I throw my head on the bar, the smell of whiskey emanating from my breath. I yank the bottle off the counter and down another large gulp. Slamming the bottle down I begin to laugh, the haze of the alcohol obstructing my vision and my good sense. I know I'm drunk, but it's too late to do anything about it now.
"Hey bartender! Gimme another one!" I scream, louder than I expected. Giggling uncontrollably, I grasp the edge of the bar for support. The bartender makes his way towards me slowly.
"Ma'am, you are drunk. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to pay for your drinks and leave," he tells me calmly. I squint my eyes at him.
"Yeah, 'bout that. I'm afraid I don't havany money," I giggle. My eyes turn steely, and I inch towards him seductively, unbuttoning my shirt one button at a time. "But if we go into that store room of yours, I can show you quite a good time."
My entire bra is showing now, and I'm leaning over the bar completely. There's only two other people in this bar, both of whom are completely preoccupied with their drinks, so why should I be modest. I pull him towards me, by his belt loops, and smile at the bulge in his pants, my pale white breasts falling out of my lingerie bra so that he can nearly see my hard nipples.
He simply cocks his eyebrows at me, removes my hands from his belt loops, and walks to the phone.
Great, I think,he's calling the cops. Another night in hold-up for drunk and disorderly conduct. That's just what I need. I sit irritably at the bar, not even bothering to button up my shirt.
"Alright Miss Henderson, you can go," the bartender tells me upon hanging up the phone.
"Your tab will be covered. You are free to go." He smiles and jerks his head to the door. Confused, I grab my purse and head out the door.
I step into the brisk Chicago wind, as the red light from the bar's neon logo shoots down on me.The Devils Bar. Ironic, that the bar named for the Devil, is the only one I didn't have to sleep my way out of. I look at my watch. It's nearly 1:15 in the morning. No wonder there's no one on the streets. Turning to my left, I head out for my car, parked up the streets. I'm yearning for the soft warm blankets in my backseat and a semi-decent night's sleep.
I jerk around. For a second, it sounded like someone was following me. No one is behind me, so I turn back and continue walking. The crunch of snow behind me makes me stop dead in my tracks. A chill, that has nothing to do with the December weather, winds its way up my spine. My eyes are wide with fright, and I stand still, silently gathering up the courage to make a run for it. Then I hear the crunching once more, this time coming closer.
Adrenaline courses through my legs, and before I know what I am doing, my legs bring me to my car as I desperately try to fit my key into the lock. I drop my key and before I can pick it up, a rough hand wraps around my face and presses a rag to mt mouth and nose. I hold my breath at the recognition of chloroform, but he presses it harder against my face. Suffocating, I gasp for breath, inhaling the chemical and passing out in the man's arms.
My aching head brings me to, the splitting headache a sure sign of a hangover. I open my eyes slowly, to see that I am on a couch. The blankets on top of me are soft and warm, and I snuggle under them, shutting my eyes once more.
"I know you're awake."
Startled I jump out of bed. A man sits across from me at a table, reading some papers. Looking around I notice that I am in what looks like an office. Everywhere black and white decals cover the walls, and the desk is new in design, made of black wrought iron. I lift my eyebrows at his considerably decent taste in style, and notice the logo behind him, The Devils,and that I am wearing only my lingerie bra and underwear.
"Where are my clothes?"
"I had my maid put them in the wash; you were soaking wet, and stunk of whiskey," he states nonchalantly, while he picks the papers up and straightens them into a neat pile on his desk. His hair is slicked back greasily, and his eyes, I notice now, are so dark, they're nearly black.
"Yeah, well, I'm a drunk," I sneer at him, holding my hands out at my sides. "What did you expect?"
"How would you like to escape the life of a drunk?"
I sit down at the chair in front of his desk, placing my long lean legs on the cold metal edge of his desk and crossing them arrogantly.
"I can give you a chance to get away from that life," he looks up at me with complete seriousness, his eyes holding my shocked expression unjokingly. He continues, as if my jaw has not just dropped to the floor. "Ten years of guaranteed work for me, and at the end you will recieve a fully furnished condominium in the East Side and recieve a monthly settlement check."
I sit there incredulously, completely confused.
"How do you expect me to trust you when you kidnapped me to make me this offer?"
"Oh that was not me; that was my guard. Hetterly!" he calls to the door, through which comes a large rough man He is well built, and frighteningly tall. Not wanting to admit that he frightens me, I lower myself lower in the chair. "Now, do you have an answer?"
I can tell that he is growing impatient with me, but I'm enjoying toying with his patience.
"What's the catch?" I ask him.
"You have to do whatever I ask of you," he grins slimily. My brain is shouting words of caution as to "whatever" might be, but I know that I need this escape from my old life.
"So I'd be like your personal assisstant?"
"You could say that." The grin does not leave his face, and this time Hetterly joins in. Despite my better judgement, I push down my doubts and smile too.
"Where do I sign?"
"Right here," he turns around the stack of papers on his desk, and flips to the last page, where his name has already been signed in fluent calligraphy: Lucas B. Devil. I grab a pen off his desk and sign my name next to his: Elia J. Henderson. "Alright, this contract is effective immediately. Time to get to work, Elia."
I look at him confused. I have no personal assisstant training, and I have no idea what his schedule is.
"What exactly do you want me to do?" He turns his head towards Hetterly, who grins sneakily.
"Remember how I said you had to do whatever I asked you to do? Well your first job is to entertain Hetterly." He smiles, and heads for the door. "Have fun."
And before I can make an exclamation, or shout out my protest, Hetterly grabs me by the arm and throws me against the wall.