Alex kicked the frosted glass door of the master bathroom open. His heavy tactical boots left dark, wet mud stains across the pristine anti-slip tiles.

He carried Ashlyn's weightless body to the massive marble vanity. He dumped her onto the cold stone surface. His movements were rough, but his large hands carefully avoided the fresh puncture wound wrapped in gauze on her forearm.

He turned his back to her and ripped the shower handle upward. Scalding hot water blasted from the showerhead. Thick, white steam immediately began to fill the enclosed space.

Alex cursed under his breath. He grabbed the collar of his ruined black leather jacket, the leather stiff with dried blood, and ripped it off his shoulders. He threw it onto the expensive glass shelf. The heavy leather hit the glass with a loud, dull smack.

The freezing marble seeped through Ashlyn's thin hospital gown. She shivered violently, her eyebrows pulling together in a tight frown. A tiny, broken whimper escaped her lips.

Alex froze. He was halfway through unbuttoning his filthy shirt. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto her paper-white face. A flash of intense, raw frustration tightened the muscles in his jaw.

He stepped back to the vanity. His rough, calloused fingers grabbed the hem of her hospital gown. The fabric was stained with the blood from his own coat. He needed to get it off her before the dirt infected her needle wound.

The sound of cotton tearing echoed sharply over the roar of the shower.

The physical pull on her clothes, combined with the suffocating heat of the steam, dragged Ashlyn back to consciousness.

She felt a burning hot, rough hand brush against her collarbone. Pure survival instinct kicked in. Her eyes snapped open.

The first thing her vision focused on was Alex's broad, bare chest. The skin was a canvas of brutal violence. Deep purple bruises overlapped with jagged, fresh cuts and thick, raised white scars from older battles.

Ashlyn's heart slammed against her ribs. She scrambled backward, her hands slipping on the wet marble. Her spine slammed hard into the freezing bathroom mirror.

The loud thump made Alex snap his head up.

They locked eyes in the cramped, steam-filled bathroom. The air between them instantly turned to stone.

Ashlyn's gaze dragged upward, following the sharp, tense line of his jaw.

Her pupils dilated to the size of pinpricks. The breath completely vanished from her lungs.

Running across the left side of Alex's previously flawless, hard-angled face was a massive, jagged knife wound. It started just below his eye and slashed violently down to his jawbone.

The flesh had barely begun to scab over. Thick, dark red sutures held the skin together, crawling across his face like a grotesque, mangled centipede. It was horrific.

Behind her wide eyes, Ashlyn's brain fired at lightning speed. That scar would be permanent. It would completely ruin his ability to blend into high-society corporate events. The suture technique was incredibly sloppy, meaning he was operating entirely outside of his usual medical support network. He had been cornered in whatever gang war he had just survived, isolated from his resources. That was a massive, exploitable weakness.

But Helga Caldwell couldn't show that. Ashlyn Grant, the fragile, money-obsessed college student, had to react.

Tears instantly flooded her eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble so violently her teeth chattered.

She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, slapping both hands over her mouth. A muffled, high-pitched scream of absolute terror ripped from her throat.

Alex saw the sheer horror in her eyes. He saw her body physically recoiling from him, pressing into the glass as if trying to escape a monster.

His hand, which had been reaching out to unbutton the rest of her gown, stopped dead in the air.

The muscle in his jaw ticked. He let out a low, harsh sound that was supposed to be a laugh. The movement pulled at the fresh stitches on his face, twisting the scar into something even more demonic and terrifying.

The steam in the bathroom grew thicker, but the temperature between them plummeted to absolute zero.

Ashlyn pressed her trembling hands against his bare, scarred chest. She pushed. The physical force was weak, but the rejection was absolute.

Alex let her push him. He took a half-step back. The feral heat in his eyes completely died, replaced by a freezing, hollow void. He looked at her exactly the way a man looks at a worthless piece of trash.

He reached blindly to the side, grabbed a dry, thick bath towel, and whipped it hard at her face.

The heavy cotton covered Ashlyn's head entirely, plunging her into darkness and muffling her fake sobs.

Under the towel, Ashlyn instantly dropped the terrified expression. She let out a slow, silent exhale, forcing her racing pulse to steady.

Alex's voice sliced through the sound of the running water. It was completely devoid of emotion, laced with a lethal warning.

"Wash the blood off. Then get the hell out of my sight."

He didn't wait for a response. He spun on his heel and marched out of the bathroom. The heavy metal buckle of his belt slammed against the doorframe.

The frosted glass door was slammed shut with enough force to shake the walls. The condensation on the tiles rained down.

Ashlyn slowly pulled the towel off her head.

She looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, but her eyes were completely dead and calculating.

She reached her hand down to the edge of the marble sink. Her fingertip touched a single drop of dark red blood Alex had left behind. She rubbed the blood between her thumb and index finger, smearing it.

Her mind was already spinning. That scar was the perfect weapon. She knew exactly how to use it to push him over the edge.

Ashlyn pulled the conservative, long-sleeved silk pajamas tightly around her body. The thick fabric perfectly hid the bruised puncture wound on her arm. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the humid bathroom air, and pushed the door open.

She stepped out barefoot onto the hardwood floor of the hallway. She deliberately stomped her heels slightly, making sure the soft thud of her footsteps announced her approach.

In the massive living room, Alex was sitting on the edge of the black leather sofa. He held a heavy, square bottle of high-proof bourbon in his hand. No glass. He tipped the bottle back and took a long, brutal swallow directly from the neck.

He heard her footsteps. He didn't turn around. The muscles in his back were coiled tight beneath his ruined shirt. In the dim, ambient light of the living room, the jagged silhouette of his scarred jaw looked even more menacing.

Ashlyn stopped exactly three steps away from the sofa. The absolute limit of a safe distance. She twisted the hem of her silk top around her fingers, her knuckles turning white, radiating pure, nervous anxiety.

Alex lowered the bottle. He slammed the heavy glass base down onto the solid marble coffee table. The loud crack made Ashlyn physically flinch.

He turned his head slowly. His dark eyes dragged over her like broken glass.

Ashlyn immediately averted her gaze. She let her eyes dart nervously toward his chin, then quickly looked at the floor, acting as if looking at his mangled face for more than a second would give her nightmares.

That blatant, physical display of disgust was the spark that hit the gasoline.

Alex let out a harsh, grating laugh. The sound was like sandpaper rubbing against bone.

"Why are you standing all the way over there?" he sneered, his voice thick with alcohol and venom. "Afraid the ugly is contagious?"

Ashlyn bit down on her lower lip. Tears, perfectly timed, spilled over her lashes and hit the expensive rug. Her shoulders hitched in a violent sob.

"You..." she choked out, her voice shrill, pitching into the tone of an unreasonable, terrified girl. "You look terrifying! You look like a... a monster!"

Alex exploded.

He shot up from the sofa. His massive frame instantly blocked out the overhead lights, casting a huge, suffocating shadow that swallowed Ashlyn whole.

He closed the distance between them in two heavy strides. His tactical boots stomped against the floor. Ashlyn stumbled backward in perfectly choreographed panic, retreating until her spine hit the freezing surface of a concrete structural pillar.

There was nowhere else to go.

Alex's large, calloused hand shot out. His fingers clamped around her jaw like a steel vice. He forced her head up, making her look directly into his ruined, stitched-up face.

The pressure on her bone was agonizing. Ashlyn felt like her jaw was going to snap. She gasped in genuine pain, the tears flowing faster now.

Alex leaned in. His face was inches from hers. The heavy stench of cheap bourbon, dried blood, and raw fury blasted against her nose. His eyes were completely black, swirling with a violent storm.

"This monster face," he gritted out, every syllable dripping with acid, "is what kept me alive on the streets. It's what pays the massive wire transfers into your blood-sucking bank account every month."

Ashlyn's chest tightened. She knew he had taken those hits to pay for Diana's medical bills and to secure his place in the syndicate. But she couldn't show a shred of empathy. She had to be the shallow, ungrateful bitch.

She thrashed against the pillar. Her small hands slapped wildly at his rock-hard forearms, her nails scratching against his skin.

"Let me go!" she screamed, her voice echoing off the high ceilings. "Let me go!"

She twisted her face, fighting his grip, and screamed the line she had been preparing since the bathroom.

"We're terminating the contract! I never want to see your terrifying face again!"

The air in the living room instantly died.

Alex's body froze completely. His pupils contracted so fast it looked painful. He stared at her as if she had just spoken in a dead language.

Slowly, the pressure on her jaw released. His hand hovered in the air for a second before his fingers curled inward, forming a fist so tight the knuckles popped. Thick blue veins bulged against the back of his hand.

Ashlyn brought her hands up to massage her throbbing, red jaw. She took a ragged breath and threw the final match into the fire.

"I don't even want this month's final payment," she cried, shrinking against the pillar. "I just want to leave this horrible place!"

Alex stared at her. He watched her desperate, pathetic need to escape him. The last shred of human warmth in his eyes completely evaporated, leaving behind nothing but a freezing, lethal emptiness.

He spun around. He lifted his heavy tactical boot and kicked the solid marble coffee table with devastating force.

The heavy stone flipped. The bourbon bottle smashed into pieces. Amber liquid and shards of glass exploded across the floor.

The violent crash made Ashlyn scream. She dropped to her knees, covering her ears with her hands, curling into a tight, trembling ball of absolute helplessness.

Alex stood over the wreckage. He looked down at her, his chest heaving.

He raised his arm and pointed a single, shaking finger toward the front door.

"Get out," he said. His voice was no longer a roar. It was a terrifying, dead whisper. "Get the fuck out."

Ashlyn didn't hesitate. She scrambled up from the floor, her bare feet slipping on the rug. She didn't grab a coat. She didn't grab a bag. She ran toward the heavy oak door like the devil himself was behind her.

She ripped the door open and sprinted into the dark hallway, leaving Alex standing alone in the ruins of the living room.

Ashlyn practically threw herself into the elevator. She slammed her palm against the button for the lobby, her chest heaving. As the stainless steel doors slowly slid shut, cutting off the view of the penthouse hallway, she finally let her head fall back against the wall and exhaled a long, steady breath.

The elevator plummeted to the ground floor. She stepped out and walked quickly across the expansive, gold-accented lobby.

The moment she pushed through the revolving glass doors, the freezing night wind slammed into her. It sliced right through her thin silk pajamas.

She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, rubbing her bare skin, and marched down the perfectly manicured, tree-lined driveway toward the massive wrought-iron gates of the gated community. Her heart was still beating erratically from the blood loss and the adrenaline of the fight.

She was ten yards away from the gate when the floodlights hit her.

The blinding white beams pinned her to the pavement. Ashlyn squeezed her eyes shut, throwing a hand up to shield her face. The light burned her retinas.

Two massive security guards, clad in black tactical gear, stepped out of the guardhouse. They were holding the thick leather leashes of two snarling Dobermans. The dogs strained against their collars, their teeth bared.

"Hold it right there, Miss," one of the guards barked, his voice devoid of any respect. "Show your night pass or present Mr. Robinson's iris authorization code."

Ashlyn ground her teeth together. "I have terminated my employment with Alex Robinson," she said, raising her chin. "Open the gate."

The two guards exchanged a look. One of them let out a low, mocking chuckle.

"Without Mr. Robinson's system override, not even a fly leaves this sector," the guard stated flatly. "Turn around."

One of the Dobermans lunged forward, barking viciously. The explosive sound sent a genuine spike of fear through Ashlyn. She stumbled backward, her bare heel catching on the edge of the concrete curb. She flailed her arms, barely catching her balance before she hit the ground.

A low rumble of thunder shook the sky. A second later, the sky ripped open.

Freezing, torrential rain poured down in sheets. Within seconds, Ashlyn's thin silk pajamas were plastered to her skin.

The icy water ran down her face, instantly stripping away the last remnants of her body heat. The dizzy, sickening wave of blood loss crashed into her brain again. Her knees shook.

She stared through the iron bars at the empty, wet streets of Empire City. She was trapped. In this city, controlled by capital and syndicate power, without the right clearance, she was a prisoner.

She weighed her options with cold logic. If she stayed out here, she would pass out from hypothermia and blood loss.

She bit down on her lower lip so hard she tasted copper. She turned around and began the humiliating walk back.

The rain battered her small frame. She walked back into the luxurious lobby looking like a drowned rat. The expensive rugs soaked up the muddy water dripping from her bare feet.

The lobby manager stared at her with wide eyes, but knowing she belonged to the monster in the penthouse, he kept his mouth shut.

Ashlyn stepped back into the elevator. She looked at her reflection in the mirrored walls. Her hair was plastered to her skull, her lips were blue, and she was shivering uncontrollably. A flash of pure, unadulterated humiliation burned in her eyes.

The elevator dinged at the top floor. She stood in front of the heavy oak door she had just dramatically fled through.

She hesitated for three seconds. Then, she raised a numb, freezing fist and knocked weakly on the wood.

The door wasn't locked. It was cracked open. She pushed it slightly and peeked inside.

The shattered glass and spilled bourbon were still on the floor.

Alex was leaning against the wall in the entryway. His long legs were crossed at the ankles. A lit cigarette was pinched between his fingers, the smoke curling around his scarred face.

He had been standing there the whole time. Watching the security feed. Watching her hit a brick wall in the storm and crawl back like a pathetic joke.

Ashlyn pushed the door open and stepped inside. A puddle of rainwater immediately formed around her feet. Her teeth were chattering so hard they clicked.

Alex stared at her. He exhaled a thick cloud of pale blue smoke.

"Why did you stop running?" he mocked, his voice dripping with cruelty.

Ashlyn dropped her head. The wet silk clung to every curve of her body, highlighting the violent shivers wracking her spine.

"The guards... wouldn't let me out," she whispered, her voice thick with a nasal, pathetic whine. "It's raining. I'm so cold."

Alex's eyes dropped to her soaked clothes, then up to her trembling, blue lips. His fingers tightened around the cigarette.

He wanted to laugh at her. He wanted to tear her apart with words. But looking at her swaying, fragile body-a body that had just been drained of blood to save his sister-his throat constricted. The lump of anger in his chest shifted into something ugly and complicated.

He cursed violently under his breath. He shoved the half-smoked cigarette directly into the pristine white wall, crushing the cherry and leaving a black scorch mark.

He pushed off the wall and marched over to the entryway table. He grabbed a heavy set of car keys, the metal jingling sharply in his fist.

He walked right past her shivering form, pushing the door open to the hallway.

"Follow me," he ordered, his voice like cracking ice.