I sat on the floor of my room, waiting. Saturday night moved slowly.
I stood in front of the bathroom mirror in my cramped studio apartment. The fluorescent light above the mirror flickered, making me look like s**t. Outside, the noise of loud motorcycle exhausts and the shouts of fried rice vendors provided the soundtrack to my pathetic life.
Tonight I'm getting out. Just a few hours, but f**k it.
I applied dark red lipstick—the only bold color I managed to hide from Gabriel’s confiscation. My body was clad in a champagne-colored silk slip dress that fell perfectly over my curves. I wrapped myself in a trench coat—couldn't let the security guard see what I was wearing.
Emilio’s message arrived exactly at 7:00 PM.
Oil Vendor: “Driver is downstairs. Plate B 1 RCG. Don't make him wait.”
