No Escape From His Dangerous Love

Arlene stood in the shadows of the club's side entrance. She took a deep breath, her fingers gripping the thin fabric of her worn jacket. The late autumn wind bit at her exposed neck, raising goosebumps along her skin.

She kept her head down. Two massive bouncers guarded the main door. She needed to slip past them, blending in with a group of girls wearing tight dresses and high heels.

Suddenly, blinding high beams cut through the darkness. The harsh light pinned Arlene against the rough concrete wall.

Her stomach dropped. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She instinctively raised a hand to shield her eyes, her pupils contracting violently.

A black Aston Martin glided forward like a ghost. It stopped inches from her knees. The tinted window rolled down with a soft hum.

The scent of cold cedar and expensive leather spilled into the alley. Hardie Boone sat in the driver's seat. The faint glow of the dashboard illuminated his sharp jawline and the cold, hard set of his mouth.

The blood drained from Arlene's face. Her heels scraped against the pavement as she stumbled back a half-step.

Hardie's hands rested on the steering wheel. His knuckles were white. His dark eyes locked onto her face, analyzing every ounce of her panic.

"Arlene." His voice was a low rumble that vibrated in her chest. "Explain to me what you are doing here."

Her brain scrambled. The survival instinct kicked in, suffocating the truth in her throat. If he knew why she was here, he would make it worse.

"I..." She forced the lie past her dry lips. "I'm waiting for a friend."

Hardie's gaze dropped to her trembling shoulders. He took in her cheap, frayed jacket. A humorless, freezing smile touched the corner of his mouth.

"A friend," he repeated. The sheer contempt in his tone made it hard for her to pull air into her lungs.

He reached into the inner pocket of his tailored suit. He pulled out a thick, black business card. He held it out the window.

"If you run into trouble, call this number." It wasn't a suggestion. It was a command.

Arlene forced her legs to move. She reached out and took the card. Her fingertips brushed against his cold skin. She flinched, pulling her hand back as if she had touched an open flame.

Hardie saw the flinch. A dark storm brewed in his eyes, but his expression remained completely deadpan.

The window glided up, sealing the air between them.

The Aston Martin's engine roared. The tires gripped the asphalt, kicking up a cloud of dust as the car sped away.

Arlene stood frozen until the red taillights disappeared around the corner. She finally exhaled, her chest heaving.

She looked down at the heavy cardstock in her hand. The Boone family crest was embossed in silver above a private phone number. Nausea rolled in her stomach.

This wasn't help. It was a leash. The Boones never gave anything without demanding a pound of flesh in return.

She walked over to the rusted sewer grate near the wall.

Her fingers tightened. She ripped the thick card in half. Then into quarters.

She let the pieces fall. The wind caught them for a second before they dropped into the dark, filthy water below.

Arlene turned around. She straightened her spine and walked toward the heavy metal door of the club.

She didn't know the Aston Martin hadn't gone far. It sat idling in the dark alley across the street.

Hardie watched her through the rearview mirror. He saw the pieces of his card fall into the sewer. His jaw ticked. The muscles in his neck strained against his collar.

He pressed the button on his console.

"Find out who she is meeting tonight," he ordered the voice on the other end.

The heavy metal door slammed shut behind Arlene. The bass from the club's speakers instantly assaulted her eardrums.

She stood in the dark hallway. She dug her fingernails into her palms, preparing her body for the humiliation waiting inside.