Page 3 of Angels Fall

As if, right? As if I have any other option.

I start off, Carlos too close to my ass if you ask me, Logan and Other Guy bringing up the rear. I don’t think anyone has a gun out anymore. But we are—literally— in the middle of nowhere. Hell, we might actually be in damn Mexico for all I know. Took us long enough to get here.

When we get to the door it opens from the inside. Servants are all lined up in the grand foyer to greet their master in some bizarre modern-day drug-lord rendition of an English manor house. It occurs to me that I might not’ve taken him seriously enough. The whole thing feels very Pablo Escobar.

Carlos waves a hand in the servants’ general direction, which must be the signal for them to scatter and disappear, because that’s exactly what they do. And then he says, “Show Miss Clayton to her room,” and walks off with Logan.

Other Guy looks at me, like he’s just as unsure about this shit as I am, and then shrugs and says, “Venga.”

I follow dutifully, excited about the fact that my destination is a room and not a cell. And we end up in a modest bedroom with an interior door opening to a small en suite bath.

Other Guy says, “Vuelve más tarde,” and leaves, locking the door behind him on the outside.

I walk over to the window—which has bars on it, so I guess it’s a cell after all—and decide, with a long, tired, sad exhale, that this is not good.

No fucking shit, dummy, my devil says.

It’s going to be okay, the angel counters. If he was going to kill you, he’d have done it already. He wants something.

Yeah. He wants you to suck his big, fat tamale.

No, Angel counters. Stay positive, Maddie.

The power of positive thinking is a myth, Devil says. You need a plan, bitch.

Yes, Angel says. Get to a phone and call Tyler.

Tyler? Devil snorts. Fuck that twatbasket. Guy is just a long list of disappointments and no-shows. You play along, Scar. Tell El Chapo what he wants to hear, get the fuck out of Dodge, and then we can devise a plan that doesn’t involve Tyler no-show Morgan. Because he’s just another mistake waiting to happen.

I kinda like this devil. He’s so goddamned practical. And right. Every single time.

I’m ten paces past exhausted from last night’s revelation and the long drive. Not to mention the situation I’m currently in. Whatever the hell that is. So I flop down on the bed and just… rest my eyes.

“Wake up.”

I force my eyes open to find Logan peering down at me. For a second I wonder where the hell I am. But only for a second. The whole mess comes rushing back like a brick to the chest. My heart feels heavy and empty at the same time.

Tyler. Morgan.

“Shower, get dressed, and be ready for dinner in an hour. I’ll be back to get you.” Logan, apparently satisfied that his sentence makes perfect sense to me, leaves, locking the cell door from the outside.

I prop myself up on my elbows and wonder if it’s normal for prisoners to fall asleep like I did.

Who cares, Devil says. Just play along and see where that gets you.

It’s gonna get her a ticket straight to the place you come from, Angel says.

Like chick isn’t already on that train, he retorts.

“Fuck you both. And get the hell off my shoulders.”

There’s a dress on the bed. It’s white, low-cut, and looks like it’ll barely hit me high-thigh when it’s on. And there’s a pair of red stilettos that would look right at home on stage at Pete’s. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

No way I’m putting this shit on.

But… I feel gross from all the (fabulous) sex last night. Not to mention I’m wearing another woman’s pants. So yeah. There’s worse things than cleaning up and changing for dinner.

I roll my eyes at myself. Because this is a serious situation right now. I’ve basically been kidnapped. But the devil’s right. I should just play along and see what happens, because I can’t see any way around all that’s happening, so I decide to just put my head down and drive straight through.