The impact against the hard plaster knocked the wind out of Chloe. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips.

Axel stepped closer, forcing his knee aggressively between her thighs. The movement completely pinned her lower body, cutting off any angle of escape.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing against her cheek. He took a deep, greedy breath of the scent at the crook of her neck.

A violent shudder of disgust ripped through Chloe. She shoved both hands against his rock-hard chest, pushing with all her might, but he felt like a concrete wall.

Axel moved his hand up, grabbing both of her wrists in one massive grip and pinning them above her head against the wall. His free hand shot out, his thumb and index finger clamping down hard on her jaw.

"The running game is over," he murmured, his voice a dark, raspy threat. "Time to settle the bill."

Before she could turn her head, he crushed his mouth against hers. The kiss was brutal, punishing, leaving no room for her to breathe.

Chloe tasted blood. Panic and fury exploded in her chest. She opened her mouth and bit down as hard as she could on his lower lip.

Axel grunted in pain and pulled back slightly. He wiped the smear of blood from his mouth with his thumb. The look in his eyes turned pitch black, radiating pure danger.

He bent down, threw her over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour, and walked toward the small, dark bedroom.

"Let me go!" Chloe screamed, kicking her legs and pounding her fists against his back.

Axel ignored her. He reached the bed and tossed her onto the cheap, lumpy mattress without an ounce of gentleness.

He unbuttoned his trench coat and threw it aside. His large body followed, pressing her deep into the mattress as his hands grabbed the collar of her hoodie, ready to rip the fabric.

Chloe thrashed wildly. Her hand swept across the bedsheets and hit the leather strap of her tote bag, which she had left on the pillow earlier that day.

Desperation fueled her. She plunged her hand into the bag and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper stained with a drop of dried blood.

She slammed the medical report flat against Axel's chest, screaming at the top of her lungs. "I have HIV!"

Axel's entire body froze. The air in the bedroom stopped moving.

He lifted his weight off her just enough to snatch the wrinkled paper from her hand. He held it up to the dim light of the bedside lamp.

The red stamp glared back at him: HIV POSITIVE. She pressed her trembling thumb hard over the top corner, deliberately concealing the stranger's name printed on the header.

A violent tremor went through Axel's pupils. The dark lust and rage drained from his face, leaving behind a terrifying, pale stillness.

Chloe used his shock to push him away. She scrambled to the farthest corner of the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin to cover herself.

"I did whatever I had to do to survive these two years," she lied, forcing a bitter, self-destructive tone into her voice. "My life is a mess. I am dirty."

Axel stared at her. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as his grip tightened, nearly turning the paper into dust. A dark, possessive fury twisted his features, jealousy slashing through the shock like a blade. The words she had spoken—I did whatever I had to do to survive—painted images in his mind that made him want to burn the world down. His voice dropped to a lethal, guttural growl. "How many?" He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his blazing eyes. "How many men have touched you? How many have taken what belongs to me?"

Chloe watched his chest heave. She waited for the disgust. She waited for him to throw her away like garbage and walk out the door. A tiny spark of hope flickered in her chest.

Instead, a ragged sound escaped him—half laugh, half snarl. "I haven't laid a hand on another woman since the night you vanished," he bit out, his thumb pressing hard against her trembling lips. "I've been losing my mind searching for you, while you—" his voice cracked with a jealousy so raw it bordered on pain, "—you gave yourself to strangers to survive."

A low, suppressed laugh rumbled deep in Axel's throat then, but it was dark and hollow. It sounded like a sigh from hell.

He lunged forward. His large hands framed her face, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks. His eyes burned with a frantic, blood-red madness.

"Even if you are rotting from the inside out, you are mine," he snarled through clenched teeth. "If you are going to die, I will go to hell with you."

Chloe stared at him, completely paralyzed by shock. Before she could process the insanity of his words, Axel lowered his head and kissed her again, harder and deeper than before, showing absolutely no fear of the disease.

When he finally pulled away, he grabbed his discarded trench coat and wrapped it tightly around her trembling body. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the front door.

"I will find the best immunology experts on the planet to cure you," he stated coldly, his grip on her iron-clad. "Until then, you will not leave my sight for a single second."

Chloe closed her eyes in absolute despair. A hot tear slipped down her cheek. The smell of his cedarwood cologne overwhelmed her senses, dragging her mind back to the very night this nightmare began.

Chloe kept her eyes squeezed shut. The heavy scent of Axel's cedarwood cologne slowly faded, replaced by the dry, scorching night wind of Las Vegas.

Time rushed backward two years. Twenty-year-old Chloe walked down a desolate back alley, far away from the glittering lights of the Strip. She wore a cheap, ill-fitting black mourning dress.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around a wooden urn and a framed photograph of her mother, Vanessa Sterling. She had just left the memorial vigil at a run-down chapel on the edge of town.

She had no money for a cab. The long walk had destroyed her feet. The stiff leather of her cheap heels rubbed her heels raw, and she could feel warm blood seeping into her stockings.

She stopped walking and leaned her shoulder against a brick wall covered in graffiti. She bent down, massaging her swollen, bleeding ankle.

A dull, heavy pop echoed from deeper inside the alley. It sounded like a gunshot muffled by a silencer.

Chloe flinched. Her body locked up. Her heart instantly shifted into a frantic, racing rhythm.

Instinct took over. She dropped to a crouch, hiding her body behind a massive green metal dumpster sitting by the curb.

She held her breath and carefully peeked her head around the rusted edge of the metal bin.

Under the sickly yellow glow of a broken streetlamp, a fat man in a loud floral shirt was on his knees. The ground around him was slick with foul-smelling dirty water.

The fat man, Paul Petrov, had his hands clasped together. Snot and tears ran down his face as he bowed repeatedly, begging for his life, screaming that he would give back everything.

Next to Paul stood a woman in a tight, revealing dress. She had both hands over her face, letting out a muffled, terrified shriek.

Standing over them was a tall, lean young man in a sharp gray suit. Dante Sinclair.

Dante wore a cynical, cold sneer on his face. In his right hand, he held a black Glock pistol fitted with a long suppressor.

He did not say a single word. He simply raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

A soft thwip cut through the air. The woman's scream stopped instantly. A dark red hole appeared right between her eyebrows, and she fell backward onto the pavement, stiff as a board.

Paul let out a horrific, pig-like squeal. He scrambled on his hands and knees, trying to crawl away through the trash.

Dante's eyes were dead. He lowered the barrel slightly and fired two rapid shots into Paul's broad back.

Paul's massive body twitched twice on the wet ground, then lay completely still in a growing pool of dark blood.

The thick, metallic smell of fresh blood drifted down the alley on the hot wind. Chloe's stomach churned violently. She slapped both hands over her mouth, fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Her hands shook so badly she lost her grip. The heavy urn and the framed photo slipped from her arms.

The brass corner of the picture frame struck the side of the metal dumpster. In the dead silence of the alley, the sharp clang rang out like a church bell.

The second the sound hit the air, Dante snapped his head toward the dumpster. His eyes locked onto her hiding spot like a hunting leopard.

He raised the Glock. The black hole of the barrel pointed directly at the edge of the green bin.

"Who is there?" Dante barked, his voice like cracking ice.

Chloe's heart hammered against her ribs so hard it hurt. She knew she could not outrun a bullet.

She closed her eyes and took one deep, ragged breath. She forced her panic down, her brain screaming for a way to survive.

She quickly scooped her mother's photo back into her arms. She reached up and pulled the black hairpins from her head, letting her long hair fall in a messy tangle over her cheeks.

She stood up slowly. She purposely unfocused her eyes, letting her vision blur until everything became a fuzzy shape. She needed to look legally blind.

She bit the tip of her tongue hard, using the sharp pain to keep her face blank. Stumbling slightly, she stepped out from behind the dumpster.

She acted as if she saw absolutely nothing. She waved her free hand in the air in front of her, her voice trembling with manufactured confusion.

"Hello?" she mumbled, walking directly toward Dante. "Did my contact lens fall over there?"