Club Alpha by Marata Eros Read Free Book Online

without me in it.”
    Tallinn blinks. “Okay, whatever. You're waxing poetic.”
    The one proclivity where Zaire and I see eye to eye , I remember. “I know.” He scowls and I hold up a palm. “We will have to agree to disagree. I want to exhaust the impossible.”
    Tallinn exhales in a rush. “If you think it's an impossibility, bro, why do it?”
    I watch the scenery rush past as the ghetto makes way for the city. Honking and loco driving ensues.
    Home.
    I shrug in answer and drain the last of the bubbling cider, holding the long-stemmed glass loosely. “I must know. I must know that this is all there is for me in this life.”
    “It's plenty, Paco. You have all the money, everything at your disposal. You're a coffee freak.”
    “Aficionado, Tallinn.”
    “Sure.” He slaps his palms on his thighs then points his finger at me. “It sounds cool when you say it.”
    I glance at him. “I have some meetings to put behind me, and then we can have a day or two of fun.”
    Narco business.
    “Define ʻfun,ʼ” he says skeptically.
    “Parasailing, perhaps?”
    “Skydiving?” Tallinn goads.
    “Absolutely not.”
    We grin.
    He leans back in his seat, scrutinizing me. “I won't break up with you for your wimp ways, Paco.”
    I bark out a laugh. “I am so relieved.”
    We fill our glasses to the rim and clink them together.
    “To enterprise,” I say.
    “To everlasting love.” Tallinn’s eyes are filled with humor at my expense.
    Our stares lock over the rims of our glasses as we regard each other. We have different motivations, but friendship binds us.
    I cannot help wondering where she is, and if she's thinking the same thoughts I am.
    The sparkling Sea of Cortez winks at me as we wind up the hill to la casa.
    I wish to share this view, and this life, with someone.
     

CHAPTER SIX
    Greta
     
    “ Que Guapa, senorita .”
    Spanish.
    Get a grip, Greta.
    Mid-twenties males, three—I assess them as a threat, as I do all men.
    Their dark eyes travel my form but not with negative intent.
    What did Zaire say? Oh yes, I'm a level-two risk. Zaire said he's never given a female a five, the highest number for physical self-defense, conditioning, and prowess.
    Apparently, my “condition” is okay. Like a can of vegetables on a shelf, I'm not quite expired.
    My physical self-defense is not too great. I can't work knives or weaponry, but I know how to use my body. I've overcome paralyzing fears.
    I no longer stop in front of zip ties in the hardware store in a state of mind-numbing panic and despair.
    My gaze creeps to them as I walk by. I don't repress the shudder. I can't.
    My thoughts take seconds.
    I leave my crisp American accent behind and use the fluidity I was trained for. “ Gracias ,” I reply quietly then take one brave step down.
    The one who called me pretty lifts his lips in a small smile of surprise, and the cloying smoke becomes a veil in front of his face.
    I'm ten feet away, and I want to wave my hand to displace the opaque shroud so I can see his expression better in the pool of shadows he stands in—and gauge his intent.
    But I don't want to move nearer.
    Exert confidence.
    “El ascensor no funciona.” I say. The elevator's not working.
    “ Si ?” he says. he says. “I speak English.”
    “Excellent,” I reply, when nothing is remotely good at the moment.
    “Do you work here?”
    He shakes his head.
    God, like finding hen's teeth.
    “All right, well, I'm using the stairs because the elevator…” I wave a hand vaguely behind me.
    “ No trabaja .”
    Right. We look at each other.
    “ Si ,” I say.
    Yeah, the elevator's not working. We got that now.
    I take the steps. Six more in my descent puts me at eye level with him. The man flicks the cigarette on the ground and crushes it into a smear of charred tobacco on the stairwell. I look at each face before me.
    I swallow hard. “ Adios ,” I say, turning the corner and moving two steps down. Then four.
    The sixth feels like a small