Page 4 of Angels Fall

By the time Logan comes to collect me I’m showered, changed, and feeling optimistic. I mean, none of this looks much like any Lifetime movie drug-lord kidnapping I’ve ever seen.

I follow him down the hallway, back to the foyer and then outside onto an expansive patio. The sun went down hours ago, so the night air is cool and breezy.

“Madison. Please. Sit,” Carlos says, motioning to the only empty seat at a small, intimate, patio table. There’s a bottle of champagne and bread already waiting “We’ve got a lot to talk about. And you’ve got decisions to make, Miss Clayton.”

“Just call me Maddie,” I say, placing my napkin in my lap and reaching for the bread. I’m fucking starving.

Carlos makes a “very well” gesture with his hands, and pours us each a glass of champagne. Then he sits back, smiles, and says, “So. You owe me—”

“I do not owe you,” I say, my take-it-all-in-stride attitude disappearing as I become fed up with this whole stupid situation. “You hired me, for fuck’s sake. And then I hired people to get you what you wanted. Which was a wedding for your daughter. It’s not my fault you guys called off the wedding. In fact, it’s completely unreasonable for you to expect me to return that money. I don’t have it. Go ask the fucking caterers for it back. Or the goddamned reception hall. Or the fucking florists! They’re the ones who have your money.”

Carlos cocks his head at me. Sits there silent for a second. “Are you done?”

I snort and drop my bread onto my plate. “Sure. Whatever.”

“None of that is the point.”

“What the fuck do you mean it’s not the point? That’s all the fucking points!”

He points his finger at me and says, “Shut up.” I recoil. Slightly. But enough to make him smile at my reaction. “You have two options. Are you ready to hear them?”

I blow out a long breath of air. I want to choke this asshole. Reach across the table, wrap my hands around his throat, and choke him until he gasps. But the devil is whispering in my ear. Play along. Tell him what he wants to hear. So I dial it back, take a deep breath, and say, “Yes. I’d like to hear my options.”

“One,” Carlos says. “You can repay what you owe me. Today.” He points his finger again, just as I’m opening my mouth to protest, and says, “Shut. Up.”

I sit back in my seat, my leg bouncing a mile a minute as my stripper shoe taps out my anxiety on the stone pavers beneath my feet. “What’s the other option?”

He smiles. It’s not a friendly smile. Not a fatherly smile, either. It’s a creepy-as-fuck drug-lord grin that sends chills up my spine. “Stay here with me.”

“Stay—” I have to shake my head to try to wrap it around that statement. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because… I like you. Maddie.”

Uggghh. The way he says my name. I regret telling him to call me that. But Miss Clayton just sounds worse. And Madison sounds like my mom. So I deal.

He stares off into the unknown distance like he’s looking at something. “My last wife attempted to leave me five years ago.” He stops to frown.

My eyebrows go up. I want to ask what he means by “last wife,” I also want to ask what he means by “attempted,” but I’m a little sick at the notion that I already know the answer.

“It was a terrible thing what happened to her after she tried to go, and I miss her. I truly do.” Yep. I knew it was going to be something like that. He continues, “And since then I haven’t found another woman who intrigues me quite the way she did.”

Oh, God. Please don’t tell me…

“Until you,” he finishes. “You must understand… Maddie… people are talking about the stripper who stole one hundred and eighty-five thousand dollars from me. My reputation is being compromised by the notion that I would just allow this to go unaddressed. But they will understand if they see that there is something between us. They will say, ‘Ah, Carlos loves this girl. And that’s why he let her keep that money.’”

Oh, Christ. He’s nuts. Fucking nuts. This argument isn’t even lucid.

He’s moving his head around in a way that looks like he’s trying to seduce me. Either that or he’s having a stroke.

I do a quick check-in with the devil on my shoulder, who says, Shit, kid. I dunno. This is fucking weird.

“Thanks,” I apparently say aloud, because Carlos says, “Thanks? You’re agreeing to these terms?”

“No,” I say, standing up, realizing now that the only way out of this is by gambling that if he really, really has some kind of fucked-up hallucinogenic feelings for me, I might have one card to play. So I lay it all on the line.

“No. I’m not staying here with you. I don’t care if I have to sell my fucking soul to Satan himself. I will pay you back. Because I’m not staying here!”

Chapter Two - Tyler