Giselle Lambert was pinned by the shoulders, her struggles futile against the firm grips.

At this late hour, the neighbors were deep in slumber, and her odds of escaping the clutch of six or seven muscular men were nonexistent.

Desperation in her eyes, Giselle stared at the harsh glare of the hallway’s incandescent bulb as Scarface spoke, “Miss Lambert, pay up and we’ll leave right now.”

“We agreed on the start of next month. You’re not keeping your ...