Azura didn't flinch. She stared straight into the dark, violent storm of Hunter's eyes. Her own amber eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding fire.
She slapped his hand away from her chin with a sharp smack. "Ask you for help?" she laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. "You kidnapped me! You threatened me! Why would I beg a monster to save me from a pack of wolves?"
Hunter's jaw locked. The muscles in his neck strained. He leaned forward, placing both hands on the back of the sofa, effectively caging her between his arms. He lowered his face until his nose almost brushed hers.
"Do not test my patience, Azura," he warned, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "I am not Colby. I don't play stupid games."
Azura turned her head sharply, refusing to breathe in his scent. "You're all the same," she spat. "You Mcintoshes think your money gives you the right to treat people like garbage."
Hunter's eyes dragged down her face. He saw the angry red handprint blooming on her pale cheek, and the small cut on her lower lip where Beatrice's ring had caught her.
The violent rage radiating from him suddenly fractured. He stopped breathing for a second.
He slowly stood up. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a pristine white silk handkerchief. Without a word, he reached out and pressed the silk against the corner of her mouth.
Azura gasped, the sudden pressure sending a sharp sting through her lip. She tried to jerk her head back, but Hunter's large hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her firmly in place. He wiped the blood away with rough, clumsy strokes.
When the blood was gone, he turned his back on her. He walked over to the crystal minibar, poured three fingers of neat whiskey into a glass, and downed it in one fluid motion. He gripped the edge of the bar, his knuckles white, trying to suppress the chaotic, irrational panic that flared in his chest whenever he saw her hurt.
"Why were you with Colby?" Hunter asked, his back still turned, his voice returning to its freezing baseline. "Are you trying to sleep your way into the family?"
Azura clutched the suit jacket tighter. "I was hired for a hundred dollars an hour by a PR firm to be a plus-one. I needed the money. I didn't know it was him until I walked into the room."
Hunter slowly turned around. His dark eyes scanned her face, searching for a lie. He found nothing but exhausted, bitter truth.
A sharp knock on the door broke the tension.
Arthur walked in, carrying a white first-aid box and a large paper bag bearing the logo of a high-end designer boutique. He placed them carefully on the glass coffee table.
"The press has been gagged, Boss," Arthur reported smoothly. "Dax Adler's accounts are frozen. The liquidation begins at 8:00 AM."
Hunter gave a curt nod. "Get out."
Arthur bowed slightly and left, the heavy door clicking shut behind him.
Hunter opened the first-aid box. He pulled out a small tube of medical-grade bruising ointment and tossed it onto the glass table. It landed with a sharp clatter right in front of Azura.
"Put that on your face," Hunter ordered. He pointed to the designer bag. "There's a dress in there. Put it on."
Azura stared at the tube of ointment. Her chest ached with confusion. She couldn't understand this man. One second he looked ready to strangle her, and the next he was destroying a billionaire to protect her and buying her clothes.
She ignored the ointment. She reached out, grabbed the paper bag, and stood up, her legs shaking slightly. She walked toward the massive marble bathroom, desperate to escape his suffocating presence.
"When you're dressed," Hunter's voice cut through the air, cold and detached, "leave. I don't want to see your face again tonight."
Azura stopped in the doorway. She didn't turn around. "Gladly," she whispered, and slammed the bathroom door shut, locking it.
Hunter stared at the closed door. He rubbed his temples violently. He was losing his mind. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey, took a long pull directly from the neck, and walked out of the suite, slamming the main door behind him.
Ten minutes later, Azura stepped out of the bathroom. She was wearing a simple, conservative black dress from the bag.
The suite was completely empty.
On the coffee table sat the tube of ointment, and next to it, neatly folded, was Hunter's bespoke suit jacket. The sleeve was stained with Dax's blood.
Azura walked over. Her fingertips lightly brushed the lapel of the jacket. The lingering scent of cedar and tobacco rose from the fabric, making her heart skip a strange, terrifying beat. She snatched her hand back, disgusted with her own reaction.
She grabbed the ointment, shoved it into her clutch, and walked out of the suite. She bypassed the main elevators, finding the heavy metal door marked 'Staff Exit'. She pushed it open and began the long walk down the concrete stairs, praying this nightmare was finally over.
