Dirty Angels 01 by Karina Halle Read Free Book Online

drinking too much. For a split second I wondered if I could marry this man, let alone share his bed. There was just nothing to attract me to him. If he had a good personality, it might have been different. But he didn’t have that, not even when he was faking it.
    “I am sorry, princess,” he said, still overly polite with me. “I’m afraid I cannot stick around Los Cabos any longer. It is no longer safe.”
    Well, you were kind of flaunting that you were here , I thought to myself but didn’t dare say.
    He reached into the back of his pants and pulled out a small, cloth wallet. He took my hands in his and placed it in them. “Here. This is one thousand American dollars. It’s enough to take care of you for the next month, just as I promised. But it’s not enough to buy you a new life, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
    I opened my mouth to protest, fear coursing through me.
    He shook his head. “I am only joking,” he said, though I could tell from the cold, wicked glint to his eyes that he wasn’t. “But in one month, I will be back for you. We will have our wedding less than a week after that. Don’t worry about the dress, I will pick that out for you as well.”
    I could only stare dumbly at him. “We’ll be getting married in a month…”
    “More or less,” he said. “I thought you’d be happier.”
    I forced a smile on my face and leaned over, placing my hand on his clammy arm. I swallowed my revulsion. I played my part. “I am happy. Very happy. I am just surprised and sad that you are leaving me for so long.”
    He smiled at that, his bushy mustache twitching up, droplets of sweat gathering in it. “You will survive. You have until now. And after we are married, you will always be at my side. You will never be alone again.”
    Those words rang through my head as I later drove back home, toward my mother and father, the fat wallet on the seat beside me. I had one month to enjoy my life as it was before it would change for good.

C HAPTER FOUR
    Javier
    T he whore was beautiful.
    Then again, Este usually did have good taste in women, if not in fashion. I watched as she walked uneasily down the cobblestone driveway, heading toward the guards at the gate, heading toward freedom. She reminded me of a spindly-legged fawn, her high heels a poor match for the uneven ground, and for one brief moment I felt sorry for her. Pity, even. Such a pretty thing selling her body for riches that never came. She only got money, but that was never what the whore really wanted. What she really wanted, she would never, ever get.
    She was better off dead.
    And at that thought, the twinge of pity was gone.
    I watched as she approached the gate. Though the two guards were facing forward, their eyes hidden by sunglasses, I could tell they were exchanging a look, wondering who was going to kill her first. Orders were orders.
    They didn’t need to debate for long. A shot rang out, a bullet to the back of her head, and the whore fell to the ground slowly, as if she had just grown too tired to stand. Blood began to flow from her head.
    I craned my neck, mildly curious to see who had done it. I couldn’t see anyone but the guards, which meant it had to have been Franco. It had turned into a hobby for him lately, as if he discovered he had a taste for being a sniper, but it was better the whores than anyone else at the compound.
    Somewhere I knew my gardener, Carlos, was cursing himself. Franco never disposed of the bodies, and it would be Carlos’s job once again to do something with her, wash away the red mess from the hot stones. Naturally, he would never complain to me, or someone else would have to clean up his own blood.
    There was a knock at the door behind me. I kept my hands behind my back, my eyes glued to the blood that was pouring out of her head, a hypnotic, moving painting.
    “Come in,” I said. I didn’t have to turn around to know it was Este. “What was the whore’s name?” I asked, still staring at