"Get your ass down here, b***h!" Dante shouted. "And don't you make wait another minute or you're gonna regret it!"
My heart leapt again, and my stomach turned as the hammering on the front door continued. It was Dante, the absolutely repugnant owner and manager of Cherry Sweet's Gentlemen's Club in Dorchester.
If there was an Academy Awards for World's Biggest Asshole, he'd win every year.
And Dante wasn't going anywhere — not without me.
"Let's go!" he shouted, banging his fist again. “If I have to get Tyrel to kick the door in I will! And I'll add the cost of the repairs onto what you already owe me!"
I grabbed my pillow, pressed it over my face, and screamed until all the breath in my lungs was gone and my throat felt like it had been scrubbed with sandpaper.
I owed Dante money.
