Page 9 of Angels Fall

Devil’s a pragmatist.

“Please,” I say. And then I get on my knees and look up at him. Ugh. This fucking sucks. “Please, Carlos. I’m sorry. Please just give me the chance to pay you back and make it right.”

I should see if any of the shows in Vegas need a bitch who can cry on cue because right now, I’m Meryl fucking Streep.

He looks at me dubiously, but clearly it’s working a little, and finally he says, “You’ve got two weeks.”

“Two weeks?” I stand back up. “You know I can’t come up with a hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars in two weeks! That’s not even reasonable!” Oops. Oh, well. It was an honest reaction.

He smiles at me. A nauseating, sick smile that turns my stomach. “Your parents could get that money together.”

How the fuck does he know anything about my parents? Shit.

“I—I can’t. They don’t have any money.”

“Maddie,” he drawls, slowly, “I’m being more gracious than you have any right for me to be. Do not insult me.”

“I can’t,” I say. “I can’t ask my parents to pay off a debt I don’t even—” The look he shoots me stops my sentence there.

I start pacing back and forth in front of the table. My red stripper shoe gets stuck in a crack between the pavers and I have this stupid, embarrassing moment when I almost fall. But then Other Guy catches me with a hard grip on my arm.

Carlos is still looking annoyingly patient when I shrug off his thug and finally get myself together. “Fine. Don’t ask them. I will get what I want one way or another. But I cannot even imagine the pain they would feel at losing another child. The way they lost poor Scotty was terrible enough. The things that could happen to you…”

He sucks in air through his teeth and I almost pass out thinking about everything that’s wrapped up in those four sentences.

Focus, Devil says. Calm down, tell him what he wants to hear, and focus on negotiating.

Fuck. What the hell would I ever do without the devil to guide me?

I sit. I take deep breaths. I study Carlos as he sits there and looks smug and satisfied. I cross my legs, fold my hands in my lap, and say, “Look. I’ll pay you back, OK? I promise. But I can’t do it in two weeks. Just give me time.”

“How much time?” Carlos asks.

Start high, Devil says. You can always go down.

“Six months?” I say.

Carlos laughs. “Three weeks.”

Don’t panic, Devil says in my ear. Just renegotiate.

“Three months,” I say.

“One month.”

“Two months,” I say. “Come on, Carlos! Please! You know that’s fair!”

It’s never gonna happen, but two months is enough time to come up with a plan. Like hire a hit man to take him out, or something.

Now you’re thinking like a sinner! I mean a winner! Devil says. Smartass.

“Six weeks,” Carlos says. And then he pounds his fist on the table and makes all the silverware jump. “That’s it! Six weeks. And if you don’t have it…” He stands, comes over to me, takes my hand, lifts me up from my chair, presses himself close to me, placing his hand on the inside of my thigh, shoving his fucking face into my hair and smelling it, whispering into my ear, “Well, you should just feel very lucky that I have a soft spot for you, Madison Clayton.” Then he takes my hand and shoves it onto his crotch. He has an erection. “But that soft spot is not here.” He presses my hand hard into the fabric of his trousers so I can feel the outline of his dirty fucking dick and I grimace.

Then he pushes me away, snaps his fingers and says, “Take her home.”

And then Other Guy grabs me by my arm, this time not being careful with me, and drags me back into the house and straight out the other side into the courtyard where the car is parked.

“Vamonos. Entra,” he says, pointing to the passenger seat.