You See,

You see, betrayal never comes from your enemy.

An enemy is honest about their antipathy. An enemy will never pretend to be on your side.

You see, betrayal comes from me.

I'm the one who sits across from you, my elbows propped on the table, my hands clasped together, my chin resting on my fists. My eyes will be warm, full of understanding, my mouth pursed into a empathetic moue, the occasional tut-tut and tsk-tsk, a slight twitch of an eye, a narrowly missed frown, a barely perceptible nod or shake of my head.

I will make the odd comment, using your words. I will ask all the right questions make hesitant suggestions, couched in vague words. Then I will twist your words and show you a whole new reality.

You see, I'm the Devil.

You know me, don't you? I am everywhere. You know that it is my mission no, my purpose, my raison d' etre to do harm, to twist, manipulate, pretend and unmask. It is my greatest pleasure to create havoc, mayhem and oh, so much more than mischief. I have minions to create mere mischief.

I can sense any discord, any dissatisfaction, even the slightest grinding of your teeth. I feed off your troubles, your pleas for a better life, your prayers for succor or justice. All your aches, pains and unfulfilled desires are my bread and butter. But I need more than bread and butter. I need filet mignon, oysters, lobster, truffles and I need no, I demand the best champagne and will not walk in shoes that are not made to my last.

I am your greatest ally and your worst nightmare rolled into one magnificent, delicious, passionate specimen. I will seduce you, find your weakness, your needs, cravings and desires and feed them. It is my duty to hand you that apple and entice you to take that first bite. Then I will enslave you till you have no choice to do my bidding.

Yes, the occasional saint has slipped through my fingers. I am here to tell you though, that not all who have been beatified have not lost a bargain with me. But that is between them and The Other.

Even the purest soul has at least one weak spot. Allow me to introduce you to Angela. And show you how she struggled between holding on to her ideals, her sacrifice while fighting temptation and her own desires. How, though she denied it, she finally betrayed herself and willingly chose passion.

Her mother died many years ago, in an unfortunate accident at work. Yes, the plant paid, but her inept father was unwise, and the money was soon spent. Angela took it upon herself to raise her younger sister. Poor little Cathy had a bad heart. Without a father who had a regular job and health insurance, Angela was left to pay the bills.

I, of course, knew everything about the beautiful Angel. And admired not just her raven black hair, her startling and innocent aqua eyes, her plump pink lips and oh, those ...

But I digress.

Angela and her sister had been left behind in Las Vegas when her father left to find yet another pipe-dream job. Money was needed, more money than Angela could ever make waiting tables at a diner two blocks off the Strip. Lots of money to pay all the doctor's bills, the numerous hospitalizations and a possible transplant. Thus, Angela taught herself to play poker. She taught herself well, had an innate talent for counting, but she just wasn't ruthless enough to make the big money. She was earning just enough to keep the sharks from biting. But she was tired. Tired of treading water, tired of merely surviving, and despairing of ever pursuing her own dreams.

One evening I decided to make my move and sat down at the same table. I looked at her. And when I look at you, really look at you, you will know it.

"How about it, beautiful? Just you and me. Three hands. Winner take all."

I watched her calculate how much she needed for this month's rent, a pitiful amount, really, which she pushed aside. I watched her gather her courage and nod. There was no question who'd win the first two hands, of course. In the end, I raised to just beyond what she had left on the table. She was about to fold.

"Come on, sweetheart. You still have a few chips left." I taunted.

She shook her head, regretting having to walk away. I knew then that she valued her duty over a mere possibility. A rarity anywhere, but in Vegas even harder to find.

"Okay." I challenged; I could not let her walk away. "Put yourself in. If you win, you will call the shots for eight hours." I didn't finish explaining the bargain, assuming she'd understand the consequences, as did the bystanders, based on their collective gasp.

You see, I knew she had a measly pair of kings, so I switched my hand to a worthless pair of queens. And stared her down, smiling my most charming, innocent smile. And yes, I have had centuries to practice my smiles.

Her sigh was bigger than her nod, but a nod it was. By showing her hand, and thus agreeing to my bargain, she told me that she had desires, which made her mine. Yes, she had won the hand and the pot, but I had her soul.

I was full of warmth and charm as I held out my arm and escorted her to the bar for a celebratory drink. "You are the Devil." Her soft husky voice did wondrous things to my anatomy.

"Am I now?" I smiled.

She merely nodded, thoughtfully swirling the ice in her glass. When she put the glass back on the bar, she whispered. "And you cheat."

I was amused. "You'll never prove it." And encouraged her to take a sip of the excellent liquor. "You won the pot and me. I know how I would like to spend the next eight hours, but it's your call."

You see, I knew how she would answer and yes, I cheat. Had she been any other woman walking through the casino, she'd have taken my hand and had her way with me. And the bet would have been paid. We would have had no further business, unless I could entice her to play again. But like she said, I cheat.

She looked at me with those exquisite sea-blue eyes, in which I could read the conflict between duty and desire. "Sir," she said reluctantly. "I have to be back at work in ten hours. So, I will be sleeping, alone tonight. But maybe you'll be back in town, someday."

Oh, she was good. Her words said no. but I could almost taste her heat, her longing and suppressed need to be a woman. But her priorities remained firm. Her purpose in life, as she had told herself, was to take care of her sister, who at this point was too weak to be out of the hospital, desperately waiting for a donor.

I pretended to be a gentleman and graciously acquiesced. I put her in a cab, after giving her my number, just one of hundreds of my mobile numbers, but this one was just for her.

"Tell me what you want, Angel. Be specific, be explicit, be demanding. I'll be back on Saturday." I made sure to leave a burning brand on her lips when I kissed her goodnight.

The next day, probably when she had a break in her duties, she texted me.

*You asked me what I wanted. The one thing that I want is not possible for anyone to give. More than a roof over my head, more than shoes on my feet, more than food on my table, I want my sister to be healthy and have a chance at a life.

But that is not what you were implying. So, for one night I want to be looked at as if I'm a royal flush. To be held as if I'm a Grand Prix trophy. To be worshipped as if I'm Eve before the fall and to be savored as if I'm the last bottle of the rarest whisky. - Angela*

I smiled and no, it was not my charming smile. This was my smile of satisfaction. It was not difficult to find a mortal whose DNA was compatible and thus an excellent match for Cathy. After all, their father hadn't done much for them in life ...

Manipulating the data so that little Cathy's name was at the top of the waitlist was mere child's play. I texted back.

*Saturday, 10pm.*

Midafternoon on Saturday, my Angel texted me that a donor had been found and that she would be unable to keep our date. Could she have a rain check? How adorable was that?

A quick perusal through the hospital computer system, you couldn't even call it hacking, showed me the full extent of their debt. Even if fifteen-year-old Cathy would get up on Monday and go to work, they would still be paying that debt ten years after their death. My not-so-charming smile grew.

At ten pm that evening, I walked off the elevator near the surgery waiting room. For the next twenty minutes I watched my Angel devour the chicken soup I had brought. So, sue me. Chicken soup is good for you, or so my mother taught me. And yes, I too had a mother.

The surgeon was all smiles and full of optimism. After Angela slipped into the recovery room for a minute, I took her home. To my home, on the top floor of one of the finest hotels on the Strip.

Once we were settled, I asked. "What did you call me after our card game?"

She was surprised to hear that question. That night was so far from her current concerns. "Um, I said you were the Devil. I'm sorry if ..."

"No." I interrupted her apology. "You were correct. I am the Devil. You told me that your sister's health was the most important thing in your life. So, I gave your sister a new heart."

She stared at me, dazed, confused, but the gears were working behind the scenes. Eventually the data added up. "You killed someone so that my sister can live?" She recoiled just saying the words.

I lied, of course. "No, the donor would have died regardless. I just manipulated the data so that your sister's name was at the top of the list.

She processed what I said and took it to be the truth, the poor lamb. "Thank you."

"So," I went on cheerfully. "As for your other wishes. You know what happens to a royal flush. It will need to be put on the table, exposed for all to see, before it is shuffled back into the deck. And a trophy will be put on a shelf, occasionally dusted by a minion, but soon forgotten while a new trophy is pursued. And believe me, you don't want to be Eve before the fall. No, my dear, you'll want to take a bite from the apple I'll offer you. And" I stroked her arm, leaving a scorching trail over the hideous yellow polyester of her uniform, making her nipples stand at attention. "I will savor you because you, my Angel, are the rarest whisky." I smiled. "Your only choice will be how much you will let yourself enjoy being my Fallen Angel."

"Your Fa ..." She gasped. "But you said you paid your debt."

You see, I had expected her protest. I smiled indulgently. I can, with effort, be patient, depending on the ultimate prize. Here was someone who had devoted the past fifteen years to raising and keeping her sister alive, denying her own needs. For her to abandon that mission and allow her sister to grow up; for her to recognize and embrace her passion, would take more than a pilfered heart.

"So, we're even, then?" She asked with equal measures of hope and dread.

I lowered my head and swirled my hot tongue around the delicate shell of her ear, rejoicing in the shivers I evoked. "My sweet, naive Angel. Nobody is even with the Devil. Everyone pays in the end." I whispered and felt the shudder, the sharp intake of air and sensed her eager anticipation.

But I let her go that evening.

On Monday, I sent the oh, so efficient Miss Miller from the Billing Department to Cathy's room when my Angel was visiting.

"May I have a word, please." Miss Miller asked demurely.

My beautiful Angel sighed and stepped into the hallway.

Miss Miller smiled, one of her big, practiced, toothy smiles. "It appears that an anonymous donor has paid all your bills and guaranteed all future bills for Miss Cathy."

I could feel the disbelief, the foreign sensation of relief, the quick stab of joy. I took note of her dismay and despair that the price of this freedom would be high. She politely thanked Miss Miller for the excellent news. Then I watched as Angela slid down the wall, leaned her head back, looked up with a smile and exhaled.

Taking her first deep breath in years, she nodded. "For Cathy." She whispered.

You see, she almost broke my heart. But she couldn't since I don't have a heart. She might have told herself that she would be mine solely to pay the debt, but she had told me in so many ways that she was more than ready to set aside her self-sacrifice and embrace her baser self.

When she left the hospital, on her way to her afternoon shift, I waylaid her and brought her to the suite. I pointed to one of the couches and sat opposite her.

I waited.

"Thank you." Angela paused, gathering the thoughts I saw swirling through her head. "For the first time..." She swallowed her emotions and looked me in the eye. "Today, for the first time in more years I care to count, I was able to take a full breath. Knowing that Cathy is safe is worth everything." Her sexy, voice was soft. She took another breath. "It's worth whatever you will demand of me." She whispered.

"I'll make you prove that." I promised.

She nodded.

"I'll test you." I whispered menacingly.

She nodded.

"I'll teach you things you don't want to know." I growled.

She bit her lip and nodded.

"I will make you do things you haven't even heard of yet." I warned.

She whimpered, but her eye contact did not waver, her voice, thought low, was steady. "I owe you for my sister's life. I will pay my debt."

It was time to introduce her to her new self. I stood and held out my hand to her, waiting for her to take it.

"Where are we goung?" She stalled briefly.

I cocked one eyebrow and smirked. "I could take you to The Garden, but frankly my dear, I'd hate to take the time. Because I shall take all of eternity to savor you, my Fallen Angel. You see, I am the Devil."