Dirty Angels 01 Read Online Free PDF

the bar closes, at three a.m.” I tried to sound nonchalant, adding an extra hour.
    “Then we shall wait here until you are done with your shift. And we will have the shot then. Isn’t that right, friend?” he said, looking across the table. The pale man nodded but didn’t say anything.
    “I don’t think that sounds like a lot of fun,” I said, the words coming out of my mouth before I could stop them. Salvador stared at me, his thick greying brows knitted together but I still continued. “I mean, there are better bars here in Cabo. This one is pretty boring—I should know, I work here.” I attempted a smile again. I felt like I was slipping. “Are you two just here on business or…?”
    Salvador stared at me for a few long moments—moments that had me cursing in my head—before running his stubby fingers over his mustache, his gold rings glinting. “We are not here on business. We are here to relax. Have a little fun. Enjoy the beach.” He picked up the glass of Patron. “And we’re here to get drunk. And I don’t think you have any right to tell us where we can do that. If we want to get drunk here, if we want to wait until three in the morning for you to get off your shift, we can do that. And we will do that.”
    At that, both he and the other man slammed back their shots.
    I gulped and squeaked out a “sorry” and then turned to leave.
    “Oh, Luisa,” Salvador called, stopping me in mid-step. “Do come back here. We aren’t finished with you.”
    I closed my eyes, trying to find my inner strength, willing myself to stay calm, before I went back to him.
    “Yes?” I asked.
    “I have a few questions for you. If you answer them truthfully, I will not wait for you until you are done with your shift. I will leave now and leave you a lovely tip for your cooperation. If you lie to me, I will not tip you. I will instead wait for you. And then hopefully you will learn to be honest with me—at three in the morning. You understand?”
    “Yes,” I said, barely audible. My knees started to shake.
    “Good,” he said. He rubbed again at his mustache, seemingly in thought, then asked, “Where do you live?”
    “In San Jose del Cabo.”
    Please, please, please don’t ask for my address , I thought.
    “Ah. And who do you live with?”
    “M-my mother and father.”
    “No husband.”
    “No.”
    “Children?”
    I shook my head.
    “Boyfriend?”
    “No, just my mother and father. I don’t have a boyfriend.”
    I knew that’s what he wanted to hear. His smile became very sly.
    “Good girl. Boyfriends are useless. You need a husband—a man, not a boy.”
    I didn’t say anything to that. My mouth was drying up.
    He went on, looking around, “Is this your only job?”
    “Yes.”
    “How long have you been working here?”
    “Three years.”
    “How old are you?”
    “Twenty-three.”
    “Are you happy?”
    I frowned at him, taken off-guard. “What?”
    “I asked if you were happy. Are you happy?”
    “Are you happy?” I retorted.
    He raised his brows. “Yes. Of course. I have everything I could ever want … almost.”
    He wanted me to comment on the almost part, I could tell. But I steeled myself against curiosity.
    “How nice. Well, I am poor and I work this job to take care of my parents, who are sick. I have always been poor and I have always worked hard. I am not happy.” I was slightly amazed at the honesty that was coming out of my mouth, things I didn’t even admit to myself.
    “Do you ever get in trouble for talking back?” he asked, and for a moment I thought I was in big trouble. Then he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, you can be trained out of that. So you’re not happy. But you’re so beautiful, Luisa. Beautiful enough to bring me in here, to make me want to talk to you, to make me want to know more about you.”
    “Beauty means nothing,” I said.
    “Ah, but you’ve won pageants before, prizes that have given you money.”
    My heart jump-started. “How did you