Chapter 4 - THE DEBT
Harper didn't feel relief; she felt the steel jaws of a trap snapping shut around her ankle. She found his base of operations—an opulent, high-rise nightclub downtown—by asking the right corner boys. The bouncers parted like the Red Sea when she stormed in, still wearing her grease-stained uniform. Roman was sitting in a leather booth, an ice pack pressed to his bruised jaw. "I don't want your money," she snapped, slamming a crumpled envelope containing the diner's deed onto his table. "And I'm not a stray dog you can buy." Roman leaned back, the neon lights of the club casting sharp shadows across his bruised face. "You're right," he murmured. "You're a weapon. And I happen to be in the market for someone who isn't afraid to pull the trigger."
