Across from her, two balding middle-aged men sprawled on the leather sofa with their collars hanging open.
One had his legs crossed, phone up, recording. The other had a cigar clenched between his teeth, face creased with a grin so wide it folded his skin in half.
"Lambert, your little intern's got some fight in her. College girls always do. Once the drugs kick in, she'll be begging louder than a bitch in heat."
Manager Zane Lambert stood off to the side, swirling a glass of red wine, smiling.
"Don't worry, Mr. Chambers. I guarantee you'll be satisfied tonight."
"Girls like this are a dime a dozen at our company. Use her up and we'll just rotate in a fresh batch."
My grip tightened around the pipe. My knuckles popped one by one.
The next second, I kicked the coffee table in the center of the living room clean off its legs.
It snapped in two. Bottles and glasses shattered across the floor.
CRASH!
The heavyset man flinched so hard he released Mila's jaw, and the wine glass slipped from his hand and burst against the tile.
Three strides. I closed the distance and brought the pipe down on the hand holding the phone, precise and unforgiving.