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“Okay…”
She tore it out of the book and handed it to him. He said, “You didn’t sign it.”
“Sign it? Oh…right…” She scribbed her signature shakily in the corner.
“Angel C.,” the rich man read slowly. “Alright. Thanks, Angel.”
“Yeah…” She shuffled her feet. “You know, Mister? Don’t be flashing big money around here. It ain’t a good neighborhood like where you from, probably.”
“I can handle myself.”
Their eyes met. Angel gripped the hundred-dollar bill with sweaty hands. Renee came back with his food. The man paid her, and walked out with a smile on his face and not a backwards glance for Angel. He stared at the drawing for a second before climbing into his Benz and pulling out. She hoped his stupid ass didn’t come back, ‘cause if anybody saw some corporate white boy moving all that around they would have robbed him naked.
The party setoff at ten o’ clock on Thursday night. Poboy’s spot was where it happened. By eleven the house was choked wall to wall in thick blunt smoke and the smell of liquor was like a visible haze in every room.
Loud music rumbled the house to its roots.
Angel didn’t have to do shit but sit down and stay quiet. Poboy told her to keep her mouth shut and stay out of the way. In the past when Angel was allowed to mingle with the rest of the set, one of them inevitably made a move and ended up on Poboy’s bad side. With his quick-ass temper, Poboy could turn a regular kickback into a bloodbath and Angel was often the trigger.
She watched him, short and fat and old, cutting it up with his crew of yes-men. Poboy was just a sociopath and a murderer. There wasn’t anything great about him except his cruelty. He was her jailer and one day he would force her to sleep with him. Because of him, she could never leave the Heights.
Later in thenight he came into her bedroom. “Get up, get up.”
She shot to her feet. He dragged her towards him by the back of her neck and breathed in her ear, “You a special bitch to me, Angel. You young and fine. I could turn you out and make money off that tight young pussy. But I won’t. ‘Cause I don’t share my bitches.” His evil eyes bored into hers. “Let me catch a nigga looking your way I’ll cut his throat and then yours.”
He pressed his thumb into the bruise next to her mouth. Hard. It hurt. “Take off your panties,” he ordered.
“No!”
He hit her, and she knew from experience refusal would make it worse. So much worse. On the other hand, he might get bored if she followed his every command like a robot. Angel removed her panties and put them in his outstretched hand.
“Remember, Angel. I own this pussy,” he snarled. He pushed her against the wall and thrust a finger inside her. She was dry and it hurt. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, imagining herself on the beach.
“You was just seventeen. Pretty young bitch…You was made for me. I own this pussy. I own you. Don’t motherfucking forget that.”
He took his finger out and shoved it in her mouth. He thrust against her tongue. She tasted herself, salty and sweet. His bloodshot eyes glazed over as he tracked the slow thrust of his fingers between her lips. He was drunk and high on cocaine.
“Yeah, Angel. Yeah. Matter of fact…” He removed his fingers and began tearing at her clothes. “Get these off.”
No…No!
“No…not with everybody outside. Please.”
“Do what the fuck I tell you.”
She took all her clothes off and sat down on the bed, hugging herself to stop the shaking. She was afraid and upset. She knew sex meant nothing, but if he did it to her, she would lose the one part of herself she had never given to anybody.
Poboy loomed over her, the dark light of the side lamp throwing him in a demonic shadow. His green eyes glittered as he drank her terror down like Hennessy.
“When I come back, I better see you sitting right here,” he rasped.
He stroked himself through his trainers a couple times, watching her. Angel had a pretty, curvaceous figure. Deep red-brown skin. Wide eyes and a bounty of thick black hair that curled out like the crown of a palm tree. Her nipples were big and dark. Her tummy was soft and plump, the kind a man liked to squeeze while he fucked.
“Stay here,” he ordered, still watching her as he reached for the half-empty Henny bottle he’d left on the nightstand. He took a deep drink, watching her. “Damn,” he said. “Damn. Pretty young bitch…”
Angel shivered. She just wanted him to leave.
“You love me?” he said suddenly. He sounded like a little boy to Angel. The hair stood up on her neck.
