Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1) by Marita A. Hansen

sniggered, “Markus is more muscular than
he is.”
    She leaned closer to me, her grin turning lewd.
“What about the most important muscle a man has?” She wriggled her eyebrows again,
obviously referring to Markus’s dick. “Would you give it an excellence, a
merit, or an achievement?” she asked, stating all the school grades.
    “An excellence,” I giggled.
    Her grin widened. “Did you know that the
day he arrives in Auckland is ‘Be Nice to a Spinster Day’? Tradition dictates
that you must loan your husband to a spinster for twenty-four hours. By the
way, I’m a spinster and would be happy to help your husband out of his clothes.”
    I burst into a fit of snorting laughter,
almost spilling my drink on her. I put it down and wiped my eyes.
    “Does that mean it’s a yes to loaning me
blondie?”
    “I’ll have a talk to Markus,” I said,
playing along with her joke.
    “I’m sure he’ll say yes. After all, I have
a lot to offer.” She pulled a face. “Unfortunately, it’s all in my stomach.”
She glanced down at her chair. “And my arse.” She looked back up. “Hope he
likes women who wear granny knickers, because Paul wasn’t lying about them.”
    I laughed again, which received a loud, “Good
God! You sound like a pregnant pig about to give birth to Godzilla.”
    I turned around to see who’d insulted me,
finding a woman in her early thirties staring at me as though I had a monstrous
pimple on my forehead. She had snow-white hair and was standing in front of
another woman who looked a little like me, just a decade older. I wondered why
they were even here since their attire was far too expensive to be from this
side of town. They gave off the air of socialites, their jewellery a statement
of wealth rather than taste.
    “While you look like a trumped-up bitch,”
Beverly snapped at the mouthy woman. “So take your nouveau rich-trash arse back
to the City, or wherever your sugar daddy is, before I pop your fake tits.”
    The woman’s eyes widened. “Watch what you
say, you fat bitch,” she growled, stepping into Beverly’s personal space.
    Beverly pushed off her stool, coming nose
to nose with her. “I may be a fat bitch, but I punch like a MMA fighter,
so get your face out of mine pronto, skank.”
    The other woman grabbed her friend’s arm,
her expression worried. “Let’s go, Sierra,” she said, her voice sounding too girly
for a woman in her thirties.
    Sierra continued to eyeball Beverly, who
was looking like she really wanted to punch her.
    “Sierra, we didn’t come here for this.
Let’s go see if that gorgeous guy’s arrived.”
    A lewd smile pulled at Sierra’s mouth.
“Yeah, time to ditch the fat bitch for some fat dick.” She spun around on her
stilettos and headed for the door, wriggling her fingers. “ Ciao , ugly.”
    I sat back down on my stool, urging
Beverly to do the same, though she was shaking, looking like she wanted to go
after the woman. “Don’t listen to her,” I said, placing a hand over Beverly’s.
“You’re not fat or ugly. You have the most gorgeous head of hair and a
lovely face.”
    She exhaled a shaky sigh. “You don’t need
to lie to make me feel better.”
    “I’m not.”
    Her face scrunched up. “Then why doesn’t
Paul want me? Why doesn’t any man want me?”
    “Maybe you’re looking in the wrong
places.” I indicated to our surroundings. “Like here.”
    “Or maybe I need a real drink.” She
indicated for the bartender to come over, ordering a martini.
    I watched her down it in two gulps, aware
I was now the designated driver.

 
    7
    DANTE
    I jogged to the pub, ecstatic that one of
my customers wanted to buy the rest of my coke supply. For the first time since
I’d started selling drugs, I was having a major problem shifting dust. Lately,
everyone was only after small quantities, which meant a lot more running
around. I’d barely managed to get rid of half of the supply, which was really
unusual, not to mention stressful,