Amber Eyes Read Online Free Page A

do, to take their master’s kids everywhere they want to go. Once the kids made their exit, Yago crossed his arms and his countenance mutated: His face recovered the reddish hues and his forehead furrowed. He pursed his lips and any trace of a smile vanished. “That goddamned bitch.” He snapped his fingers. “Alexandra, hand me a cold beer.”
    We had a small refrigerator under the kitchenette’s cabinet. I bent to pick up a Budweiser, and Yago scanned my buttocks. The perv was drawing my panties’ shape in the air with a finger. In a second, my face turned hotter than a frying pan and I couldn’t help it.
    “I like it when you blush.” He snatched the Budweiser away from my hand—like a lost Sahara traveler grabbing the only glass of water left. “Makes you look sexy, like a Hooter’s girl.”
    He gulped a large swig of beer and spat, tightening his neck muscles—just as if he’d drunk acid. “Puaaj!” He wiped his mouth with his forearm. “It’s warm, you stupid bitch. Bring me a cold one, damn it!”
    Hoping this wasn’t the start of an argument that would end with me kicked out or beaten, I sprung back to the fridge, quickly touching each beer can. A cold one… a cold one… a cold one… Omigod! All were warm.
    “Like… that’s the coldest one…” I pursed my lips.
    “What the hell’s going on? Why aren’t my beers cold?” His eyebrows joined again into a unibrow.
    I gulped. “It’s not my fault. I had to bathe the twins and there was nothing for dinner. I had no money, so I went to Mrs. Olsen’s first, but she—”
    “What has all that crap got to do with my beers?” He was totally pissed off now. His unibrow stood out even more, and he turned off the TV. Pin-drop silence followed. I curled the apron’s laces around my fingers. “Talk to me girl. Is your first name ‘retarded’? Why aren’t my damned beers cold?”
    This time, he shook the beer can right in front of me, almost touching my nose. I had to cross my eyes to focus and then I tilted backwards. Sweat droplets trickled down my armpits.
    “Like… I think… I forgot to put them in the fridge.” As I talked, an airplane passed over us. The window panes vibrated.
    “You think what? Talk louder, you freak, I can’t hear you.” It wasn’t just the plane’s uproar. Yago enjoyed making me repeat things, even if he’d heard them right the first time. I was paying for Mom’s running out on him, just as I’d feared.
    “Like… I think I forgot to put them in the refrigerator,” I repeated louder. Then I dropped my head, staring at the floor. My hands feel numb so I clenched and opened my fists several times.
    “And I think you’re a stupid li’l lesbian. Do you expect me to drink hot beer, dumb? Ehh? You’re retarded, aren’t you?” He hammered my head with a finger. I ducked and backed off one step.
    “It’s very time consuming to babysit the twins,” I whined. “They’re so demanding!”
    Yago passed a trembling hand through his balding, flaxen hair and snorted.
    “Of course they’re demanding!” He waved both hands in the air, as if he were juggling. “They’re four years old. But you’re fourteen and you’ve nothing else to do , so you must take care of them. I kill myself every day at work and what do I find when I get home? A damned social worker at my door and warm beer? Is it money you need? The Olsen witch is not lending you money anymore? Here, have money!” He produced a roll of bills out of his wallet, all twenties and tens he threw on the little table. “Three hundred bucks. Is that enough for you? Just remember, your dear Mommy just ditched you so it’s my money supporting your dirty dyke butt. Stop being a good for nothing and earn your living here.” He raised a finger, like a school principal. “And don’t even think about bringing your lesbo friend over when I’m not at home. My place is not a whorehouse for you dirty dikes to make out in front of the twins.”
    A wave of heat