Bowles, Jan - In Debt to the Dom [Guilty Pleasures 1] (Siren Publishing Classic) by Jan Bowles

calm down, lady, and think twice because, believe me, I’m,” he held up his finger and thumb a fraction apart in front of her face, “this close to calling in the cops.”
    “You don’t scare me, Mr. Big Business Man.”
    “You’re not above the law, lady.” He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’ve already been in touch with the authorities. Extradition back to the U.S. would not take long for a serious case of blackmail. You’re looking at a ten-year sentence. Minimum. By the time you get out of jail, your looks will be gone, and nobody will want to photograph you ever again. Your days as a supermodel will be over.” He saw that the idea of losing the one thing she’d always relied on scared her, and he decided to push home the advantage. “’Course, all these drugs will age you faster than a plum at a prune factory. Two years tops, and you can say goodbye to your good looks, anyway.”
    He watched Maddie smile as she readjusted her clothing from the scuffle she’d just been in. “I agree, Keaton. I’m five years older than Simone, but I think we look about the same age now.”
    “Oh, are you the oldest, Maddie? I had no idea. Looking at your beautiful creamy skin, I would have thought that you were much younger than your sister.”
    “Shut the fuck up,” Simone screamed, and he knew they’d hit their mark, as she flounced back onto the sofa once more. Her brows were drawn together and she looked agitated. He knew the cold sweats would soon begin, and then it wouldn’t be long before she told them everything.
    He picked up his cell phone and made the call to the clinic in Switzerland.

    * * * *

Eight hours later

    “Please, Maddie, take the pain away. I can’t bear it.” Maddie stroked her hand into her sister’s hair. Even now, she couldn’t stop caring altogether. Simone had the symptoms of withdrawal really bad now, and she leaned over the toilet bowl, retching into it for dear life.
    “I can’t help you, not until you help me. You need to go to rehab. This is your last chance, because I wash my hands of you after this. You need to tell me where the money is.”
    “Okay, okay, take the fucking money. I’ll even go to rehab. Anything to take away this bone-crushing pain.”
    “Good, but I can’t sort this out. Not unless I know where the money is.”
    “My purse, my purse. Get me my purse.” Simone sounded desperate now.
    Maddie dashed into the living area and glanced at Keaton, half-asleep on the sofa. It had been a long night and they were both exhausted. She nudged him completely awake. “Where’s her purse? Have you seen it? I think she’s about to tell us where the money is.”
    “I fucking hope so, because I’ve just about used up this year’s patience in one go.” He rubbed a hand across his eyes and then leaned down the side of the sofa. He produced a black sequined bag. “Is this it?”
    Maddie grabbed it and headed back to the bathroom. She handed it to her sister.
    “Please, Maddie. I don’t want to die. The stomach cramps are just so bad I think I’m going to die. Please help me.”
    Maddie stroked a hand into her sister’s hair; it was soaked through with sweat. She felt compassion for her even though she didn’t want to. “I’m here to help you, Simone, but you have to tell me where the money is.”
    Simone’s fingers trembled as she pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to her. Maddie saw it was a receipt.
    “What’s this, Simone?”
    “The money’s in the hotel safe.”
    Maddie took the receipt and shook her head, dumbfounded by what she’d heard. “You left the money in a hotel safe?”
    “I needed ready cash, all right?” Her voice sounded strained. “Now tell me where my fucking stash is.” Her hand shook uncontrollably as she wiped it across her mouth. “I wasn’t going to put it into a bank account, you silly fucking, bitch. Dealers don’t accept credit cards. You know nothing about the real world and the people I deal with. I