Chapter 2

A jolt of sharp, tingling pain shot up Gabrielle's spine from her waist. Caught off guard, a soft, breathless moan slipped past her lips. The sound was so needy and foreign that heat rushed straight to her ears.

Outside the stall, the bodyguard's hand froze on the door. The flashlight beam wobbled against the bottom panel as the men processed the sound.

To sell the act, the man pressed his heavy frame forward, pinning Gabrielle flat against the freezing porcelain wall. The rough fabric of his trench coat scraped loudly against her silk dress.

He forced his muscular thigh higher between her legs. His body heat radiated through the thin layers of clothing, cutting off every inch of her retreat.

"Baby, don't be so impatient..." he murmured, dropping his voice into a husky, lust-filled rasp.

Caught between the roaring drug in her veins and the suffocating contact of his body, Gabrielle's mind spun. Her hands lost their grip on his shirt, sliding up to cling weakly to his broad shoulders as hot tears spilled down her cheeks.

"Damn it, just a couple of horny bastards getting off in the bathroom," the guard outside muttered in disgust.

"Leave them. Mr. Langley is waiting. A professional hitman wouldn't drag a woman into a stall," another voice urged. The heavy footsteps turned and faded out into the hallway.

As the main oak door clicked shut, the tension snapping inside Gabrielle's head finally gave way. Her bones seemed to melt, and she slumped completely against the man's chest.

He took his hand off her mouth, but he didn't step back. Standing over her in the cramped space, he stared down at her flushed, tear-stained face.

"How big of a dose did your sugar daddy give you?" he asked, using the back of his knuckles to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye with mocking carelessness.

"Take me... away from here," Gabrielle gasped out. "I'm the daughter of the Mcclain family—get me out, and I'll pay you." Her fingers twisted into his collar, holding on as if he were the last piece of driftwood in a raging ocean.

He pried her fingers off his coat one by one and shoved her aside.

"I get paid to kill people, not to run a charity for spoiled heiresses."

Without his support, Gabrielle slid down the tiled wall and hit the cold floor. The icy porcelain shocked a sliver of clarity back into her brain. Fumbling inside her silver clutch, she pulled out a heavy titanium black card.

"One million dollars... get me out of here," she panted, holding the card up to him. Her fingertips shook violently, yet her amber eyes burned with stubborn pride.

He didn't take the card. Folding his arms across his chest, amusement flickered in his deep eyes.

"One million? Your life must be pretty expensive."

"Get me somewhere safe, and I'll give you the PIN right now," she gritted out, fighting to finish the deal before the heat in her blood swallowed her sanity whole.

He dropped into a crouch in front of her, his face inches from hers, his shadow swallowing her up.

"What if I want more than just money?"

Gabrielle's eyes widened in terror. She scrambled backward, but his hand shot out and locked around her ankle, dragging her effortlessly back against him.

"W-What do you want?" she stammered. Her throat felt parched, like she was swallowing sand.

He didn't answer. Instead, his rough thumb slowly stroked the delicate bone of her ankle, sending a terrifying shiver straight to her core.

"Looking like this, even if I toss you out on the street, you'll just throw yourself at the first man who walks by," he stated flatly, devoid of any sympathy.

Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut as fresh tears burned her cheeks. What terrified her most was that her drugged body was actually leaning into the touch of his rough hand.

She yanked her leg back with everything she had left and shoved his shoulder, scrambling to her feet.

"I don't need your help... I'll go myself!"

She barely made it halfway up before a wave of blackness slammed into her vision. Her knees gave out, and she pitched straight forward.

He caught her before she hit the floor. Her burning cheek pressed against the cool skin of his neck, and a low sigh of relief escaped her lips.

Looking down at the unconscious woman in his arms, the mockery vanished from his face, replaced by a dark, unreadable depth.

Suddenly, frantic footsteps thundered down the corridor again. Bertram had figured out something was wrong and brought the whole pack back.

"Tear this place apart! That little bitch couldn't have gone far!" Bertram's furious roar echoed through the wood.

The man plucked the black card from Gabrielle's limp fingers and slid it into his pocket. Scooping one arm under her hips, he lifted her up like a child.

He glanced up at the narrow ventilation window near the ceiling. A cold, bloodthirsty smirk touched his lips as he kicked open the stall door and strode toward the sinks.