Chapter One - Maddie
NINE YEARS AGO
The call ends and I just stare at the phone for a few seconds, lost in the news. The party going on around me disappears as I retreat into my thoughts, seeking solitude to process.
“Hey,” Scotty says, coming into the kitchen with a few empty plates. He stacks them in the sink while I remain quiet, then looks at me with a funny grin. “Why so down, Red?”
I smile back. Because he’s so… Scotty. Smiling is his default setting. “I had a birthday present for you,” I say. “But looks like it’s not gonna happen.”
He comes over, pulls me into one of his warm big-brother hugs, and kisses me on the head. “I got everything I need from you today, Maddie.”
I let out a small laugh. “I didn’t even give you anything.”
He leans back, but doesn’t release me from his hug. “You’re here, right?”
I roll my eyes.
“That’s all I need.”
“Yeah.” I sigh. Because I feel the same way about him when it’s my birthday. As long as he’s there that day, I don’t need a present. “But… it was Tyler.”
“Oh,” he says. Then he pokes me in the ribs, which is my most sensitive tickle spot, and that makes me double over laughing. “Sneaky Pete. Good one, though. What happened?”
I wriggle out of his grip. “Flight got messed up. He just called,” I say, waving my phone at him.
“Well, that’s how it goes in the military, right? They tell you what to do and where to go. Maybe next time, eh?”
“Sure,” I say, not feeling it. “Yeah. Maybe next time.”
“Jeez, sis. You look like someone killed your kitten. We’ll see him again.”
I nod, inhaling a deep breath of air, then letting it out, saying, “I know.”
Scotty leans down into my face to get a better look at me. “Yeah. So… Is something else going on?”
“Like what?” I ask. Probably too quickly.
“I dunno. You tell me. But you look pretty upset.”
I feel pretty upset too. But I’m not sure why, exactly. I was really looking forward to this surprise. And not just because of Scotty. I mean, I want to make him happy and seeing Tyler again would turn his twenty-first birthday into something really spectacular. But… I was looking forward to Tyler. He’s been gone for three years. And I just… miss him.
He was a fixture at our house ever since his mom died. Practically one of the family. I hated him when I was smaller. He was forever teasing me about my hair. Or making comments about how much I liked to read. Or playing jokes on me in front of my friends.
He was a jerk.
And then that last day, right before he went off to basic, he came over from next door to say goodbye, and I stayed in my room and refused to come out. I was so sad that day. It made no sense, but every time I thought of him leaving to join the military, tears would well up in my eyes and my throat would get all tight and…
He opened my door and said, “Yo. Gotta go now, Mads.” A nickname he called me for as long as I could remember because I have the proverbial fiery redhead temperament. A nickname I hated. Until I didn’t. “You planning on saying goodbye?”
I just shrugged.
“Okay, firecracker. I’ll see you when I see you then.” And he shot me one of those lopsided grins and then gave me a salute as he closed the door.
“Tyler!” I called.
He opened it back up again. “Yeeesss?” he said, still smiling. Like he knew I wouldn’t let him go off to war without saying goodbye.
But I had no intention of saying goodbye. I whispered, “Please come back.”
His face went serious. Instantly. And then he pressed his lips together, swallowed hard, and nodded his head. “Promise, Mads. I’ll always come back. And if you ever need me, I’m there, OK? You just call and I’ll be there. K?”
I nodded, reluctantly. He gave me a kiss on my forehead, winked at me, and then… he was just gone.
Evan comes into the kitchen, bringing me back into the present with him. “Yo,” he says, making Scotty forget we’re in the middle of a conversation. “Are we gonna hit the strip club or what? If we have to do this, let’s get it over with. Maybe I can meet some confused and lonely traveling salesman or something.” He claps Scotty on the arm, and Scotty turns to me.
“We’re gonna go,” he says. “Hey, look at me. I love you. Don’t worry about Tyler. He’s an idiot.” And he smiles that smile that always disarms me. Except this time.
I give him my best non-forced/forced smile and nod. And he gives me a hug and takes off.
“Tyler shouldn’t make promises he can’t keep,” I whisper as Scotty goes.
But Scotty misses it. He’s already over by Evan with his back to me. Already thinking about the night ahead of him.
Already gone. I just didn’t realize it yet.
PRESENT DAY
“Do you know what I do with girls like you, Madison?”
I roll my eyes at Carlos’ rhetorical question. We’ve been driving forever. I’m getting the feeling he’s not gonna kill me. He’s got other things in mind.
He can’t see my reaction. I’ve had my forehead pressed up against the rear passenger window ever since we left Vegas.
“People who cheat me out of money, promise to pay me back, and then go back on their promises?”
I never promised him anything. I’ve told him all along that it’s not my fault. And besides, I’m not the one who breaks promises. I’m not the one who leaves for basic training and never comes back. I’m not the one who fucking refuses to pick up the goddamned phone when someone dies. Or come home for the funeral. Or fucking… give a goddamn shit.
“It’s not a rhetorical question,” Carlos snaps.
Oh. “Well.” I sigh. “I assume you probably kill us.”
“Usually,” he says. “But I like you, Madison. And that is why you’re here. I believe we can come to an… understanding.”
Great. So it’s probably gonna be torture or rape. Or something equally cool, like sex slavery. I can’t wait.
The car slows and we turn into a long driveway that leads up to a sprawling Mediterranean-style mansion. I try not to look interested, but I can’t help it. I’m at Carlos Castillo’s compound. And even though I should be more afraid than curious, I just can’t muster up the proper level of fear.
Not after what happened last night. After… Tyler.
Why did it have to be him?
I mean… I liked the guy. Ford the lumberjack, that is. Not Tyler the abandoner. I liked that Ford persona. I liked that he never asked too many questions, and he knew just how to fuck me, and he didn’t judge me for being a stripper.
I told my mom about him. Jesus Christ.
“Madison?” Carlos says.
It’s only then that I realize we’ve stopped and everyone is out of the car except me. The guy who was riding in the passenger seat, that other guy who came with Logan the last time they tried to get me—
When Tyler saved you, my angel says.
When Tyler knocked the guy the fuck out and made everything exponentially worse, my devil corrects.
—is holding my door open and Carlos is extending his hand, like I’m his fucking date or something, and he’s gonna help me out of the car.
I don’t take it. Just slide out, still wearing my stupid Reservoir Dogs t-shirt—Tyler’s t-shirt, it even fucking smells like him—and yellow yoga pants that most definitely belong to some long-forgotten slut he once fucked.
“After you, Miss Clayton,” Carlos says.
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.
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!”