Devil's Bargain

He should be more careful. He won a battle. I will win the fucking war.

When I walked out to tell Melissa that Axel would take her home and found that man beside her, having almost cornered her, when I saw his hand on her, I lost my shit. All I saw was red.

Rage.

That idiot boy was touching her.

And she looked scared shitless. Pale as a ghost. Eyes huge. And fucking terrified.

The elevator seems to be crawling tonight as it climbs to the penthouse. I wonder if she’s figured out that she can’t leave it without a key yet. That’s why I don’t keep a man on her in the apartment.

When the doors finally slide open, it’s dark.

I hit the switch and soft light bathes the large, open room.

“Melissa?” I call out, glancing around to find her outside on the balcony. She’s sitting with her feet up against the railing, a bottle of vodka by her side, the glass in her hand. The sliding door is closed which explains why she doesn’t hear me.

I take off my jacket, toss it over the arm of a chair and open the glass door.

She startles, turns to me.

I look at her, see the smeared mascara under her eyes, see how her skin is blotchy from crying.

“What are you doing out here?”

“Getting fresh air,” she says. I hear the slur of her words. “I couldn’t go downstairs. You should give me a key to the elevator. I’m a prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner. You just have to call down if you need something.”

I go out there and pick up the bottle, notice how much she’s emptied. I look down at the city, the people like ants on the street, the constant lights, the sounds muffled a little at this height.

And I think about the drop and the fact that she’s drunk and shouldn’t be out here.

“Come inside,” I tell her.

“I like it out here,” she says, only glancing at me momentarily before returning her gaze to something in the distance.

“You shouldn’t be out here when you’re drunk.”

She smiles, looks up at me. “Afraid I’ll hurl myself over?”

That wasn’t exactly what I was thinking. “Would you?”

Sadness in her eyes again. That child again. Just for a moment.

Then she shakes her head. “I’m too chicken for that.”

Too chicken to do it.

Not no, she’d never think of jumping.

“Come inside now, Melissa.”

She brings her glass to her mouth, notices it’s empty and looks for the bottle on the table, then realizes I have it. She holds her glass out to me.

“Inside. Then you can get some more.”

She mutters something under her breath, stands and immediately stumbles.

I catch her, mutter a curse myself as I walk her in and close the door.

She holds her glass out again.

Instead of pouring for her, I take it from her and set it on the counter.

“You said I could have more,” she says.

“I changed my mind. Did you eat?”

She thinks. “I forgot.”

I shake my head, take my phone out of my pocket and call down to the restaurant. “Send up a sandwich. I don’t care what. Just make it fast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she says as I hang up.

“Our deal, remember? You eat.”

She rolls her eyes, walks to the counter and takes the bottle.

I catch her arm. “You’ve had enough.”

“Get off me.”

“I said it’s enough.” I relieve her of the bottle.

“And I say it’s not,” she says, tugging her arm.

I don’t let her go. “You’re drunk, Melissa. And you will eat something.”

She exhales audibly, turns away, but again, I don’t let her go.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing. Tell me what it is.”

“No personal effects.”

“Yeah, well, now it’s interfering with my time.”

“Time you bought and paid for.”

“Yeah. Something like that. I don’t know why you’re so fucking secretive. You knew that man. He spooked you. Why?”

“None of your business.”

I tug her close. “Like I said, it became my business when it began to interfere with my time.”

She gives me a strange look and I wonder if she’s trying for a grin but then I feel her hands at my stomach, pulling my shirt out, fumbling with the belt of my pants.

“What are you doing, Melissa?”

“Making sure you get what you paid for.” She slurs the words.

“Is it that bad?” I ask. “This secret?”

Her hands stop their work and she looks deep into my eyes, searching them, then resumes, shifting her gaze downward as she succeeds in undoing the belt, the pants.

“You really want the waiter who’s about two floors away to see you on your knees sucking my dick when he gets here?”

Her eyes fly up to mine.

“Didn’t think so,” I say, redoing the fly of my pants, my belt.

On cue, the elevator doors slide open and a waiter pushes a tray inside.

“Sir,” he says, pretending not to see a drunk Melissa stumble her way to the couch.