Where Angels Fall (The Devil’s Law #1)

1. Maddison

Maddison

Why the hell does every workplace insist on having fluorescent lighting? I can quite literally feel it burning into my brain through my eye sockets. Or maybe it’s the hours on end staring at my computer. I’m starting to go crazy.

Sitting across from my father, Howard Dally, the CEO and owner of Dally Enterprises, I feel the intense need to tell him so. I feel the question on the tip of my tongue, bashing against my lips to slip free.

Father, you are a billionaire for God’s sake, can’t you invest in some mood lighting? Maybe a lamp here and there? Don’t you know that overhead lighting makes you look even more severe than you already do?

But as usual, I keep my mouth shut. Because that is what I’m good at. Unless it’s laughing as older politicians brazenly flirt with me in front of their wives. I’m a darn pro at the nice girl laugh. It falls out of my mouth nearly as easily as breathing.

The perks of being a Dally.

With my back ramrod straight, my professional smile that may as well be sewn onto my face, I pick at my nails as his voice cuts through his lavish office, sharp and stripped of warmth. A voice I hear at all hours of the day, even when I try to sleep.

“Before I forget, Senator Malcolm Hargrove has arranged a dinner with you. For tonight.” I feel my smile slip, my mouth parting slightly, as dread crawls down my spine.

The urge to say no flits into my brain, but only for a split second. I know better than that by now. No, is not a word in my vocabulary. Unless it’s accompanied by, “No, I don’t mind if your sleazy business partner gropes me in the middle of a gala.”

Mr Hargrove is one of the worst, too; beady brown eyes that leer dangerously, followed by too brave hands. Hands that take and take until there is quite literally nothing left and will still continue taking.

My father’s deep eyes narrow on me, deep brown like mine, and I realise I haven’t replied. Plastering my smile back on, I nod politely.

“Of course, Father,” I murmur, a sharp pang of pain from where my fake, French-tipped nail digs too hard into the skin on my thumb.

His eyes fall to the papers in front of him, a clear dismissal. My father wastes no time, only offering me few words and quick meetings. Time is money, he used to say, when I was just a little kid and begged to be able to play in the park.

He must have a lot of time because he has more than enough money. Yet, he is always looking for more.

Promptly, I stand, smoothing down my skirt and turning to leave the room in hurried silence.

“Oh, and Maddison?” His sharp voice cuts through the silent office. “It is in our best interest to treat Senator Malcolm well. He’s run into a bit of trouble. See that it’s resolved.”

Reapplying my smile, I nod as I stand. “Of course.” My submissive voice makes me a little numb every time I use it, but unfortunately, I fear that I’ve forgotten what my normal voice sounds like.

I spend the next hour in my office, catching up on work that never ends, the finish line continually moving further and further away. My knee bounces as I mindlessly fidget, picking skin at my fingernails until they start to sting.

When the time reads eight PM, I stand, striding to the elevator and taking it to the carpark level. My fancy white G-Wagon waits for me, one of the few cars left in the parking lot.

Okay, sure, there are a few perks to being a Dally. Not that I haven’t busted my ass for my position, but let’s be real... Some doors only open because of the name on your birth certificate. Like being the Vice President of Public Relations for a billion-dollar enterprise.

A professional reputation launderer.

I slide behind the wheel, the leather cool against my palms as I grip it tighter than necessary.

The city hums around me as I pull out of the building, neon lights streaking against my tinted windows as I drive, but none of it pulls my attention.

It all feels far away. Like I’m watching someone else’s world from behind glass.

I slip into a hazy daze, one where I don’t acknowledge how I’m feeling; in fact, feelings don’t exist.

I should be angry; I know that. Sad, scared... Sick to my stomach. I know they are the correct responses a normal person would feel if they were in my polished Louboutins. But over time, I learnt those feelings were futile. They never got me anywhere.

My obedient laugh, my perfectly timed smile, my meekness. They are all tools. Tools that get me through each day.

The radio might as well be silent. The city’s chaos is just static. And the woman reflected at me in the rear-view mirror? She could be anyone. A stranger wearing my face and that polished smile I’ve learned to keep glued in place.

I’m barely in my body when I hand the valet my keys and waltz into the extravagant restaurant. My body must have brought me here, carrying me like a passenger in my own skin.

But here I am, finding my way to the private room always available for Dally business, in the back of Aurum 14, the most highly sort after restaurant. Told you, perks and whatever.

Malcolm Hargrove is already here, waiting. His murky brown eyes drinking me in as he lounges back in a chair, scotch in front of him.

My cheeks ache as my lips twist into a pleasant smile, and he stands to kiss my cheek, hand finding my waist instantly. As usual, his lips come inappropriately close to mine, and his hand slides down.

Waving over our server, I ask for a wine and take a big sip as soon as it lands on our table, praying that the alcohol will soothe the itchiness of my skin.

Being in the presence of a man like Malcolm Hargrove will do that to you.

Make you feel so dirty that you need a scorching shower to scrub your skin, just because he laid eyes on you.

“Maddison Dally,” he purrs, sipping his scotch. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

We are seated much too close for people having a business dinner. About charity, of all things. I would laugh if I had the energy.

His hand drops casually to my thigh, just below the hem of my skirt.

“Senator,” I smile, hoping it’s meeting my eyes. “I was thrilled when I heard you wanted to meet.” I bite my lip nervously.

He smiles at that, eyes locking on the movement. Such a simple, predictable, stupid man.

“Mhm, I had some ideas I needed to run by you, and they simply couldn’t wait.

” His voice is turning gravelly; his fingertips digging into my thighs.

Biting my tongue to control the overpowering need to roll my eyes, I nod as he goes on.

“You see, I’ve had a minor problem come up, and I’d like to throw an event with you to…

overshadow said problem.” His coy words don’t fool me.

I know what said problem he is referring to.

The affair with his 21-year-old secretary spread because he was too idiotic to lock his office door.

How utterly cliché. “Your father assured me I could call on you for…anything I might need…”

His double entendre doesn’t miss me. Because I’ve been in this situation more times than I can count.

My father was disappointed when I was born a girl, not a boy.

Wanting someone to meld into a mini version of him, to follow in his footsteps.

But he made do with what he had…And now I think he is quite pleased to have had a daughter.

A pretty one that can offer a lot more than just a business deal, if you get what I’m talking about.

Malcolm’s hand slides further up my skirt, slow and teasing.

I almost want to scream at him to stop playing around and get it done, but that would ruin his fun.

Guys like Senator Hargrove like to play with their food.

If I just gave him what he wanted, he wouldn’t enjoy it.

He needs to feel like he is taking it, forcing it, in complete and utter control.

“I’d be happy to assist with your…situation, Senator Hargrove.

We could organise a high-profile event with a strong media focus to shift attention from the other matter.

I’m confident the public would respond far more favourable to the image of a senator supporting children in need or the domestic violence shelter. ”

Dally Enterprises has a list of charities they work with, from which I can pick and choose when hosting these events. It’s the only part of my job that breathes life back into me. Knowing that we are doing some good, even if it’s in the name of scrubbing filthy reputations clean.

If I must endure the Malcom’s of the world to ensure millions of dollars, billions even, get distributed to people in need, then it’s all worth it.

It’s extremely hard to talk business, as his fingertips find their mark, grazing over the lace of my panties, as he nods along as if he is interested. All he cares about is that I clear his name, which I am known to be great at doing. When I gasp in faux shock, his lips twist into a cruel smirk.

“You do such a good job, Maddison,” he murmurs, continuing talking to me as if his fingers weren’t grazing my clit through the material. “I knew I could count on you.”

My lashes flutter as I stare at him over my wineglass. He’s almost handsome, with brown hair neatly styled and a crisp suit. His features are sharp, and it’s clear to see he holds a modicum of charm that has obviously worked during his lifetime.

But his eyes give him away. There is nothing behind them but emptiness. A dead, unblinking hunger.

It makes me shiver, but he mistakes it for need.

“Of course, Mr Hargrove,” I reply shyly. “It’s in all our best interests to make this go away.”

He nods as if he is listening. Greedy fingers pull back my panties, my legs opening on reflex as he plunges two thick fingers straight in. I guess he is done with the business talk…Lasted a whole three minutes.

His fingers pump in and out of me, and he growls as my pussy dampens. I can’t help it; it is a natural bodily reaction after all. As much as moments like this, basically being whored out by my father, cements my heart to stone bit by bit…my body likes sex. What can I say?

The Senator leans close, his hot breath dusting my neck.

“What a tight, young cunt you have,” he grunts, his thrusting growing increasingly aggressive.

I think I could come if he went for longer, but as usual with my meetings with Malcolm, he gets worked up and pushes me to the ground under the table. Like I said, so utterly predictable.

He’s already thrusting into my hands as I fumble with his buckles, pulling the expensive fabric of his pants just low enough for his cock to fall out. Wasting no time, he grips my hair and pushes my face into his crotch.

Grateful that the man is not well-endowed, my mouth takes him easily.

Practiced moans slip out of me, noises that make it seem like I’m actually enjoying what is happening.

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to lose rhythm and his jagged moans to slip out.

I prepare myself for the worst part. The part that leaves a foul taste in my mouth, like a lingering memory I must carry around with me, even after I brush my teeth ten times.

I swallow down his orgasm, my body feeling distant. Like I could float away and leave my body here on the ground if I’m not careful.

Straightening on my shiny heels, I watch him tuck his softening cock back into his pants before he quickly stands.

“Always a pleasure meeting with you, Maddison,” he winks, reaching into his pocket and throwing a wad of cash on the table. “September twelfth. A month from now, I want it done. I can’t wait any longer,” he leaves, smacking my butt hard on his way out without another word. Charming.

I fall back against my seat, taking my first real breath of the day.

It feels heavy, like a weight pressing against my chest. Opening my phone, I check my makeup, finger-swiping my lip to clean the smeared lipstick and then the mascara that has started to run down my cheeks.

I’m tempted to call the waitress over and ask for another wine... or four.

But I don’t. Because I’ll just be greeted by more Malcolms, dressed in their perfect suits and polished shoes. With greed and power in their inebriated eyes. I just don’t think I can stomach it right now. It’s the end of the week, and I think I’ve officially hit my limit.

On autopilot, I leave and wait for my car to pull up, settling into it as soon as it arrives. And I drive. I should go home to my apartment where a scalding hot shower, a toothbrush and a bottle of wine awaits me.

My hands move, steering me in the opposite direction of the harbour, where my waterfront apartment sits silently. So silent.

I know how pretentious this will sound, but sometimes I loathe the penthouse suite in the sparkling building that never has a speck of dust on it.

Muted and empty, it forces thoughts and feelings into my mind that I don’t appreciate.

I need noise. Distraction. Would it be so bad to have a noisy neighbour who constantly stomps above me?

The air flowing through the windows still holds a lingering bite from winter, but the slight warmth filters through my hair as I turn the music up to a deafening roar. An exhale I feel like I’ve been holding onto for days whooshes out of me and my jaw unclenches. It feels painfully good.

I need a fix... Something that reminds me I’m still here in this body.

Sometimes it’s a too-fast drive down the wrong streets.

Sometimes it’s driving to the Harbor Bridge and standing so close to the edge that my heels hang off.

Little moments of reckless freedom. A sick little thrill that pulls me back from the edge of disappearing. Tonight... Tonight I need it.