Chapter 3

Alyce ran barefoot across the rough gravel driveway of the Brennan estate, sharp stones cutting into her soles as she sprinted toward the line of black cars pulling out of the main gates.

It was Barclay Reid's convoy. In her past life, after she cut her wrist upstairs, Barclay had called off the engagement in disgust and left, leaving her unprotected against Charisse's traps.

"Stop! Stop the car!"

She threw herself directly in front of the lead armored Maybach, spreading her arms wide.

The driver slammed on the brakes. Tires screeched across the gravel, the heavy chrome grille stopping four inches from her knees.

The front passenger window rolled down halfway. Chief assistant Ira Perkins leaned out, his brows drawn tight.

"Miss Alyce, step aside. Mr. Reid is on a tight schedule."

Alyce ignored Ira completely. She lunged to the rear door and slapped her bloodstained right hand against the bulletproof glass, leaving a red handprint.

"Barclay! Open the door!"

The tinted window slid down smoothly, revealing Barclay's sharp profile. Sitting in his wheelchair inside the cabin, his slate-gray eyes looked down at her with cold annoyance.

"Is this how the Brennan family teaches manners?" His voice was low, his right index finger tapping impatiently against the armrest.

Alyce met his gaze without blinking, grabbed the chrome handle, and pulled the door open before the guards could reach her, diving straight into the spacious backseat.

The cabin smelled of crisp cedarwood. Barclay's brows knitted together, his eyes narrowing.

"Get out."

Instead of retreating, Alyce gripped his lapels with her right hand and pulled her pale face inches from his.

"Marry me. Right now. Immediately."

Barclay paused for half a second, then let out a short, mocking laugh.

"Slitting your wrists upstairs half an hour ago, and now begging for marriage? Your acting is pathetic, Alyce."

He raised his large hand and wrapped his fingers around her right wrist, preparing to shove her out of the car.

The moment his muscles tensed, Alyce ducked her head, opened her mouth, and sank her teeth straight into his broad shoulder.

Her teeth pierced the fine wool of his suit jacket and bit deep into the hard muscle beneath. The metallic tang of blood filled her mouth.

In the front seat, Ira gasped and drew the handgun from his holster, turning around to aim.

"Boss!"

"Shut up. Hold your fire," Barclay rasped, veins standing out on his forehead. He didn't push the trembling woman away, raising a hand to stop his loyal assistant.

He looked down at the woman shivering against his chest, her left wrist still seeping blood through a curtain cord while her teeth stayed locked on his shoulder. A dark flicker crossed his gray eyes.

Alyce bit down with everything she had until his blood coated her tongue. Slowly, she unclenched her jaws and raised her head, his red blood smearing her lips.

Breathing hard, she stared straight into his eyes.

"If you throw me out today, tomorrow all of New York will know that the head of the Reid conglomerate is a coward who couldn't even fight back when bitten by a woman."

Barclay stared at her stained lips, his Adam's apple bobbing once before a low, dangerous laugh rumbled from his chest.

He reached out and gripped her chin, forcing her head up as his rough thumb wiped the blood from the corner of her mouth.

"A cheap provocation." His warm breath brushed the tip of her nose. "But I admit, you have my attention."

Alyce endured the ache in her jaw without flinching.

"Then let's go to City Hall. Now."

Barclay released her chin and smoothed his bitten lapel.

"City Hall," he ordered the front seat.

Ira's hands slipped on the steering wheel.

"Sir, are you sure? The family elders..."

"Do I need to repeat myself?" Barclay's voice dropped ten degrees.

The Maybach glided forward through the iron gates. Alyce's spine finally loosened, and she slumped back against the leather seat.

Turning her head toward the window, the cut on her left wrist split open again from the struggle, dripping blood onto the plush floor mat.

A black silk handkerchief landed in her lap. In the front seat, Ira reached into the cabin's built-in medical compartment and passed back a sterile pressure bandage.

"Bind it properly," Barclay said flatly, his eyes still closed. "Press the wound. I have no use for a bride who bleeds out before the paperwork is done."

Alyce looked down at the silk square, her throat tightening. She pressed the gauze pad hard over the gash, wound the elastic wrap around her wrist in firm, even layers, then wrapped the black silk handkerchief over the bandage and pulled it tight with her teeth, tying a firm military square knot.

Though his eyes remained shut, Barclay's brow twitched slightly at the crisp, practiced sound of the knot tightening.

With police cruisers clearing the Manhattan traffic ahead, the convoy sped straight downtown.

Alyce looked out the windshield at the stone columns of City Hall rising ahead, her fingers curling over the silk knot on her wrist.