Hardie sat behind the mahogany desk in his private clinic. His long fingers turned the page of a patient file. His eyes were cold and focused.

His phone vibrated against the wood. A text from Julian Thorne lit up the screen.

Prescott's party is getting completely out of hand. A buddy of mine just forwarded this to the group chat from the Black Rabbit. Your family's little stray is there and it looks bad.

Hardie frowned. He tapped the video attachment.

The screen played. Arlene stood in a dark room. Blood dripped from her mouth. She chugged a bottle of red liquid, gagged, and collapsed like a broken doll onto the floor.

Hardie's pupils dilated. The expensive fountain pen in his hand snapped in two. Black ink splattered across the pristine medical records.

His breathing turned ragged. The thick sheet of ice he usually used to suppress his volatile emotions shattered instantly. A terrifying, violent fire erupted from the deepest depths of his chest, a raging inferno that he himself feared.

That was his girl. The girl he watched from the shadows. The girl no one was allowed to touch.

He stood up so fast his leather chair crashed backward onto the floor. The sound echoed in the quiet office.

He grabbed his phone and dialed Julian. His voice was absolute zero. "Which room?"

Julian stammered, caught off guard. "Man, it's just a joke. She's in the back VIP room. Prescott's got his whole crew in there..."

Hardie ended the call. He walked out of the office.

A nurse in the hallway opened her mouth to speak. She took one look at Hardie's eyes and stepped back against the wall, terrified.

He stepped into the elevator and punched the button for the parking garage. His knuckles were bone white.

He sprinted to the Aston Martin. The engine roared to life.

The tires screamed against the concrete as he sped out of the garage.

He dialed his head of security while weaving through traffic. "Get me the floor plan for the VIP rooms at the Black Rabbit. Now."

The image of Arlene hitting the floor played on a loop in his brain. It felt like a knife twisting in his gut.

He remembered her face in the alley. She lied to him. She went to a slaughterhouse instead of asking him for help.

The self-hatred burned his throat. He had let her walk in there.

He slammed his hand against the steering wheel at a red light. The horn blared.

His phone rang. "Sir, Mitch Kozlowski runs security for Prescott there."

"Tell Mitch he has three minutes to get her out of that room, or I will burn his club to the ground with him inside."

Hardie threw the phone onto the passenger seat.

The light turned green. He floored the accelerator.

She tore up his card. She would rather die than owe him.

The thought made his blood boil. He looked in the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a murderer.

The Black Rabbit's neon sign glowed ahead. He had sat in the alley across the street and watched her walk through those doors. Now he wasn't waiting anymore.

Hardie didn't slow down. He drove the Aston Martin straight up onto the sidewalk, slamming the brakes right in front of the main doors.

Hardie kicked the heavy front doors of the club open. The metal hit the wall with a deafening crash. The music seemed to stop.

A bouncer stepped forward. Hardie didn't even slow down. He locked eyes with the man. "Mitch Kozlowski sent you?" Hardie's voice was a low, lethal drawl. "Tell Mitch that Hardie Boone is here to collect his property, or I'll have his head." The promise of death in Hardie's stare, combined with the casual drop of his boss's name, made the bouncer freeze and step aside.

Hardie walked straight to the back hallway. His leather shoes crunched over broken glass.

He reached the VIP door and kicked it open.

Sterling was standing over Arlene, yelling at a guy to drag her out the back.

Hardie's eyes found her. She was curled into a tight ball on the floor. Her clothes were covered in vomit and alcohol.

Sterling looked up. His face drained of color. "Dr. Boone? It's just a party..."

Hardie ignored him. He stepped over a puddle of liquor and dropped to one knee beside Arlene.

His hands shook as he pressed two fingers to the pulse point on her neck. Her skin was freezing. Her pulse was a weak, erratic flutter.

"Call an ambulance!" Hardie roared at the men by the door. His voice was raw and terrifying.

Arlene felt a hand on her neck. She flinched violently in her delirium. "Don't... don't hit me..."

Hardie's chest caved in. He slid his arms under her body and lifted her. He held her against his chest like she was made of glass.

She suddenly convulsed. She vomited blood and stomach acid directly onto the lapel of his custom suit.

Hardie didn't blink. He just pulled her head closer, making sure she didn't choke.

He turned and walked toward the door. He stopped right next to Sterling.

"This was just an accident. Right?" Hardie's voice was a whisper, but it cut through the room like a scalpel.

Sterling swallowed hard. He nodded frantically. "Yeah. She drank too much."

Hardie let out a dark, hollow laugh. He walked out of the club.

The freezing night air hit Arlene's face. She forced her swollen eyes open.

Through the blur, she saw the sharp line of Hardie's jaw.

"Put me down..." she whispered. Her throat felt like it was lined with razor blades. "I'm fine. I'm waiting for a friend..."

Hardie stopped walking. He looked down at the woman bleeding in his arms. The rage inside him ignited.

"Waiting for a friend?" He gritted his teeth. "You wait for a friend until your stomach bleeds? You wait for a friend until you're dying on a dirty floor?"

Arlene went completely still. The pure fury in his voice terrified her.

Hardie opened the passenger door of the Aston Martin. He placed her on the leather seat and buckled her in. His movements were rough, locking her in place.

He got into the driver's seat and slammed his door.

The silence in the car was suffocating. "You would rather die than call my number?" he asked.

Arlene turned her head toward the window. A single tear fell down her cheek. "I don't want your pity, Dr. Boone."

"Pity?" Hardie leaned across the console. His face was inches from hers. His breath was hot against her cold skin. "You lie to my face, tear up my card, and now you sit here bleeding and talk about pity?"

The sheer dominance radiating from him pressed her into the seat. She closed her eyes, unable to fight back.

Hardie threw the car into gear. He sped toward Harkness University Hospital.

Arlene woke up to a blinding headache. The sharp smell of antiseptic burned her nose.

She tried to move her hand. A sharp pinch in her vein stopped her. An IV line was taped to her skin.

The room was dim. The heart monitor beeped in a slow, steady rhythm.

She turned her head. A massive shadow sat in the corner chair.

Hardie was staring at her. His eyes caught the faint light from the hallway, glowing like a predator in the dark.

Arlene pulled the thin hospital blanket up to her chin. Her fingers gripped the cotton fabric tightly.

"You're awake." His voice was gravelly. He sounded like he hadn't slept in days.

He stood up. His tall frame moved toward the bed, blocking out the light. The air in the room suddenly felt too thin to breathe.

"Do you know that if you got here thirty minutes later, you would have died on the table?" He looked down at her.

Arlene looked away. She bit her pale lip.

"Acute gastric mucosal lesion. Esophageal tear. Alcohol poisoning." Hardie recited the words slowly, reading her sins out loud.

He slammed a metal clipboard onto the bedside table.

Arlene jumped at the noise. Tears spilled over her eyelashes. "This has nothing to do with you..."

"Nothing to do with me?" Hardie leaned down. He planted both hands on the mattress on either side of her hips. He trapped her in his shadow.

The heavy scent of cedar and sterile soap overwhelmed her.

"You carry the Boone name. Whether you live or die is my decision. Not yours."

Arlene looked up into his bloodshot eyes. She saw the anger, but she also saw a dark, twisted obsession that made her stomach drop.

"I can't pay for this room." She tried to use logic to push him away. "I'll pay you back for the bill. Then I'll leave."

Hardie laughed. It was a cold, cruel sound. He reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to look at him. "You think I'm letting you leave?"

His thumb brushed against the purple bruise on her jaw. The touch was soft, but the grip was unbreakable.

"Starting today, you do not step foot outside this room without my permission."

Arlene's eyes widened. "You can't keep me here. That's illegal!"

"Illegal?" Hardie let go of her face and stood up straight. "Let's see who the police believe. A suicidal, illegitimate daughter, or my medical evaluation?"

He turned and walked toward the door.

"Rest well, Arlene. You aren't going anywhere."

The door clicked shut.

Panic seized her chest. She reached over and ripped the IV needle out of her hand. Blood dripped onto the white sheets.

She threw her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

Her knees buckled instantly. The room spun. She crashed onto the linoleum floor, too weak to even catch herself.

The door flew open. Two nurses rushed in and grabbed her arms, hauling her back onto the bed.

One nurse looked down at her with pity. "Miss, Dr. Boone left strict orders. If you try to leave again, we have to inject you with a sedative."

Arlene lay back against the pillows. She was trapped.