She then put an emoji in that looked like a woman shrugging. I fucking hated emojis. That seemed like the kind of shit teenagers used to try and be cool, not the shit adults would use. Especially not adults who got right to the damn point.
Could we not just fuck?
Was it that damn hard?
And was it so damn difficult for me to push her harder?
“Today. You come by the clubhouse in an hour, do your interview. I’ll give you Spawn. And then we’re getting drinks and fucking.”
Hailey simply liked the message. Maybe someone more insecure would try and read into it.
For me, I just knew I wasfinallyfucking this great chick.
This really great, awesome, genuine, beautiful chick.
What the actual fuck is happening to me?
Hailey
Was this how the night was going to go?
Was Hailey Cook, professional reporter for WPTV, really going to get the interview that she needed to kickstart her career and follow it up by getting her legs spread so that Satan could get his nuts off to her?
I guess you could say it just depended on how the interview went. I told myself not to expect anything, but I also told myself to be prepared. Yes, I was attracted to him.
Yes, it could easily happen.
Even after everything that had happened with my sister.
Even with all of my ethical rules for myself as a journalist.
Even with the way the previous night had gone.
I arrived at the clubhouse around noon with my own camera. Satan had made sure to follow up on that to make sure no one else came. In return, I told him I wanted the interview to take place in a public place—public in that other people could walk in on us. When I arrived at the clubhouse, I suggested going behind some double doors bearing the club’s insignia, but he very quickly shut that idea down.
“That’s where church is,” he said. “Not even prospects get to go to church. Sometimes, not even members. Only officers. So there’s no chance in hell that you’re getting in it.”
There was something so poetically appropriate about Satan barring his underlings from attending “church,” but for the sake of my interview going well and my access to him and Spawn, I kept my mouth shut.Though I’ll probably say something at some point.
We instead settled behind a bar, which actually worked out well. I could easily position my phone for an appropriate perspective while filming, and Satan could sip on a beer while we spoke. It also provided a nice backdrop with the closed doors to church revealing the Devil’s Patriots logo roughly shoulder height from the slightly overhead angle of the camera.
“Now, remember,” I said, “the more that you open up, the better things will go on all sides.”
I hoped Satan got the hint. He showed no visible reaction, but Satan never really struck me as the guy to open himself up in that regard. Far more likely that he’d just do it without saying a word or showing anything on his face. The most I got out of him was a grunt of acknowledgment as he sat in front of me.
“For the record, can you state your name and your position in the club?”
“I go by Satan, and I am the President of the Devil’s Patriots.”
“Are you going to tell us your real name?”
“No.”
But he did something when he spoke that shocked me. He smirked.
It was almost like he was hinting at a temptation to tell me his real name, but he decided against it. Or, maybe, he just knew he could toy with me like this and didn’t want to give me anything else. Too early to say.
“And how long have you been with the Devil’s Patriots, Satan?”
