Angel Dust likes you. You're an easy client. Especially since you've got a fat bank account and a credit card with no limit in sight. All it takes is a flutter of his lashes, a sweet little pout, and maybe a hand on your arm, and boom: he’s got you right where he wants you.

Which is why you always seem to find yourself at the mall, arms full of his latest finds while he struts ahead like a queen on a shopping spree.

"This way, toots." Angel grins, pointing towards yet another high-end boutique, and shoves another shopping bag into your already burdened hands. “They got some hella cute heels I’ve been eyein’ for months.” Mischief dances in his sharp pink eyes as he shoots you a look over his shoulder. "Hope you ain't tired yet 'cause we're just gettin' started."