Gabrielle Mcclain squeezed the stem of her crystal flute until her knuckles turned white. Under the dazzling chandeliers of the Manhattan Crystal Palace Hotel ballroom, her vision blurred into double images. A burning heat churned in her stomach. That glass of champagne was drugged. She had spent the whole evening refusing. Refusing to smile for Bertram Langley, refusing to take his arm, refusing to sign the marriage contract her adoptive father had already laid out on the table. And this was their answer—a drug slipped secretly into her champagne, and a room full of bodyguards making sure she couldn't leave. She dropped the glass onto a passing table and stumbled toward the exit. Three waiters carrying silver trays stepped into her path, blocking the main doors. Breathing heavily, she veered into a dimly lit side corridor. Her high heels sank into the thick carpet, her steps floating and unsteady. From behind her came the oily, revolting laugh of Bertram Langley, the sixty-year-old political tycoon her adoptive father was forcing her to marry. Her heart dropped into her stomach. She picked up her pace, lunging at the heavy oak door at the end of the hall. The hinges groaned as she burst into the women's restroom. She slammed the deadbolt shut, her spine sliding down the cold wood as she gasped for air. The main overhead lights were off. Only the vanity bulbs cast a dim, yellow glow across the marble counters. Bracing her hands on the sink, Gabrielle lifted her head. Through the haze clouding her eyes, she froze. Another figure stood in the reflection of the mirror. A tall man in a black trench coat leaned against the furthest stall door. His head was bowed as he wiped down a black pistol fitted with a suppressor using a white towel. The cold metallic glint burned her eyes. Gabrielle jerked backward. Her elbow knocked a glass soap dispenser off the counter. Thud. The heavy bottle hit the tiles, the sound echoing loudly in the dead silence. The man slowly raised his head. Deep blue-gray eyes cut through the shadows like a wolf's, locking onto her face. He lifted the barrel of the gun and aimed it straight between her eyebrows. His voice was low, flat, and freezing. "Get out." The drug turned Gabrielle's legs to lead. She couldn't move an inch. She bit down hard on her lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, using the pain to hold onto her fading consciousness. Heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor outside, followed by a violent pounding on the oak door. "Miss McClain! Mr. Langley is very worried about you. Open the door!" She whipped her head toward the rattling door, then looked back at the armed stranger. Trapped between a pack of wolves and a killer, a violent tremor shook her entire body. The man frowned slightly. The black tactical bandage wrapped around his right wrist pulled tight as his grip on the pistol shifted, measuring the threat outside. Driven by sheer survival instinct, Gabrielle lunged forward. She grabbed his gun-wielding wrist with both hands. The feverish heat of her palms burned right through the cuff of his shirt. Disgust flashed across his eyes. He moved to throw her off, but a muffled voice crackled from a walkie-talkie outside the door. "No sign of the hitman. He might be hiding in the women's room. Prepare to breach." The man froze. Before Gabrielle could blink, his free hand shot out and clamped around her jaw. His rough thumb dug into her soft skin with enough force to crush the bone. "They're looking for you?" Gabrielle forced the words out through the pain, her voice carrying a breathless, sweet pant from the drug. He let out a cold laugh, his sharp features wild and ruthless in the dark. "Looks like we're in the same boat now, little rich girl." The brass lock on the main door shrieked as the bodyguards jammed a crowbar into the frame. They had less than ten seconds. The man hooked an arm around her narrow waist, lifting her half off the floor. He dragged her into the furthest, narrowest stall and flipped the latch. The space was suffocatingly small. Crushed against him, Gabrielle's nose pressed into the hard muscle of his chest, filling her lungs with the sharp scent of gunpowder and pine. Crash! The main restroom door flew open. Heavy boots stomped across the tiles as bright flashlight beams swept beneath the stall doors. At that exact moment, the drug inside Gabrielle erupted like a volcano. A scorching heat climbed up her spine. Her knees buckled, and she slid helplessly toward the floor. The man jammed his thigh between her knees to prop her up, while his large hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Her feverish breath spilled across his palm, brushing against his skin and making his blue-gray eyes darken. The footsteps stopped right outside their stall. The black leather tips of a bodyguard's shoes appeared under the gap, less than an inch away. "Anyone in there?" the guard barked, shoving hard against the stall door. The panels rattled violently. Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers clawing into the shirt over the man's chest, her nails digging into his muscle. He lowered his head until his thin lips brushed the shell of her ear. "Make a sound," he breathed, his voice a barely audible whisper. Gabrielle's eyes flew open. She stared at him in disbelief, her flushed cheeks and watery eyes glistening in the dark. When she didn't react, his free hand slid down her back and pinched the curve of her waist hard through her silk gown.

A jolt of sharp, tingling pain shot up Gabrielle's spine from her waist. Caught off guard, a soft, breathless moan slipped past her lips. The sound was so needy and foreign that heat rushed straight to her ears. Outside the stall, the bodyguard's hand froze on the door. The flashlight beam wobbled against the bottom panel as the men processed the sound. To sell the act, the man pressed his heavy frame forward, pinning Gabrielle flat against the freezing porcelain wall. The rough fabric of his trench coat scraped loudly against her silk dress. He forced his muscular thigh higher between her legs. His body heat radiated through the thin layers of clothing, cutting off every inch of her retreat. "Baby, don't be so impatient..." he murmured, dropping his voice into a husky, lust-filled rasp. Caught between the roaring drug in her veins and the suffocating contact of his body, Gabrielle's mind spun. Her hands lost their grip on his shirt, sliding up to cling weakly to his broad shoulders as hot tears spilled down her cheeks. "Damn it, just a couple of horny bastards getting off in the bathroom," the guard outside muttered in disgust. "Leave them. Mr. Langley is waiting. A professional hitman wouldn't drag a woman into a stall," another voice urged. The heavy footsteps turned and faded out into the hallway. As the main oak door clicked shut, the tension snapping inside Gabrielle's head finally gave way. Her bones seemed to melt, and she slumped completely against the man's chest. He took his hand off her mouth, but he didn't step back. Standing over her in the cramped space, he stared down at her flushed, tear-stained face. "How big of a dose did your sugar daddy give you?" he asked, using the back of his knuckles to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye with mocking carelessness. "Take me... away from here," Gabrielle gasped out. "I'm the daughter of the Mcclain family—get me out, and I'll pay you." Her fingers twisted into his collar, holding on as if he were the last piece of driftwood in a raging ocean. He pried her fingers off his coat one by one and shoved her aside. "I get paid to kill people, not to run a charity for spoiled heiresses." Without his support, Gabrielle slid down the tiled wall and hit the cold floor. The icy porcelain shocked a sliver of clarity back into her brain. Fumbling inside her silver clutch, she pulled out a heavy titanium black card. "One million dollars... get me out of here," she panted, holding the card up to him. Her fingertips shook violently, yet her amber eyes burned with stubborn pride. He didn't take the card. Folding his arms across his chest, amusement flickered in his deep eyes. "One million? Your life must be pretty expensive." "Get me somewhere safe, and I'll give you the PIN right now," she gritted out, fighting to finish the deal before the heat in her blood swallowed her sanity whole. He dropped into a crouch in front of her, his face inches from hers, his shadow swallowing her up. "What if I want more than just money?" Gabrielle's eyes widened in terror. She scrambled backward, but his hand shot out and locked around her ankle, dragging her effortlessly back against him. "W-What do you want?" she stammered. Her throat felt parched, like she was swallowing sand. He didn't answer. Instead, his rough thumb slowly stroked the delicate bone of her ankle, sending a terrifying shiver straight to her core. "Looking like this, even if I toss you out on the street, you'll just throw yourself at the first man who walks by," he stated flatly, devoid of any sympathy. Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut as fresh tears burned her cheeks. What terrified her most was that her drugged body was actually leaning into the touch of his rough hand. She yanked her leg back with everything she had left and shoved his shoulder, scrambling to her feet. "I don't need your help... I'll go myself!" She barely made it halfway up before a wave of blackness slammed into her vision. Her knees gave out, and she pitched straight forward. He caught her before she hit the floor. Her burning cheek pressed against the cool skin of his neck, and a low sigh of relief escaped her lips. Looking down at the unconscious woman in his arms, the mockery vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, unreadable depth. Suddenly, frantic footsteps thundered down the corridor again. Bertram had figured out something was wrong and brought the whole pack back. "Tear this place apart! That little bitch couldn't have gone far!" Bertram's furious roar echoed through the wood. The man plucked the black card from Gabrielle's limp fingers and slid it into his pocket. Scooping one arm under her hips, he lifted her up like a child. He glanced up at the narrow ventilation window near the ceiling. A cold, bloodthirsty smirk touched his lips as he kicked open the stall door and strode toward the sinks.

Fists and heavy boots slammed against the main restroom door, the thick oak groaning on the verge of splintering. Holding the delirious Gabrielle with one arm, the man yanked open the maintenance panel beneath the sink and pulled out a heavy iron pipe. He swung the pipe upward. Crash! The reinforced glass of the high ventilation window shattered into a thousand pieces, letting a blast of freezing night air rush into the room. Instead of waking her, the cold wind made the drug inside Gabrielle rebound twice as hard. Whimpering softly, her hands tore at the silk ribbons of her neckline. The dress ripped open at the front, baring her pale collarbone and the curve of her chest. Just below her left collarbone sat a tiny, pink crescent-shaped birthmark. His gaze froze on that pink mark for a fraction of a second. Dropping the pipe, he grabbed her chin, forcing her face up toward his. "Wake up. Don't make me throw you out this window right now," he growled through clenched teeth, his voice rougher than before. Gabrielle couldn't process a word. Driven purely by the furnace inside her, she sought out the cool skin of the man holding her. She leaned up and pressed her burning lips directly against his Adam's apple. Every muscle in his body locked tight. He caught her by the shoulders and pushed her back a full inch, holding her at arm's length. "Don't," he snapped, his voice low and harsh. "Not like this." Boom! The oak door flew off its hinges. Bertram stormed in, flanked by half a dozen armed bodyguards. The man threw Gabrielle over his shoulder, stepped onto the marble counter, and vaulted up onto the high window ledge with lethal agility. "Stop them! Shoot! Dead or alive!" Bertram screamed, his face purple with rage as he pointed at the dark figure above. Six pistols fitted with suppressors came up at once, aiming straight at the man's back. Without looking back, the man drew his gun and fired a single blind shot behind him. The bullet obliterated the fire sprinkler on the ceiling. High-pressure water exploded downward like a torrential waterfall. Blinded by the sudden curtain of water, the guards fired wildly into the walls. Using the cover, the man held Gabrielle tight against his chest and leaped out into the pitch-black night. The sudden weightlessness jolted Gabrielle awake. A scream rose in her throat, only to be smothered by his broad palm. They plunged into a massive pile of cardboard and trash bags in the alley behind the hotel. He tucked her head against his chest and rolled across the wet asphalt, absorbing the brutal impact with his own back. Before she could even catch her breath, he hauled her up by the wrist and dragged her into a dead sprint down the dark, narrow alley. Her silver heels had been lost during the jump. Barefoot, Gabrielle ran across puddles and broken glass, every step sending sharp agony up her legs. "I can't run anymore..." she sobbed, collapsing beside a rusted dumpster as rain and tears plastered her hair to her face. He stopped and looked back at the trembling heiress huddled in the mud, a deep crease forming between his brows. Tires screeched at the mouth of the alley. Headlights sliced through the dark as shouting guards fanned out to cut them off. Without a word, he walked back, scooped her up into his arms despite her startled gasp, and bolted deeper into the maze of shadows. He kicked open the rusted bulkhead door of an abandoned basement, carried her down the concrete steps, and threw the heavy iron bolt. Grabbing a broken metal bed frame, he wedged it tight against the door. In the pitch dark, only their ragged breathing echoed off the damp walls. Gabrielle's fingers stayed twisted in his soaked coat, trembling like a cornered animal. Pushed to the limit by the sprint, the drug in her bloodstream hit its final, devastating peak. She curled into a ball on the concrete floor, letting out broken, agonizing whimpers. He crouched beside her and flicked open a silver lighter. The tiny yellow flame lit up her face, twisted in unbearable torment. "I gave you a chance to walk away," he said, his voice echoing hollowly in the basement as he stared into her glazed eyes. Gabrielle looked up at him through a blur of tears. Guided by the last shred of her instinct, she reached up and wrapped her bare arms around his neck. "Save me..." she choked out, surrendering every last piece of her pride as she pulled him down into the dark.