"Hoi, Sasha!" one of them barked, his voice rough as gravel. "We heard you've been actin' real suspicious—buyin' all sorts of crap. What's the deal, huh? You plannin' to skip town on us?"
The apartment door swung on its bent hinges with a deafening crash, the sound of splintered wood echoing through the tiny flat like a war drum.
Sasha froze in place, one hand still clutching a bag of instant noodles she had been stuffing into her dimensional ring.
Of course they would come.
Loan sharks had one thing in common with cockroaches—show them a whiff of food, money, or weakness, and they'd crawl right in, uninvited.
"Hoi, Sasha!" barked a man with a shaved head and too much gold hanging from his neck. His voice was so gravelly Sasha half-wondered if he swallowed sandpaper for breakfast. "We heard you've been actin' real suspicious—buyin' all sorts of crap. What's the deal, huh? You plannin' to skip town on us?"
