Take the Heat

This time his smile was friendlier but still not to be trusted.

“You’re a fucking firecracker compared to her, aren’t you?”

“The amount?”

“It’s more than you can afford.”

“Try me.”

As fast as a striking cobra, Moore grasped her upper arm with one hand. He pulled her close until her chest was practically touching his.

“I might just do that, Miss Black,” he said. There was real menace in his voice, and Cassandra didn’t have to wonder if she was getting into something that was out of her depth. “Would you mind accompanying me to my office?”

His grip on her arm gave Cassandra no real choice. He yanked her roughly away from the bar, toward a plain black door to one side of the stage. Neither the girl on the pole nor any of the clientele batted an eyelid in their direction, even as Cassandra stumbled against and upended an empty chair.

“Wait…” said Cassandra as Moore pushed against the black door with one shoulder.

He turned to look at her.

“I thought you wanted to help your sister?”

“I do but…” But she didn’t trust Aston Moore.

“I don’t bite,” he said. “At least not until I know you better.”

Reluctantly Cassandra allowed herself to be propelled through the door and into a dark corridor. Moore flicked a light switch to turn on a bare bulb hanging overhead. Along the corridor wall were photos of girls pole dancing, most completely naked and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Cassandra let her gaze drop to the floor. What if one of them was Melly? Mo

ore pushed past her to lead the way and then showed her through another door into his office. It was a small room, walls painted the same dark red as throughout the rest of the club, and a grimy window facing a brick wall did nothing to brighten the place. Moore sat behind a scarred, old-fashioned writing desk and turned on the green glass and brass banker’s lamp that was the only thing to grace its surface.

“Sit,” he ordered.

Cassandra did as she was told, clutching her bag in her lap and wondering where this was leading.

Aston Moore pulled a cell phone out of his pocket.

“Darcy, get in here.”

Within seconds the door opened and an older man stepped into the room. He had a scar on one cheek and a nose that had been broken more than once. And the cold-eyed, cynical expression of a survivor.

“Boss?”

“How much does Melly Black owe us?”

Cassandra’s head jerked up at the mention of her sister’s name. She looked at the man, Darcy, and wondered if he actually knew who her sister was. The glance he gave her melded sympathy and disdain in equal measure.

“Twenty-one thousand,” he said without a pause for thought.

Cassandra gasped. It was far more than she’d expected. And way more than she’d ever be able to afford.

“Her payment terms?” said Moore.

“Ten hours a week on the pole until…” said Darcy.

“Whenever,” said Moore. “That’s all.”

Darcy left and closed the door quietly behind him.

Cassandra realized she was gripping the arms of her chair with white knuckles. She made a conscious effort to relax her hands.