Page 34 of Angels Fall

Maddie’s yelling, “Fuck you, motherfucker! Fuck you, and fuck Carlos, and fuck all of you bitches!” The door guy is not small, but he’s trying to hold onto an out-of-control wildfire that’s scorching the earth. She shoots out of his hands and is on top of Logan again in a flash, like an escaping lick of flame.

“You tell him that his daughter is the fucking whore who’s responsible for paying him his money back! And tell him that if he thinks he’s gonna stick his rotten cock inside me, he’s living in fantasy land! If he, or you, ever touch me again, I will feed both of you your fucking hearts!”

Jesus. I swear to God, I’m gonna come in my pants. This is the hottest shit I’ve ever seen.

Pete’s on the scene now. One of the girls must’ve gone up to his office to get him because he’s rumbled down the stairs with purpose in his ambling stride.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Hey! Scarlett! Maddie! Knock it off!”

He comes up from behind and as he bends over to reach for her, the short sleeves on his button-down Aloha shirt rise up his biceps enough that I can just make out a faded tattoo. It’s the tip of a spear with a sword inside and three lightning bolts crisscrossing the blade. A Special Forces tattoo. Shit, good old grandfatherly Pete was a Green Beret. I knew I liked the guy.

He wraps Maddie in a bear hug and pulls her off Logan, lifts her up, and holds her in the air, her bare feet still thrashing about untameably.

Red hair sprays across her face with the shaking of her head and Pete grips her tighter as she rips one arm free, points at Logan and bellows, “I don’t give a fuck! I don’t give a FUCK! Come at me, motherfucker! Let’s go! Let’s fucking go!”

Yep. A little bit just slipped out of the tip of my dick, I’m pretty sure.

This Logan asshole is bleeding from the nose, mouth, eye, and—I think—ear? Jesus, she covered all the bases. He stumbles to his feet and backwards, spitting blood on the floor.

“Hey!” Pete shouts. “Not on the carpet!”

(In fairness to Logan, it’s a pretty dumb idea to have carpet in a fucking strip club. Like a goddamn Petri dish.)

Logan’s panting in and out heavily, trying to catch his breath. An ass-kicking’ll do that to you. I fade back into the far corner. I’m clearly not needed here, but I don’t wanna duck out yet, just in case.

Unlucky Logan (which is what I’ve decided to call him) is teetering, trying to find his feet against the floor, and I’m just about to laugh when he whips out a gun from his jacket, points it at Maddie, and says, “You’re dead, bitch.”

If you asked me to tell you the story of how I covered the space between me and him and rammed the barrel of the pistol I’m carrying against the side of his temple before he had a chance to pull the trigger on his, there’s no fucking way I could tell it. I have no idea. But it’s what happens.

“Hey, Logan!” I say brightly. “I’ve missed you. How’s things? Eating enough? You look thin.”

His shoulders drop. Because of course they do. Because I don’t know whose fucking nephew or cousin this jackass is, but he is shitty at being a bad guy.

“Tyler?” Maddie shouts, as she allows herself to go a little more still against the broad barrel of Pete’s chest.

“Hey, Maddie. What’s up?” I ask it as casually as I can. Given the present situation, that’s not really all that fucking casual.

“What the fuck?” she yells as Pete releases his hold and lets her stand on the ground. “Why are you here right now?”

“I, um…” I’m not sure how to answer, so I just say, “Hi, Pete.”

“Tyler.” He nods to me.

Maddie starts after Logan again. Or it’s possible she’s coming after me. Either way, both of us flinch before Pete grabs her by the arm and stops her.

“Scarlett?” he says.

“What?” She spins on him and her hair kind of hits him in the face.

“Why don’t you go on and head home?”

“I’m not going fu—”

“It’s not a request, Maddie.”

She stares at Pete. She turns and stares at Logan. Then she stares at me. Then she starts to say something to me. Then she stops. Then she turns away. Then she turns back. Then she starts to speak again. Then she stops. Then she shakes her head. Then she picks up one of her shoes. Then she looks for the other one. Then one of the other girls finds it and hands it to her. Then she picks up her pitchfork. Then she holds her pitchfork in one hand and her shoes in the other and stares at me. Then she starts to say something. Then she stops.

And then she leaves.