Bound By Blood To The Mafia King

Alex kicked the frosted glass door of the master bathroom open. His heavy tactical boots left dark, wet mud stains across the pristine anti-slip tiles. He carried Ashlyn's weightless body to the massive marble vanity. He dumped her onto the cold stone surface. His movements were rough, but his large hands carefully avoided the fresh puncture wound wrapped in gauze on her forearm. He turned his back to her and ripped the shower handle upward. Scalding hot water blasted from the showerhead. Thick, white steam immediately began to fill the enclosed space. Alex cursed under his breath. He grabbed the collar of his ruined black leather jacket, the leather stiff with dried blood, and ripped it off his shoulders. He threw it onto the expensive glass shelf. The heavy leather hit the glass with a loud, dull smack. The freezing marble seeped through Ashlyn's thin hospital gown. She shivered violently, her eyebrows pulling together in a tight frown. A tiny, broken whimper escaped her lips. Alex froze. He was halfway through unbuttoning his filthy shirt. He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto her paper-white face. A flash of intense, raw frustration tightened the muscles in his jaw. He stepped back to the vanity. His rough, calloused fingers grabbed the hem of her hospital gown. The fabric was stained with the blood from his own coat. He needed to get it off her before the dirt infected her needle wound. The sound of cotton tearing echoed sharply over the roar of the shower. The physical pull on her clothes, combined with the suffocating heat of the steam, dragged Ashlyn back to consciousness. She felt a burning hot, rough hand brush against her collarbone. Pure survival instinct kicked in. Her eyes snapped open. The first thing her vision focused on was Alex's broad, bare chest. The skin was a canvas of brutal violence. Deep purple bruises overlapped with jagged, fresh cuts and thick, raised white scars from older battles. Ashlyn's heart slammed against her ribs. She scrambled backward, her hands slipping on the wet marble. Her spine slammed hard into the freezing bathroom mirror. The loud thump made Alex snap his head up. They locked eyes in the cramped, steam-filled bathroom. The air between them instantly turned to stone. Ashlyn's gaze dragged upward, following the sharp, tense line of his jaw. Her pupils dilated to the size of pinpricks. The breath completely vanished from her lungs. Running across the left side of Alex's previously flawless, hard-angled face was a massive, jagged knife wound. It started just below his eye and slashed violently down to his jawbone. The flesh had barely begun to scab over. Thick, dark red sutures held the skin together, crawling across his face like a grotesque, mangled centipede. It was horrific. Behind her wide eyes, Ashlyn's brain fired at lightning speed. That scar would be permanent. It would completely ruin his ability to blend into high-society corporate events. The suture technique was incredibly sloppy, meaning he was operating entirely outside of his usual medical support network. He had been cornered in whatever gang war he had just survived, isolated from his resources. That was a massive, exploitable weakness. But Helga Caldwell couldn't show that. Ashlyn Grant, the fragile, money-obsessed college student, had to react. Tears instantly flooded her eyes. Her lower lip began to tremble so violently her teeth chattered. She sucked in a sharp, ragged breath, slapping both hands over her mouth. A muffled, high-pitched scream of absolute terror ripped from her throat. Alex saw the sheer horror in her eyes. He saw her body physically recoiling from him, pressing into the glass as if trying to escape a monster. His hand, which had been reaching out to unbutton the rest of her gown, stopped dead in the air. The muscle in his jaw ticked. He let out a low, harsh sound that was supposed to be a laugh. The movement pulled at the fresh stitches on his face, twisting the scar into something even more demonic and terrifying. The steam in the bathroom grew thicker, but the temperature between them plummeted to absolute zero. Ashlyn pressed her trembling hands against his bare, scarred chest. She pushed. The physical force was weak, but the rejection was absolute. Alex let her push him. He took a half-step back. The feral heat in his eyes completely died, replaced by a freezing, hollow void. He looked at her exactly the way a man looks at a worthless piece of trash. He reached blindly to the side, grabbed a dry, thick bath towel, and whipped it hard at her face. The heavy cotton covered Ashlyn's head entirely, plunging her into darkness and muffling her fake sobs. Under the towel, Ashlyn instantly dropped the terrified expression. She let out a slow, silent exhale, forcing her racing pulse to steady. Alex's voice sliced through the sound of the running water. It was completely devoid of emotion, laced with a lethal warning. "Wash the blood off. Then get the hell out of my sight." He didn't wait for a response. He spun on his heel and marched out of the bathroom. The heavy metal buckle of his belt slammed against the doorframe. The frosted glass door was slammed shut with enough force to shake the walls. The condensation on the tiles rained down. Ashlyn slowly pulled the towel off her head. She looked at her own reflection in the mirror. Her face was pale, but her eyes were completely dead and calculating. She reached her hand down to the edge of the marble sink. Her fingertip touched a single drop of dark red blood Alex had left behind. She rubbed the blood between her thumb and index finger, smearing it. Her mind was already spinning. That scar was the perfect weapon. She knew exactly how to use it to push him over the edge.