Bound By The Ruthless Billionaire's Contract

The black sedan moved silently through the evening rain toward the Montgomery estate. Jacqueline leaned her head against the cold window, her fingers instinctively brushing the faint, yellowish bruise on her shoulder—a mark left by the brass sconce. As the city lights blurred, the traumatic echoes of the previous night rushed back, more vivid than she wanted them to be.

It had started with a sound that still haunted her dreams...

When Christian had kicked open the heavy mahogany doors of the DK suite, the deafening, splintering crash sent shards of wood flying and left the entire hallway in a state of absolute, breathless silence.

Christian stepped out. His custom Oxford shoes made a soft, heavy thud against the carpet. Every step he took felt like a hammer striking directly against Jacqueline's violently racing heart.

Wayne's two bodyguards took one look at the man emerging from the suite and froze. They recognized the undisputed tyrant of Veridian's underground. All the color drained from their faces, and the man who had been about to punch Jacqueline instantly dropped his fist, backing away with his hands raised in surrender.

Wayne, however, was too drunk and in too much pain from the pen sticking out of his hand to process the danger.

"Mind your own damn business!" Wayne spat, clutching his bleeding hand and glaring at Christian.

Christian didn't say a word. He didn't even blink. He simply tilted his head a fraction of an inch to the left.

Like ghosts materializing from the shadows, the two men in black suits who had been standing inside the suite shot forward. They hit Wayne's bodyguards with terrifying speed. The sickening, wet pop of shoulders being dislocated echoed off the walls as the two massive men were forced face-down into the carpet.

The sound finally sobered Wayne up. His eyes widened in absolute horror as he looked at Christian. His knees began to physically shake, knocking against each other.

Christian walked slowly until he was standing toe-to-toe with Wayne. He looked down at the heavy metal pen protruding from Wayne's flesh. His black eyes were completely devoid of human warmth.

Suddenly, Christian's hand shot out. He grabbed Wayne by the collar of his expensive shirt and lifted the one-hundred-and-eighty-pound man off his feet with one arm, as effortlessly as if he were picking up a stray dog.

With a brutal, sweeping motion, Christian slammed Wayne's head directly into the brass wall sconce next to Jacqueline.

CRACK.

The glass shattered. The brass bent. Wayne's forehead split open, and thick, dark blood instantly poured down his face, blinding him.

Jacqueline collapsed onto her knees. She slapped both hands over her mouth to muffle her scream. Her entire body shook uncontrollably. The sheer, unadulterated violence of the act paralyzed her.

Christian let go. Wayne dropped to the floor like a sack of wet cement, groaning in agony.

Christian looked down at him. He lifted his right foot and brought the heel of his leather shoe down directly onto Wayne's injured hand, right on top of the pen. He pressed his weight down and ground his heel into the flesh.

Wayne let out a sound that didn't even sound human-a high, tearing shriek of pure agony.

Christian's expression didn't change. He looked mildly annoyed, as if he had stepped in gum.

"My doorway," Christian said, his voice a low, freezing whisper that cut through the screams, "is not a place for garbage to make a mess."

Roxanne, the club manager, came sprinting down the hallway with four security guards. She was sweating profusely. When she saw the blood, she nearly dropped to her knees.

"Mr. Montgomery, I am so sorry, I-"

Christian didn't look at her. "Clean this trash up. Don't let it stain the rug."

The guards scrambled forward, grabbing Wayne by the armpits and dragging him away. A thick smear of blood trailed behind him.

Christian turned around. His dark, bottomless eyes finally locked onto Jacqueline.

She was pressed as far back into the corner as she could go. Her white dress was torn at the shoulder, exposing the pale skin of her chest and the stark black strap of her bra. She was trembling violently, her eyes wide and terrified, like a deer staring down the barrel of a rifle.

Christian stared at the exposed skin. His throat worked, the Adam's apple bobbing once. A dark, dangerous shadow crossed his face.

He reached up and smoothly shrugged off his custom-tailored black suit jacket.

He walked over to her and crouched down on one knee. Without asking for permission, he draped the heavy jacket over her shoulders, pulling the lapels tight across her chest to completely hide her torn dress.

The jacket was warm from his body heat. It smelled overwhelmingly of rich Cuban tobacco and masculine spice. The scent invaded her lungs, making her dizzy.

Jacqueline flinched backward, her spine hitting the wall hard. She stared at him with raw suspicion.

Christian's jaw tightened. A flash of irritation crossed his eyes. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around her chin, forcing her to look at him. His grip was firm, but not painful.

"Where did all that fire go?" he mocked softly. "You were stabbing people a minute ago. Don't play the fragile victim now."

Jacqueline bit her lip so hard she tasted blood again. Her eyes were red, but she refused to let the tears fall.

"Thank you, Mr. Montgomery," she said, her voice shaking but her words precise. "But I don't need your pity."

She reached up, trying to push the heavy jacket off her shoulders.

Christian's hand moved instantly, clamping down on her shoulder. His grip was like a steel vise, pinning the jacket to her body. She couldn't move an inch.

"Get inside the suite and change your clothes," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Stop embarrassing yourself out here in rags."

Humiliation burned hot in her chest. She knew she had zero leverage. She placed her hands flat against the wall and forced her shaking legs to push her up.

The moment she tried to stand, the sheer adrenaline crash finally hit her. Her legs, trembling and weak from the night's terror, simply refused to hold her weight. Her knees buckled as the world tilted dangerously. She gasped, bracing herself for the impact of the floor.

It never came.

Christian cursed under his breath. He leaned forward, sweeping one arm behind her knees and the other around her back. In one fluid, powerful motion, he lifted her entirely off the ground.

Jacqueline gasped, her hands instinctively flying up to grip his broad shoulders to keep from falling. The sheer heat of his body radiated through his shirt, burning her palms.

Christian didn't look down at her. He carried her through the splintered doorway of the DK suite and kicked the heavy mahogany doors shut behind them with his foot, trapping them together in the dark.

The memory of the door slamming shut echoed in her mind until it was replaced by a real sound—the car door opening.

"We're here, Miss Lee," the driver said.

Jacqueline took a deep breath, smoothed her dress, and stepped out of the car. The flashback ended, but the real confrontation was just beginning.