Chapter 2

The doorknob turned.

Corrie ripped the IV needle from her arm with a sharp gasp, a bright bead of blood welling up instantly. She gripped the scissors tight. She slid off the bed, her bare feet hitting the cold floor, and pressed her back against the wall behind the door. She held her breath.

The metal door pushed open. A night-shift nurse walked in, holding a plastic tray of medications. The nurse looked at the empty bed and froze.

Corrie stepped out from the shadows. She pressed the sharp point of the stainless steel scissors hard against the nurse's lower back.

"Don't make a sound," Corrie whispered, her voice rough.

The nurse shook violently, her body trembling in terror at the sharp metal pressing against her spine. Her hands slipped. The plastic tray hit the floor, scattering pills and shattering a glass vial.

"Take off the coat," Corrie ordered.

She quickly stripped the white lab coat off the trembling nurse and pulled it over her own hospital gown. She snatched the security keycard clipped to the nurse's scrubs.

Corrie pushed the nurse into the bathroom and locked the door from the outside.

Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. The blood loss was making her head spin. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper, using the pain to stay awake.

She swiped the keycard and slipped into the maze of underground hallways. She kept her head down, avoiding the glowing red lights of the security cameras.

She reached the heavy iron fire exit door. She pushed it open with both hands.

A violent gust of wind and freezing rain slammed into her. The storm instantly soaked through the thin lab coat.

Corrie stumbled out into the pitch-black woods surrounding the private clinic. Sharp thorns tore at her bare calves, leaving bloody scratches, but she didn't stop running. Her lungs burned. She pushed her exhausted body to the absolute limit, desperate to escape Damon's control.

She broke through the tree line and hit the rough asphalt of a deserted interstate highway.

Headlights pierced the heavy rain. A yellow taxi with its roof light on was speeding down the road.

Corrie ran right into the middle of the lane, waving her arms frantically.

The taxi's tires screeched against the wet pavement. The car skidded to a halt just inches from her knees.

Corrie yanked the back door open and threw herself onto the leather seat. She unclasped the diamond watch from her wrist, a wedding gift from Damon, and tossed it into the front seat.

"Manhattan. Now," she ordered, gasping for air.

The driver glanced at her soaked, pale figure in the rearview mirror. He didn't say a word. He stepped on the gas.

The heater in the car blasted hot air. The warmth seeped into Corrie's freezing bones. Her adrenaline crashed. Her eyelids grew incredibly heavy. She leaned her wet head against the cold window, her consciousness slipping.

In the front seat, the driver's phone screen lit up. An encrypted text message appeared.

Through the gap between the front seats, Corrie's half-open eyes caught a glimpse of the glowing screen. The message read, "Make sure she doesn't survive the ride." The sender's name was Kara. Corrie forced herself to remain perfectly still, pretending she hadn't seen a thing, but a fierce, bitter hatred ignited in her chest. She was already leaving. She had given up everything. Why wouldn't Kara just let her live?

The driver read the message. His eyes shifted in the mirror, turning cold and deadly. Kara had paid him well to ensure this woman never made it back.

His finger moved to the driver's side panel.

Click.

The central locking system engaged. The sound was quiet, buried under the noise of the thunder, but it made Corrie's eyes snap open.

She looked out the window. The car was moving way too fast. The road signs were wrong. They were veering off the main highway heading toward the city.

"This isn't the way to Manhattan," Corrie said, her heart rate spiking.

"Roadwork ahead," the driver said, his voice flat. "Taking the Hudson River Bridge."

Corrie reached for the door handle. She pulled it. It didn't budge.

Panic exploded in her chest. She pulled harder, rattling the plastic handle. Locked.

"Let me out!" she screamed.

She grabbed the heavy red fire extinguisher strapped to the floor behind the driver's seat. She swung it with all her remaining strength, smashing it against the side window.

The impact jolted her arms, but the reinforced glass only spider-webbed with thin cracks. It didn't break.

The taxi sped onto the massive Hudson River Bridge. The rain lashed against the windshield.

Suddenly, the driver jerked the steering wheel hard to the right. The car swerved violently, heading straight for the concrete and steel guardrail.

Realizing the deadly speed, the driver slammed on the brakes just enough to unlock his door, but not enough to stop the heavy vehicle's momentum. A split second before the inevitable impact, he kicked his door open and threw his body out onto the wet asphalt. He rolled violently to a stop, quickly scrambling up and disappearing into the dark storm as the runaway car continued its deadly trajectory.

The sound of tearing metal was deafening. The taxi smashed through the guardrail.

Weightlessness took over. The car plummeted toward the raging black water of the Hudson River.

The impact was a brutal explosion of force. Corrie's head slammed forward into the back of the front seat. Warm blood poured down her forehead, blinding her left eye.

Freezing water violently flooded into the cabin through the cracked windows.

The water rose with terrifying speed. It swallowed her knees, then her waist.

Corrie gasped, fighting the rising panic. She unbuckled her seatbelt and pushed herself toward the front seat. The windshield was shattered from the impact.

She kicked at the broken glass, creating a hole just big enough to squeeze through. The water reached her chest.

She pulled her upper body through the broken windshield, the freezing river shocking her system.

Just as her hips cleared the glass, something grabbed her.

A hand wearing a thick black glove clamped down on her right ankle.

Corrie screamed underwater, a stream of bubbles escaping her lips. She kicked wildly with her free leg.

The hand didn't let go. The grip was inhumanly strong. It yanked her backward, dragging her down into the crushing, black depths of the river.

Her lungs screamed for oxygen. The freezing water rushed into her mouth, filling her chest with liquid fire.

As her vision faded to black, the last thing she saw in her mind was Damon's cold, unfeeling face.

Miles away, in a glass-walled penthouse high above Manhattan.

Damon stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, a crystal glass of amber whiskey in his hand. He watched the lightning tear across the sky.

The heavy oak door to his office burst open.

His personal assistant, Brad Kirk, stood in the doorway. Brad was out of breath, hesitating to speak as he looked at his boss.

"What is it?" Damon asked coldly. "It was just a little blood drawn. Can't she even handle that?"

Brad swallowed nervously. "Sir, the madam is missing."

Damon's brow furrowed. He immediately turned and strode out of the penthouse, heading straight to the private clinic.

Pushing open the door to Corrie's hospital room, Damon's eyes immediately fell on the bed. The stark white sheets were stained with terrifying, bright red blood. The violent mess made it easy to imagine just how desperately she had struggled. A flash of irritation crossed his face.

"Then hurry up and find her!" Damon snapped impatiently.

"I already sent men," Brad replied, his voice trembling. "But the security cameras along the road showed she got into a taxi. Ten minutes ago, that car... crashed off the bridge and plunged into the river."

Damon's face turned terrifyingly dark, looking as if he had just heard some absolute nonsense. He lost his usual composure. "Send the rescue teams! Find her now!"

"The salvage team is already there," Brad said softly. "But the river currents are extremely fast. I am afraid her chances of survival are..."

Damon didn't let him finish. He stared grimly at the security footage Brad handed him. On the small screen, Corrie was stumbling through the heavy rain, looking like a lone bird flying into a violent storm. She was struggling, yet incredibly unyielding. The image suddenly overlapped with the memory of their first meeting. Back then, she was breathtakingly beautiful, her radiant smile shining as brightly as his personal sun.

For some unknown reason, Damon's heart began to spasm with an agonizing, incurable pain. Cold sweat broke out across his skin. He clenched his jaw, forcing a few chilling words through his teeth.

"I want to see her alive, or I want to see her dead body."