Bound By Blood To The Mafia King

The thick steel needle slid out of the vein in Ashlyn's forearm. The immediate rush of blood back into the punctured tissue brought a sharp, stinging bite. She bit down hard on her pale lower lip, the metallic taste of her own blood grounding her. The nurse pressed a sterile cotton swab ruthlessly against the puncture wound. A sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit Ashlyn. The sterile white walls of the penthouse medical room tilted. Her body swayed, her center of gravity completely thrown off by the massive loss of blood. "Pathetic." The voice came from the hospital bed. Diana Robinson let out a cold, dry scoff. Her lips were cracked and pale, but her eyes burned with absolute disdain. "You're just a greedy bitch selling your blood for dirty dollars," Diana spat, her voice raspy but full of venom. "Don't act like you're dying." Ashlyn lowered her eyelashes. The thick lashes perfectly concealed the absolute, freezing indifference in her eyes. When she looked up, her shoulders were hunched. She shrank back into the oversized hospital gown, her hands trembling as she clutched the fabric over her chest. "I... I'm sorry, Diana," Ashlyn whispered, her voice shaking violently. "I just... I feel a little weak." The fragile, overly dramatic display infuriated Diana. The heart monitor next to the bed beeped faster. Diana grabbed the half-empty plastic water cup from her bedside table and hurled it with all her remaining strength. The hard plastic grazed Ashlyn's shoulder and slammed into the floor. Water exploded across the pristine tiles, splashing against Ashlyn's bare ankles. Ashlyn gasped, taking a quick, stumbling step backward. She pressed her back against the wall, eyes wide, playing the role of the utterly terrified, helpless victim to perfection. The private doctor stepped forward, his face stern. He raised a hand to calm Diana's erratic breathing. "That's enough," the doctor said sharply. He turned to the nurse. "Help Miss Grant out to the living room. She needs to rest." Ashlyn swatted the nurse's reaching hand away. "I can walk," she murmured, her voice barely a breath. She pushed her weight against the heavy, soundproofed door of the medical room. It clicked shut behind her, cutting off Diana's heavy breathing. The hallway of the penthouse was freezing. The cold air conditioning blasted against her thin cotton gown. Ashlyn violently shivered. A fine layer of cold sweat broke out across her forehead. She leaned her shoulder against the freezing marble wall, dragging her feet forward. With every step she took, her heart hammered against her ribs, struggling to pump oxygen through her depleted veins. Her vision started to blur. At the end of the long corridor, the massive crystal chandelier splintered into dozens of blinding, painful spots of light. She closed her eyes, forcing her brain to work. Over 600cc. An incredibly dangerous volume that would put any normal person into immediate hypovolemic shock. That's an extra fifty thousand dollars. Her mind calculated the numbers with ruthless precision. The funds would clear by midnight. It was exactly the amount she needed to finalize the acquisition of that shell company on the West Coast. She reached the floor-to-ceiling windows. Below her, the neon lights of Empire City bled into the dark streets like glowing veins. A flash of ruthless, predatory ambition crossed her eyes-an expression that did not belong on the face of a twenty-one-year-old college student. Suddenly, her stomach violently cramped. Acid and bile rushed up her throat. She slapped her hand over her mouth, swallowing down the intense urge to vomit. She leaned her forehead against the freezing glass, gasping for air until the nausea subsided. Pushing off the window, she continued toward the massive, empty living room. Her low-heeled slippers made absolutely no sound against the thick Persian rug. The thermostat in the living room was set to a brutal sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit. Ashlyn wrapped her arms tightly around her torso, her fingernails digging into her own skin to trap whatever body heat she had left. She walked toward the black leather sofa, ready to collapse. Out of the corner of her eye, a frantic flashing red light caught her attention. It was the security panel by the front entrance. Heavy, chaotic footsteps echoed from the hallway outside. Then came the frantic, high-pitched beeping of the biometric lock being forced into override mode. Ashlyn's muscles locked. Her spine went rigid. Bang. The heavy, bulletproof oak door was kicked open with a sickening amount of brute force. The dull thud of wood hitting the wall echoed through the cavernous living room. The sharp, stinging smell of gunpowder hit Ashlyn's nose first. Then came the heavy, metallic stench of fresh blood. The combination was so thick it made her lungs burn. She held her breath. A massive, towering silhouette stood in the doorway, blocking out all the light from the corridor. His broad shoulders filled the frame. Ashlyn squinted, her eyes burning. The harsh backlight only allowed her to see the shredded remains of a black leather jacket. The man stepped into the living room. His heavy tactical boots crushed the expensive rug with a dull, grinding sound. The sheer physical dominance rolling off him made the air in the room feel suffocating. The motion-sensor lights flickered on. The harsh light illuminated Alex Robinson's face. His sharp jawline was covered in dirt, grease, and streaks of dried, dark blood. He had been missing for two months. Dead or alive, no one knew. And now, her employer was standing right in front of her. Ashlyn's heart stopped for a fraction of a second, then kicked into a frantic, erratic rhythm. Alex's dark eyes, completely bloodshot and wild, locked onto her instantly. He looked like a feral beast that had just dragged itself back to its cave-exhausted, bleeding, and incredibly dangerous. Ashlyn knew exactly what to do. She let her knees buckle. She let the genuine physical weakness of the blood loss take over, amplifying it into a display of absolute, fragile terror. Alex crossed the massive living room in three long strides. He brought the freezing cold and the stench of death right to her face. He reached out a hand wrapped in a torn, fingerless tactical glove. A massive wave of vertigo hit Ashlyn. Her legs completely gave out. She pitched forward into the empty air. Two arms, hard as steel pipes, caught her instantly. Ashlyn's cheek slammed into his rock-hard chest. Right before the darkness completely swallowed her consciousness, her nose pressed into the collar of his coat, inhaling the familiar, harsh scent of cheap tobacco.