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.