No Escape From His Dangerous Love

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.

Alma O'Malley, the head housekeeper of the Boone estate, drove Arlene back from the hospital. The Boones had ordered her discharged into their custody. Her dorm room was off-limits until they decided otherwise. The car ride was completely silent.

The heavy iron gates of the estate opened. The cold, damp air of the grounds seeped into the car. The massive stone house looked more like a tomb than a hospital.

Arlene walked through the front doors. Her legs still felt weak.

She walked into the main living room. Her half-sister, Barbra, sat on the velvet sofa with three other socialites. Delicate teacups rested on the table.

Barbra looked up. She dramatically pinched her nose. "God, what is that smell? Did a rat crawl out of the sewer?"

The other girls giggled behind their hands. Arlene kept her eyes on the floor and walked faster toward the stairs.

"Stop right there," Barbra snapped. "I heard you put on quite a show at the Black Rabbit. Begging for pennies on your knees?"

Arlene grabbed the wooden banister. Her nails dug into the polished wood. She didn't say a word. She just kept climbing.

She reached the tiny attic room where the Boones kept her things when she wasn't at school. She sat on the lumpy mattress. Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

It was a text from Clara: Are you okay? The whole campus is talking about you.

Arlene let out a shaky breath. She started to type a reply when she remembered the estate security guard she had just passed in the hallway. He had been quietly speaking into his lapel mic, his eyes tracking her every move as she climbed the stairs. He was definitely reporting her arrival to someone. Another message popped up from an unknown number.

Stay put.

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly who it was. Hardie. How had he gotten her number?

A fresh wave of fear hit her. He had access to everything.

She heard the crunch of tires on the gravel driveway below. She walked to the small attic window and looked down.

Cornelius Boone's black town car parked by the fountain.

Arlene realized she hadn't had a drop of water since she got back. Her throat felt like sandpaper. She cracked her door open and crept down the stairs from the attic. As she reached the second-floor landing, the voices from the foyer below drifted up, sharp and clear.

Denita Boone's sharp voice echoed. "Hardie has finally agreed. Camilla is a good girl."

Cornelius sounded pleased. "The merger will benefit both families. We'll throw a massive engagement party next month."

Arlene's chest tightened. A sharp pain radiated through her ribs. Hardie was getting married? To Camilla Knowles?

She thought about the way Hardie looked at her in the hospital. The intense, suffocating possession in his eyes. It made her sick.

He didn't care about her. He just wanted to control her like a disobedient pet because he was the head of the family.

Barbra's voice chimed in. "What about Arlene? She embarrassed us in front of the Prescotts."

Delbert Boone's cold voice cut through the chatter. "Throw her out of the main house. I don't want to see her face before the engagement."

Arlene sank against the wall. She slid down until she hit the floor. Her eyes were dry.

She was less than garbage to them.

She pushed herself up and ran back to her room. She grabbed her canvas backpack. She shoved two pairs of jeans, a few shirts, and her small envelope of cash inside.

Her phone lit up again. The same unknown number flashed on the screen.

She stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the red button. She let it ring until it went to voicemail.

She zipped up the bag. She had to leave tonight.

The wind howled outside, rattling the thin glass of the attic window.