Tiffany Chase had been standing under the gas station canopy for three hours, and her white t-shirt was starting to show the dust. She twirled a strand of blond hair around her finger and watched the road. A rich man was going to drive by. That was the plan. That had been the plan since she left home with forty dollars and a leather mini skirt she could barely sit down in. She was going to find one, marry one, and never pump her own gas again. The only cars that stopped were wrong. A rust-streaked pickup. A minivan full of screaming kids. An old man in a bathrobe buying lottery tickets. Across the lot, a bloated casino sign burned in the daylight, its painted flames licking the words the Devil's Inferno. That was where money went at night. She could see it. She just couldn't get there. She uncapped her lip gloss and tried again. Every hour she stood here, her tan went blotchy and her shirt clung wrong. Nobodies stood at gas stations. Somebodies drove past them. Then she heard the engine. A red Ferrari rolled in slow, low to the ground, the paint so clean it looked wet. It stopped at the pump beside her. The door opened. A guy climbed out in a navy blazer and sunglasses he did not take off. He glanced at the pump, then at her legs, then at her face. "You broken down, sweetheart?" "My ride left me," Tiffany said. She let her voice go small. "He was a jerk." "They usually are." He smiled at his own line. "Brad Campbell. My father owns half the county. Maybe more. I lose track." She laughed like he was funny. He liked that. "I'm trying to get somewhere nice," she said. "Somewhere a girl like me belongs." Brad looked her up and down again. He tapped the roof of the Ferrari. "Get in. I'm going to the Inferno. Owe some people a visit." He shrugged like it was nothing. "You can ride if you're fun." Tiffany was already moving. She slid into the passenger seat before he finished the sentence. The leather was hot. The dashboard had more buttons than she'd ever seen. She twisted the mirror down and fixed her lip gloss while he pumped the gas. When he dropped back into the driver's seat, he smelled like cologne and something sharper underneath. "You ever been inside the Inferno?" he asked. "No." "Good. Stick close. Some rough guys in there think my dad owes them." He grinned. "He doesn't." He pulled onto the road. The gas station shrank in the mirror. Tiffany crossed her legs and told herself she had done it. She had a rich boy, a fast car, and a door opening at the Inferno. She did not yet know whose door she had just walked through.