutionaries held most of Cuba. More importantly, the rebels had gained the hearts and minds of many of the Cuban people with their promises of justice. How long could Batista hold Havana against the rebels? Would war come to the jewel that was Havana?

  “I’m scared, Marco,” I told him as I lay in his arms that night. It was past midnight, New Year’s Day, 1959. There should have been hope and joy at the coming New Year but instead there was only fear and despair.

  “As am I. I do not know what will happen now. I must...,” Marco began to say but hesitated.

  “What is it?” I pressed.

  “You must go, mi amor,” he told me. I sat up and turned to regard Marco in the dim light of his bedroom.

  “No! I won’t leave you,” I said. Marco reached out and stroked my cheek. The pain
on his face was evident.

  “I could not bear it if you were harmed. I fear war will come to Havana and you cannot be here when that happens. You will live with my parents and I will join you soon. I am afraid Cuba is finished with me,” Marco said and the torment in his voice made my heart ache for him.

  “Marco, if that is so, then come with me. Come with me now,” I implored but his eyes told me he wouldn’t. But before Marco could answer, someone knocked at his front door. He looked at me and then to his nightstand. He rose from bed pulled on his cotton pants and opened the drawer. He removed a revolver. He saw the alarm on my face.

  “I must take precautions,” he said and walked to answer the door. I climbed from bed, donned my robe and went to the bedroom door. Marco held the revolver at the ready and asked in Spanish who was at his door.

  “Enrico,” came the reply. Marco relaxed, lowered the gun and opened the door. Enrico, the man from the meeting that was in charge of gathering intelligence, ducked inside. He looked concerned about something and began telling Marco.

  “In English,” Marco told the man for my benefit.

  “Batista has fled. He has abandoned Cuba and left it to the revolutionaries,” Enrico told us. Marco’s shoulders slumped and he was obviously shaken. The news, even to me, was almost too astonishing to believe.

  “What does that mean?” I wondered. Marco invited Enrico to sit and I joined them.

  “I do not know. This is unexpected though I should have known a coward like Batista would flee,” Marco told us and then looked to Enrico. “You are sure?” he asked the man.

  “I am,” Enrico assured us. I suspected Enrico had access to Batista and his government, maybe even worked within it.

  “What is your opinion of this?” Marco asked him.

  “Batista’s forces will fight, some of them in any case. Others have already surrendered or defected. It won’t be long. The revolution had succeeded and any opportunity we might have had is gone. I am sure that soon Castro will march into Havana, declare victory and Cuba will be his,” Enrico explained. Marco ran his hand though his hair and he wore a grim frown.

  “I should not have been so timid. We should have acted instead of waiting. Damn, Batista!” Marco declared.

  “There was nothing you could have done, we could have done, in such a short time, my brother. Do not blame yourself, Marco. This is Batista’s failure. His corruption and greed made Cuba ripe for Castro’s revolution and the bastard has failed us one last time,” Enrico told Marco bitterly. Marco smiled despite himself but he wasn’t completely convinced. He stood and retrieved the bottle of rum and three glasses from table where he kept them along with two cigars.

  “Stay and drink with me, brother,” Marco offered. I felt the two men were close in some way but I had more important things to ponder. Marco poured us each a glass of rum and then lit his cigar as Enrico did the same. We sat in silence for a time, pensive and lost. Usually rum and cigars were enjoyed for relaxation. That morning they served to help dull the pain as reality set in. Cuba was likely lost along with any opportunity to preserve it. The dice had been cast and Marco and his compatriots had lost. But as I sat there in silence it became apparent that it wasn’t Marco and his friends that had lost. It was the people of Cuba. That thought pained me deeply and there was likely nothing anyone could do to change it.

  ~~~

  Enrico left us just before the sun rose on the first morning of the New Year. The three of us spoke little and sleep was impossible after word that Cuba’s dictator had fled leaving Cuba to Castro and his socialist plans. Marco feared things would deteriorate quickly. Later that morning, a meeting was organized among Marco and his friends that was to take place at noon. This meeting was not as secretive as the others in the past had been. In fact, Marco offered his factory as the venue.

  We dressed and readied after a solemn breakfast of toast and coffee. I wore a simple dress with comfortable shoes since we would be walking to Marco’s factory. Marco wore a light seersucker suit, suspenders and loafers but he didn’t wear a tie. I felt as if we were dressing for a funeral even though our clothes were bright and casual. We barely spoke. No words were necessary as we both silently shared our grief.

  The others gathered on the factory floor including Alejandro and Maria but Enrico didn’t show. New Year’s Day was the last day of the factory’s closure for the holidays and so it was empty save for the group of Cuban patriots that gathered. The determination and hope that was part of the last meeting I attended was gone. The entire atmosphere had changed.

  “Mi amigos,” Marco began in Spanish. I tried to keep up as he spoke to the group in Spanish. “As you have no doubt heard, Batista the coward has fled to the Dominican Republic if our intelligence is accurate. This is not good news. The rebels have no significant organized opposition any longer. I am told Batista’s forces, some of them, fight on but they cannot last. The snake has no head,” Marco told the gathering.

  “We knew this day might come. We have prepared. The fight will go on. We have become the rebels. We must resist Castro and his communists but soon, I fear, doing so will put a price on our heads. We each knew this but I do not hold you to your oaths. I will not judge any of you that choose to leave Cuba. I cannot, however, I do not blame any of you that choose differently,” Marco said and his ominous words took my breath away.

  The members of the group began to discuss what might happen. Several declared they would leave. They had to see their families to safety but they vowed to fight on from afar. Most, however, were determined to stay and resist in what ways they could. No one was eager to declare open opposition to Castro, however, instead choosing to lay low and see what might happen. Dying was always a danger but to do so needlessly was pointless.

  “Then it is settled. Each of us will do what we must. I do not hold you to your pledge to die for Cuba, but you must honor your pledge to fight. From within or from afar, you must fight for Cuba. We must oppose Castro in whatever way we can until opportunity shows itself. On that day, we will declare our opposition and oust this communist from power and restore liberty to Cuba,” Marco told the group and then rose his fist in the air. “Cuba libre!” he shouted.

  “Cuba libre!” the rest shouted and their words echoed and then faded in the empty factory. After that, the members of the group began to go their separate ways. Some would flee to America or other friendly countries while they could. Some would stay and work to oppose Castro from within Cuba. Many of the compatriots would likely never meet again. Handshakes and hugs signaled both a last goodbye and sealed an oath to continue to resist. Soon, Marco and I were alone and we retired to his office.

  Marco poured us each a glass of rum and then he lit a cigar and stood overlooking his empty factory. “I feel as if everything is coming apart, Nancy,” he said as he looked out the windows at his family’s legacy.

  “I don’t know what to say. This all seems like a dream, a nightmare,” I told him as I stood next to him. Everything had changed and so suddenly. Two days ago the revolution was distant, a looming threat but not an immediate one. Now it was all but over. At least Havana was spared a battle, or at least it seemed that it might be.

  “I know some of the men will fight openly despite my warnings. They will die needlessly. I understand how they feel but I am not so young and impulsive anymore. I would die for my country but I see that doing so without purpose is not wise. I feel as if I have failed. I know this revolution was always bigger than me, however, I hoped I might find a way to stop it. I was a fool,” Marco said. I could feel his pain.

  “No, Marco. You’re not a failure. You’re just a man. You did what you could. Please, you don’t have to stay to fight,” I said hoping Marco would see my reason.

  “I cannot leave. This is my home. What of my workers? I owe them. My family owes them a debt. I must stay and look after them. I cannot ask you to stay with me. In fact, I do not want you to remain in Cuba, Nancy. I would live without you despite my love for you if
I knew you would be safe,” he said. I took his arm and lay my head on his shoulder.

  “And I would rather die than live without you,” I replied. Was it the desperate situation or was it the man. In any case, my feelings for Marco had taken hold of my heart and now would never let go. I loved him more than mere words could express.

  “It seems we are at an impasse,” Marco told me and then laughed softly. It was good to hear him laugh.

  “I won’t leave you here,” I reiterated. Marco took me into his arms and held me.

  “I am glad to hear it but I still fear for your safety. I know not what the rebels might do. Will they ignore men such as me? It is possible. More likely, however, they will name me an enemy. They will tell the people I have stolen from them, that my family’s hard earned assets are ill gotten. It is likely I will be named an outlaw and hunted down,” Marco told me. I didn’t want to hear that.

  “Then come to America with me. Your parents are there. You can start again in a new country, a country that respects and rewards men such as yourself. Please, Marco. You can resist from afar,” I pleaded. Marco looked at me and then sighed.

  “I must admit, I find my love for you exceeds my love for Cuba. Still, I must look after those that count on me. I must at least find a way to ensure their well-being. Will you leave and wait for me in America so I know you are safe? I will join you soon, I promise you,” Marco told me. I looked at him skeptically. “I swear to you, Nancy. I will come to you. Please indulge me,” he added.

  “All right. I’ll leave but not yet. As you said, let’s see what happens. Let me stay with you and help until danger shows itself,” I countered. Marco nodded reluctantly.

  “I must admit, I am not eager to be rid of you. I agree. But you must leave when I tell you, no arguments. You must promise me,” he said. I could feel his conflicted feelings, his desire to see me safe and his need to have me near. Both made me feel good.