Falon lay on the hood of the car, gasping for air. The freezing rain pelted her back.

She dragged her body toward the side of the car. She slammed her bloody palms against the tinted passenger window.

Two bright red handprints smeared across the glass.

The window slowly rolled down. Just a few inches.

A blast of dry, air-conditioned air escaped from the cabin.

Bell Farrell sat in the shadows of the spacious back seat. He wore a tailored black suit. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp. He looked at her the way a predator evaluates a wounded animal.

Falon could not see his face clearly. The drug in her veins made her vision swim. The heat inside her body was becoming unbearable.

"Please," Falon begged. Her voice shook violently from the cold and the terror. "Open the door."

A harsh scraping sound echoed from the mouth of the alley.

Falon snapped her head around.

Dwayne was limping toward her. He held a heavy metal pipe in his hand. The pipe dragged against the wet asphalt, sending up sparks.

Falon's pupils dilated. Panic seized her throat.

She looked back at the man in the car.

Bell did not move. He raised his long, elegant fingers and tapped them slowly against the leather armrest. Tap. Tap. Tap. He was calculating.

Dwayne saw her. He raised the metal pipe. "You dead bitch!" he screamed.

He charged. He was less than thirty feet away.

A soft, mechanical click sounded from the Maybach's door.

The lock disengaged.

Falon grabbed the handle and yanked the heavy door open.

She threw herself inside. She tumbled onto the plush floorboards, bringing the smell of rain, copper blood, and wet dirt into the pristine environment.

She crashed directly against a pair of long legs clad in expensive wool trousers. A strong scent of cold cedar and musk filled her nose.

The door slammed shut automatically. The locks engaged with a heavy thud just as Dwayne reached the car.

The metal pipe smashed against the reinforced ballistic glass.

The impact produced a dull, muted thud. The glass did not even scratch.

Falon curled into a ball on the edge of the leather seat. She pulled her knees to her chest. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. She sucked in huge gulps of the warm, dry air.

Bell reached into the center console. He pulled out a folded Hermes pocket square.

He grabbed her bleeding wrist. His grip was firm, unyielding. He pressed the expensive silk directly against her open wound.

Falon flinched, but he did not let go.

She slowly lifted her head. The dim ambient light of the cabin illuminated his profile.

A sharp, chiseled jawline. A straight nose. Eyes so dark they looked like endless voids.

Outside, Dwayne pounded on the window. He screamed muffled obscenities, demanding the man inside hand her over.

Bell did not even glance at the window.

He pressed a button on the intercom.

"Drive," Bell commanded. His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.

The Maybach's massive engine roared to life.

The driver did not put the car in reverse. Instead, he slammed his foot on the gas and turned the steering wheel sharply.

The heavy front bumper of the Maybach surged forward, aiming straight for Dwayne.

Dwayne's eyes widened in terror. He dropped the pipe and threw himself backward into a massive puddle of muddy water to avoid being crushed.

The Maybach sped past him, leaving him in the dirt.

The immediate threat of death vanished. The adrenaline in Falon's system crashed.

The black market drug took full control.

A wave of intense, suffocating heat erupted in her lower stomach. It spread through her veins like liquid fire.

She felt like she was burning from the inside out.

Falon whimpered. She reached up and pulled at the torn collar of her Oscar de la Renta gown. The ruined fabric slipped off her shoulder, exposing the pale skin of her collarbone and the swell of her chest.

Bell's eyes snapped to her. He noticed the unnatural, feverish flush spreading across her cheeks. He saw the glazed, unfocused look in her eyes.

His dark eyebrows pulled together.

Falon's rational mind dissolved. She needed to cool down. She needed to touch something cold.

She leaned toward the man beside her. He radiated a cool, solid energy.

Her trembling fingers reached out. She touched the edge of his tailored suit jacket.

Bell's hand shot out. He wrapped his large fingers around her wrist. His grip was tight enough to bruise.

"Do not push your luck," Bell warned. His voice was colder than the rain outside.

The icy pressure of his fingers sent a jolt of electricity straight to her core.

Instead of pulling away, Falon leaned into his touch. She turned her hand and intertwined her bloody fingers with his.

A soft, desperate moan escaped her lips.

Bell's expression hardened. The air in the car suddenly felt dangerously thin.

He reached out with his free hand and gripped her chin. He forced her head up, making her look directly into his eyes. He searched her face, looking for any sign of a trap.

Falon's eyes held no clarity. Only a blind, consuming hunger. A single tear of physical frustration slipped from the corner of her eye and ran over his thumb.

Bell stared at the tear. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

He abruptly let go of her chin. He pushed her back against the seat.

He picked up the car phone. He dialed a number.

"Thaddeus," Bell said. "Bring the universal counteragent to the Tribeca penthouse. Now."

He hung up.

Falon curled into herself on the seat. She dug her fingernails into her own palms. She tried to use the pain to fight the overwhelming urge to touch him.

The Maybach sped across the Brooklyn Bridge. The bright, flashing lights of the Manhattan skyline blurred outside the window. Inside, the only sound was Falon's ragged, heavy breathing.

The drug was winning. Her defenses crumbled.

She could not take it anymore.

Falon uncurled her body. She lunged across the wide seat.

She swung her leg over his lap and straddled his thighs.

Bell did not push her away.

His large hands immediately settled on her narrow waist. His thumbs pressed into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress.

He leaned his head forward until his lips brushed against her ear.

"You are playing with fire," Bell whispered. His voice was thick and rough.

The Maybach descended into the private, underground parking garage of the Tribeca penthouse.

The heavy car doors opened. A blast of cold, subterranean air hit Falon's bare skin. She shivered violently.

Bell did not wait for the driver. He stepped out of the car and pulled Falon into his arms. He lifted her effortlessly.

Falon's arms immediately wrapped around his neck. She buried her face into the crook of his neck. Her hot breath fanned across his pulse point.

Bell carried her to the private elevator. He pressed his thumb against the biometric scanner. The doors slid open.

The elevator shot up to the top floor.

The doors parted, revealing a massive, minimalist penthouse. The interior was a stark contrast of cold black marble, gray steel, and white leather. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a dizzying view of the city below.

Bell walked into the living room. He lowered Falon onto a wide, Italian leather sofa.

He stepped back, intending to go to the kitchen to get her a glass of ice water.

Falon's hand shot out. She grabbed his silk tie. She held on with a desperate, white-knuckled grip.

The sudden pull forced Bell to stop. He dropped down onto one knee at the edge of the sofa. He planted his hands on either side of her head to keep from crushing her.

The fire in Falon's blood was consuming her organs. She needed his skin.

She reached up with trembling fingers. She grabbed the top of his dress shirt. She pulled hard, popping the top two buttons.

Her fingertips brushed against the hard, warm muscle of his chest.

Bell's breathing hitched. His chest expanded rapidly.

He grabbed both of her wrists in one hand. He pinned them to her chest. His eyes darkened, turning into black holes that swallowed all the light in the room.

"If we cross this line, there is no going back," Bell warned. His voice was a low, vibrating threat.

Falon did not hear the warning. Her mind was filled with the echoing sound of Jerod's voice on the phone. Do whatever you want with her. I am done.

The absolute devastation of that betrayal mixed with the chemical fire in her veins. She wanted to erase Jerod. She wanted to feel something else. Anything else.

She looked straight into Bell's eyes.

"Save me," Falon whispered. Her voice broke on a sob.

She lifted her chin and pressed her lips against his throat, right over his Adam's apple.

That single touch destroyed the last thread of Bell's control.

He let out a deep, guttural growl. He released her wrists and grabbed her jaw.

He brought his mouth down on hers.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was a violent collision. It was a punishment and a claim. He forced her lips apart and invaded her mouth, taking all her oxygen.

Falon whimpered into his mouth. Her hands flew to his shoulders. Her nails dug into the expensive fabric of his shirt. She arched her back, pressing her body flush against his.

Bell scooped her up into his arms again. He carried her down the dark hallway.

He kicked open the heavy oak door of the master bedroom.

He threw her onto the center of the massive king-sized bed.

Falon bounced against the soft mattress. She sank into the black velvet duvet. Her wet hair spread out like a dark halo. The ruined designer gown hung off one shoulder. She looked shattered and beautiful.

Bell stood at the edge of the bed. He stripped off his suit jacket and threw it onto the floor. He ripped the silk tie from his neck and wrapped it tightly around his right wrist.

He stared down at her. His chest heaved. He looked like a god demanding a sacrifice.

He climbed onto the bed. He pushed her knees apart with his own.

His rough fingertips traced the curve of her waist. The touch sent a violent shock of electricity through her nervous system.

Falon gasped. She arched her spine off the mattress. Her hands blindly grabbed at his broad back, seeking purchase.

Suddenly, the sharp, shrill sound of the penthouse doorbell echoed through the apartment.

The video intercom on the nightstand lit up. Thaddeus's panicked voice filled the room.

"Bell! I have the counteragent. Open up!"

The noise pierced through the thick fog in Falon's brain. For one split second, reality crashed in. She flinched. Her eyes widened in sudden panic.

Bell felt her body tense. He saw the fear flash in her eyes.

A surge of irrational, possessive rage flared in his chest.

He slammed his hand down on the intercom's mute button. The room plunged back into silence.

He leaned down and bit the sensitive skin of her collarbone. Hard.

He left a dark, red mark on her pale skin. A brand.

Falon cried out from the sharp pain, but the pain instantly morphed into a hollow, aching need. She thrust her hips upward, chasing his weight.

Out in the hallway, the front door beeped. Thaddeus had used his emergency medical override code. The heavy door clicked open.

Bell froze.

He grabbed the thick black silk sheet and pulled it up, covering Falon completely up to her neck. He tucked the edges under her body, hiding every inch of her skin.

He stood up from the bed. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, revealing his sculpted torso. His hair was a mess.

He walked out of the bedroom and pulled the door shut behind him.

Thaddeus rushed into the living room, carrying a silver medical case. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Bell.

The doctor's eyes darted from Bell's unbuttoned shirt to the red scratch marks on his neck. He smelled the heavy, unmistakable scent of arousal in the air.

Thaddeus looked at the closed bedroom door. His jaw dropped.

"Leave the case," Bell ordered. His voice was deadly calm.

"Bell, are you insane?" Thaddeus hissed. "Whoever is in there, she has black market narcotics in her system. This is a massive liability."

Bell walked forward. He snatched the silver case out of Thaddeus's hand.

He grabbed his friend by the shoulder, spun him around, and shoved him toward the front door.

"Get out," Bell said.

He pushed Thaddeus into the hallway and slammed the door shut. The lock engaged with a heavy clunk.

Bell turned around. He walked slowly back to the master bedroom. His eyes burned with a dark, obsessive fire.

Bell pushed the bedroom door open.

The only light came from the dim amber glow of the wall sconces. Falon was thrashing under the black silk sheet. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She was losing the battle against the drug.

Bell tossed the silver medical case onto a leather armchair in the corner of the room. It landed with a heavy thud.

He was not going to use the counteragent. He was going to be the cure.

He walked to the edge of the bed. He placed one knee on the mattress. The bed dipped under his weight.

Falon felt the movement. She rolled toward him instinctively.

Her slender arms reached out from under the covers. She wrapped them around his waist. She pressed her hot, flushed cheek against the cold metal of his belt buckle. She let out a long, desperate sigh.

That sound shattered the last wall of Bell's restraint.

He let out a low growl. He grabbed the black silk sheet and ripped it away, throwing it onto the floor.

He grabbed both of her wrists with his large hands. He pulled her arms up and pinned them flat against the mattress above her head.

Falon's chest arched upward. The drug made her skin hypersensitive. The cool air of the room felt like ice, but his hands felt like branding irons.

Tears of sheer physical frustration leaked from the corners of her eyes.

Bell leaned down. He brushed his lips against her cheek, catching a salty tear.

His touch was surprisingly gentle, but his voice was a dark, dangerous whisper.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Bell asked.

Falon squeezed her eyes shut. Jerod's voice echoed in her skull again. Do whatever you want with her.

Her heart cramped with a sickening pain. She opened her eyes. She looked at the man hovering over her. She did not know him, but right now, he was her only anchor.

She clenched her jaw and nodded. Once. Hard.

Bell did not hold back anymore.

He lowered his head. His mouth traced a burning path down her jawline, down her neck, to the hollow of her throat. Everywhere his lips touched, a fire ignited beneath her skin.

Falon felt her old life peeling away. The perfect, obedient fiancée died in that warehouse. The woman on this bed was someone else.

She twisted her wrists, breaking free from his grip.

She reached up and grabbed his face with both hands. She pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him with a violent, reckless desperation. It was a kiss meant to destroy.

Bell responded with equal ferocity. He grabbed the ruined fabric of her gown and tore it down the middle. The expensive silk ripped with a loud, satisfying sound.

There was nothing left between them.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the dark bedroom. A second later, a massive crack of thunder shook the windows.

In that exact moment, Bell pushed forward, burying himself inside her.

Falon let out a sharp, breathless scream. Her fingernails dug deep into the muscles of his back. She dragged her nails downward, leaving four bloody scratches across his skin.

The pain was sharp, tearing through her body, but it was instantly swallowed by a massive wave of heat.

Bell froze. He rested his forehead against hers. His chest heaved, his hot breath hitting her face. He held himself perfectly still, giving her body time to adjust to the invasion.

Falon was panting. Sweat dripped down her neck. She looked up into his eyes. They were pitch black, filled with a terrifying, absolute power. It was a dominance she had never felt with Jerod.

She took a deep, shuddering breath. She tilted her hips upward, taking him deeper.

"Do not stop," Falon whispered. Her voice was raw and broken.

The command broke the invisible chain holding him back.

Bell began to move. His thrusts were hard, relentless, and punishing. The heavy wooden bed frame groaned against the wall with every impact.

The only sounds in the room were the harsh slaps of skin against skin and their ragged breathing.

Falon felt like she was being ripped apart and put back together. Every time he drove into her, the memories of Jerod fractured. The fake smiles, the cold dismissals, the betrayal-they were all pulverized under the weight of Bell's body.

She was a small boat caught in a violent hurricane, and Bell was the only thing keeping her from drowning.

The tension in her lower stomach coiled tighter and tighter. It became unbearable.

Suddenly, the coil snapped.

A blinding white light exploded behind her eyes. Her entire body locked up in a violent spasm. Wave after wave of intense pleasure crashed through her.

A second later, Bell let out a deep, animalistic roar. He drove into her one last time and emptied himself inside her.

He collapsed on top of her, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Their chests heaved together. Their skin was slick with sweat.

Falon turned her head to the side. She gasped for air. Her face was flushed crimson.

Bell rolled off her, but he did not let her go. He pulled her flush against his side. He wrapped a heavy arm around her waist and tucked her head against his chest.

Falon listened to the steady, powerful thud of his heart.

The drug was finally burning out of her system. A crushing wave of exhaustion hit her. Her eyelids felt like they were made of lead.

Just before the darkness took her, she felt a soft, warm pressure against her forehead. A kiss. It felt incredibly tender. It felt like a promise.

Bell lay awake in the dark. He stared at the ceiling.

He gently brushed a damp strand of hair away from Falon's sleeping face. His eyes softened, revealing a deep, obsessive love that he had hidden for years.

He carefully reached over to the nightstand and grabbed his phone.

He opened an encrypted messaging app. He typed a quick command to his head of security.

Wipe all surveillance footage in the Brooklyn warehouse district for the last three hours. Erase her trail. Find the man with the bleeding leg. Make him disappear permanently.

He hit send. He put the phone down and pulled Falon closer to his chest. She was finally his.