Erika counted and recorded the 3:00 PM drop. $34,700 in dollars, $380,760 peso.

Higher than usual, she

noted. Tourist money. She could lose track of the weather down here, but up north was under a cold
spell, so it made sense. In so much as throwing your money away on table games and dancing girls from
the front of the house made sense. She put it in the case, closed and locked it. It wasn’t enough to
require a security escort to the cage, which was just as well to her. She’d rather avoid them.

It was the last drop of her day. She’d be glad to get back to her apartment, even with its less-than-
optimal air conditioning.

She closed up and exited to the staff floor. Security ahead. Also a higher number than usual. She kept
her eyes down, avoiding both eye contact and hopefully all contact.

Passing the first one now. She didn’t look at him, but she could still sense him, and smell him. They all
smelled like a men’s cologne factory. That would have been immediately repellent if everything else
about them didn’t already serve that purpose. They were big guys, monstrously big guys, and mean-
looking. They had that same air of squalid barbarism underground fighters had, and probably were ones
or used to be. There were plenty of money streams running through this place she’d heard rumor of.

She’d made of point of never looking at any of them, ever, and never meeting their eyes, ever, like one
did with salesmen or carnival barkers. She knew that going in, never to do that, never make eye contact.
But this one was looking at her, she could feel his stare, and she couldn’t stop herself: she looked up.
And yes, he was looking, and now she was looking at him, too. She dropped her eyes to the floor,
clutching the case a little more tightly—it was irrational she knew, but an engrained reaction, like
clutching your purse when walking down an unsavory part of town.

She tried to move faster.

He stepped one giant black wingtip in front of her path. Still keeping her eyes averted, she forced a
steadiness into her voice she didn’t feel.

“Excuse me.”

The sentient mass of muscle didn’t move. She used a louder tone of voice, because maybe he hadn’t
heard her? Foolish, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. She’s was running on fight or flight, and right now
her dial was set to “flight”.

“Excuse me.”

She sensed another presence, behind her. She looked back: another security goon, bigger than the one
blocking her in front.

Her tone got louder and higher, with the slightest hint of panic underneath. “Excuse me. I need to make
a deposit.”

Now there was a third behemoth, angling in from the side.

“Ven.”

Come with us.

She didn’t know which one had spoken. Did it matter? They were all around her.
“I have to turn this over.”

One reached towards her. There was no more hint of panic in her; it was full-blown. She tried to channel
it into something else, anger? Anger was safer. Condescension.

“Excuse me. I have a job to do.”

The hand came closer, and she danced away from it…directly into the chest of another one.

“Excuse me! You’re in my way.”

So inane, she thought, even as it left her lips.

The one behind her had her by the upper arms.

“El jefe quiere hablar contigo.”

Boss wants to talk to you.

She jerked and struggled. She wouldn’t get loose, couldn’t, she knew that, but she tried anyway. It was
all instinct now.

“I have a job to do! Don’t you get that? Idiots! Assholes!”

As they began to haul her away---they only need one of them to accomplish it; she had no idea why
there we so many—her voice grew even higher. She screamed, trying to catch the eye of anyone they
were pulling her unceremoniously past. Not a one would look at her.

She’d run out of air by the time they reached the private elevator. What was the point? Five bodies plus
hers in the moving metal box. She wasn’t getting away, and no one cared.

They manhandled her out the door and into an office. The big office. His office. She’d never been here
before, but she knew without hesitation it was his.

She moved her glance forward a few feet. A mass, a body, a tailored jacket. Her eyes stopped at chest
level. She had no reason to look any higher.

It was him. The main person she knew never to look at directly. He’d been in the room when she
interviewed—well, it was more a clearance than an interview, really—for her job, but he hadn’t spoken
to her, or spoken at all. Just listened and nodded, presumably.

Every cell in her body was vibrating. She was sure she was going to be sick, whether by vomit, tears, or
urine. She’d been so careful. This shouldn’t have happened. Shouldn’t be happening. One of the goons
pushed her down into a chair, and the body approached. She didn’t look, couldn’t look, though it
seemed to cast a shadow all around her.

A hand came out and took the case out of her grip. Clean—surprisingly, as if he walked around with
blood on his hands--, strong, nut brown, a row of silver skulls on his fingers.

Him.

“Have you been stealing from me?”

Then she did look up and had to catch her breath.

He was…the devil, she thought. The devil, from hell. Velvet dark eyes instead of red, but just as piercing.
Slick, spiraling dark hair in place of horns.

Hardness and innocence in one.

Beautiful.

Evil.

The devil.

He looked at her expectantly, with his head slightly cocked. He was waiting. She answered, the anxiety
driving her to a near babble.

“Count the case. Check my numbers. Search me. Go ahead. Do it. I wouldn’t steal from you. I know what
kind of man you are.”

He smiled, and it was beautiful. A slight gap between the front two teeth, like a mischievous boy, and
the face a little apple-cheeked. It froze her right to the bone.

“I know what kind of man you are. I’d have to be crazy. Or stupid. I’m not stupid. I’d never steal from
you.”

He smiled again, but there was less charm in it. More warning. Threat.

“Maybe you’re one of these smart bitches that knows how to play stupid.”

She bit at her lower lip and tried to steady her breathing. Her heart was ready to burst right out of her
chest and she was sure he knew it, too. “If I was smart would I be in this position at all?”

The smile changed again, to one of genuine amusement. A hand came out, too quick for immediate
reaction, and gave her a light smack on the cheek.

“You humor me. I’ll return the favor. I will check it out. You better hope you’re either as stupid you
claim or smart enough to fool me and everyone else I employ to catch people that try to short me.”

He walked around the other side of the desk and opened a drawer, returning before her with a pen and
notepad.

“I want a list of every item in your purse, in your locker, in your private inbox, in your bank account, all
your passwords.”

She took it from him, hesitant.

“That was clear enough, I hope.”

Her hand shook, but she began to write.

He took the tablet and scanned it briefly, then focused back on her face.

“Do you have any needs to see to?”

“Wha..?”

“To use the facilities? You won’t be leaving that chair until we’ve straightened this out, you and I.”

“No. I’m…I’m fine.”

He left the room then, and her eyes scanned around her. She was being watched, she was sure of it. She
rubbed her hands down the front of her skirt. Below knee, she always wore those here. No-iron button
down shirt. School Sisters of St. Francis approved. Sweat was gathering under her arms and on her
hands. She’d get up and run if there were anywhere to go.

She’d already made all the exits—there were two—so she scanned for a clock. She never wore her
watch here, and only the simplest of jewelry—don’t make eye contact; attract no attention.

She crossed and uncrossed her legs at regular intervals. Buttoned and unbuttoned the top of her blouse.
Twisted and untwisted the confirmation cross necklace. The last gift from her mother, who was the one
she prayed to now.

He wouldn’t find anything. She’d been careful. There was nothing to find.

Minutes, hours, passed. She had no way of knowing but it felt like an eternity. Still, when the door
opened every part of her inside jumped.

He was smiling. That little boy smile, which could mean anything. It was the last thing many had taken to
their grave, she was sure of it. He sat down in front of her, positioned on top of the end of his desk, a
child playing at a man.

It was terrifying.

“You are one lucky bitch. Everything looks clean. Or clean so far, because you’ve caught my eye and I’m
going to keep watching.”

She was finally able to exhale naturally, though she’d already screwed up rule #2: attract no attention.
The last thing she wanted in her life was this man’s attention.

“We still got a problem though, you and I. You made quite a spectacle earlier, when all you had to do
was come talk to me. You got messy, and I can’t have my people thinking I’ll tolerate messiness. That
doesn’t set a good example. So you and I, we need to make sure you’re a good example.”

This wasn’t good. This wasn’t good at all.

He’d seen her fear, or sensed it, as wild dogs were known to do.

“No, I’m not gonna hurt you. We’ll do this the least painful, least distasteful way possible. You’re gonna
have to take the dick, that’s all. Mouth or ass?”

Her eyes could barely focus from her rapid blinking. The response just popped out of her mouth,
without thought.

“Don’t you like pussy?”

He hopped off the end of the desk and came towards her. His grin went from ear to ear, but thin, like
grotesques she’d seen in European cathedrals. He gave her another light slap on the cheek.

“Yeah, you’re a smart bitch, aren’t you? Now you’re getting raped in all three holes. I might even make a
fourth just for the occasion.”

Her next response was thought out, and carefully so. She didn’t hesitate. “What makes you think it’ll be
rape?”

The smile widened from gargoyle to shark. He wrapped one skull-adorned hand behind her neck,
working his fingers into her hair. He lifted her like that, out of the chair. It was a firm grip and didn’t
lessen as he walked her out of the office and down to the staff floor.

She knew what he had in mind. Security had already cleared out the front of the house. Just employees
now. The girls, mostly. That was a mercy, she supposed. The less she thought about it the better.

Two steps up to the bar, her stomach down over it. His hand still entwined in her hair, he lifted her head
up.

“So, tell me, smart bitch, you think it’s a good idea to short me?”

“No.”

“Is it a good idea to steal from me?”

“No.”

“What happens if you do that?”

“You’d hurt me.”

“Did you short me?”

“No.”

“You steal from me?”

“No.”

“So, what am I gonna do with you now?”

“A warning.”

“That’s right.”

He smacked her on the back of the skirt, hard enough she felt it right through it.

“You’re one smart little bitch, aren’t you?”

She pondered the wisdom of it, then gave her answer.

“Yes.”

Two more smacks, harder ones, on the butt.

“So where am I fucking first?”

This was it then. She took a few long inhales through the nose.

“Mouth.”

“Good choice.”

His hold on the back of her head had loosened when he pulled her up. She turned to face him and
dropped to her knees.

The less she thought about it the better.

He’d already…gotten ready and had it out. His hand was still wrapped in her hair, but she knew her part.
And it wouldn’t be rape. Not for a second.