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Authors: Victoria Scott
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is so damn happy . She wouldn’t sell her soul for anything I could give her.”
“Well, if you didn’t like that, this is going to feel like a swift kick to the nuts.” Max fidgets with his jacket collar. “When the Assistant gave me the contract, she told me there’d be—how’d she put it—Donkey Dick–Sized Consequences if the girl wasn’t brought in on time.”
“Well, isn’t that just freaking wonderful. Consequences. There will be consequences.” Every time I say consequences , Max winces and nods. “Glad to hear the Assistant still has her sense of humor.”
So now my promotion—and who knows what else—is riding on this assignment. This is turning out to be a grand ole time. It’s not that I mind the added pressure. I thrive under pressure. No. I thrive under normal conditions. Under pressure, I blow people’s minds. Besides, what’s the worst they’d do? Deny my promotion?
I let that sink in—the realization that I could lose my only chance to escape the worst place anyone could imagine. Max is biting his fingernails. “Max?”
“Yeah,” he says way too loud.
“I’m going to bring this girl in. I don’t need the contract.”
Max smiles with his entire face. “There’s the guy who trained me, you sexy son-of-a-bitch. I knew you could do this. I told the Assistant, I said, ‘Do you even know who you’re dealing with here? Pfft. Pfft.’”
“You definitely didn’t say that.”
“Nope. I sure as hell didn’t. That woman would’ve cut my junk off. And I need my junk. Especially tonight. What with all the Peachville honeys I’m trottin’ with.” He pops his collar and struts toward the door, trying to make his usual dramatic exit.
“Max Turner, born a lady-killer, died a lady-killer…and damn it if he isn’t still lining ’em up and knocking ’em down.”
Max freezes at the door, his hand on the silver knob. He throws me a small smile over his shoulder. “I wasn’t always like this, Dante. People change when shit happens.”
He walks out the door, and I wonder what he meant by that. The only Max I’ve ever known is the guy he is now, so I don’t buy what he’s selling.
I reach inside my pocket and fumble for a second, fingering lint. Then I feel it—my penny. I pull it out and roll it between my thumb and pointer. The date and the word Liberty are misaligned. It’s called doubled die, and it happened over half a century ago in 1955, when workers at the Philadelphia Mint screwed up. Their error made this penny worth several hundred dollars. But for me, it’s not about the value.
It’s a lifeline to my past.
Shoving the penny back into my pocket, I pick the soul contract up off the floor. I don’t need to read the fine print. Like every other collector, I’ve heard the stories. And I’m sure I’m right about Charlie. That she’d never agree to it.
Which means exactly one thing: I’ve got to play this night like a P-I-M-P.
Chapter Ten
Red Dress
I pull up in Elizabeth Taylor at exactly 9:00 p.m. Fighting the urge to honk, I kill the engine and walk to the door, the garment bag folded over my arm.
After Max left my hotel room, I decided on classing it up for the party. I’m sporting my black Boss dress shirt—sleeves rolled up, of course—dark jeans, and my red Chucks. Even sprayed on my favorite scent, Safari. Because it’s a little dirty, like me. If Charlie doesn’t dig my get up, I’ll expose her for what she is: asexual.
Grams opens the door after I’ve knocked only once. I guess she was expecting me. Her eyes drink me in, and a smile finds her mouth. “If I didn’t know better,” she says, “I’d think the devil just showed up on my doorstep.”
Normally I’d laugh my ass off at the irony of this statement, but I’m strung out, so I feel like shoving a bright light in her face and screaming, “What do you know?!”
Instead, I smile as Grams puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me inside. I’m wondering if there’ll be a
“Well, if you didn’t like that, this is going to feel like a swift kick to the nuts.” Max fidgets with his jacket collar. “When the Assistant gave me the contract, she told me there’d be—how’d she put it—Donkey Dick–Sized Consequences if the girl wasn’t brought in on time.”
“Well, isn’t that just freaking wonderful. Consequences. There will be consequences.” Every time I say consequences , Max winces and nods. “Glad to hear the Assistant still has her sense of humor.”
So now my promotion—and who knows what else—is riding on this assignment. This is turning out to be a grand ole time. It’s not that I mind the added pressure. I thrive under pressure. No. I thrive under normal conditions. Under pressure, I blow people’s minds. Besides, what’s the worst they’d do? Deny my promotion?
I let that sink in—the realization that I could lose my only chance to escape the worst place anyone could imagine. Max is biting his fingernails. “Max?”
“Yeah,” he says way too loud.
“I’m going to bring this girl in. I don’t need the contract.”
Max smiles with his entire face. “There’s the guy who trained me, you sexy son-of-a-bitch. I knew you could do this. I told the Assistant, I said, ‘Do you even know who you’re dealing with here? Pfft. Pfft.’”
“You definitely didn’t say that.”
“Nope. I sure as hell didn’t. That woman would’ve cut my junk off. And I need my junk. Especially tonight. What with all the Peachville honeys I’m trottin’ with.” He pops his collar and struts toward the door, trying to make his usual dramatic exit.
“Max Turner, born a lady-killer, died a lady-killer…and damn it if he isn’t still lining ’em up and knocking ’em down.”
Max freezes at the door, his hand on the silver knob. He throws me a small smile over his shoulder. “I wasn’t always like this, Dante. People change when shit happens.”
He walks out the door, and I wonder what he meant by that. The only Max I’ve ever known is the guy he is now, so I don’t buy what he’s selling.
I reach inside my pocket and fumble for a second, fingering lint. Then I feel it—my penny. I pull it out and roll it between my thumb and pointer. The date and the word Liberty are misaligned. It’s called doubled die, and it happened over half a century ago in 1955, when workers at the Philadelphia Mint screwed up. Their error made this penny worth several hundred dollars. But for me, it’s not about the value.
It’s a lifeline to my past.
Shoving the penny back into my pocket, I pick the soul contract up off the floor. I don’t need to read the fine print. Like every other collector, I’ve heard the stories. And I’m sure I’m right about Charlie. That she’d never agree to it.
Which means exactly one thing: I’ve got to play this night like a P-I-M-P.
Chapter Ten
Red Dress
I pull up in Elizabeth Taylor at exactly 9:00 p.m. Fighting the urge to honk, I kill the engine and walk to the door, the garment bag folded over my arm.
After Max left my hotel room, I decided on classing it up for the party. I’m sporting my black Boss dress shirt—sleeves rolled up, of course—dark jeans, and my red Chucks. Even sprayed on my favorite scent, Safari. Because it’s a little dirty, like me. If Charlie doesn’t dig my get up, I’ll expose her for what she is: asexual.
Grams opens the door after I’ve knocked only once. I guess she was expecting me. Her eyes drink me in, and a smile finds her mouth. “If I didn’t know better,” she says, “I’d think the devil just showed up on my doorstep.”
Normally I’d laugh my ass off at the irony of this statement, but I’m strung out, so I feel like shoving a bright light in her face and screaming, “What do you know?!”
Instead, I smile as Grams puts an arm around my shoulder and leads me inside. I’m wondering if there’ll be a
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