Bound By Blood To The Mafia King

athroom open. His heavy tactical boots left dark,

her onto the cold stone surface. His movements were rough, but his large han

ard. Scalding hot water blasted from the showerhead. Thick

t, the leather stiff with dried blood, and ripped it off his shoulders. He threw it o

gown. She shivered violently, her eyebrows pulling togethe

turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto her paper-white face.

of her hospital gown. The fabric was stained with the blood from his own c

ring echoed sharply ove

ed with the suffocating heat of the stea

against her collarbone. Pure survival i

skin was a canvas of brutal violence. Deep purple bruises overlapped w

d backward, her hands slipping on the wet marble. Her

made Alex sna

team-filled bathroom. The air betw

ward, following the shar

of pinpricks. The breath comp

ard-angled face was a massive, jagged knife wound. It started

d sutures held the skin together, crawling across his f

high-society corporate events. The suture technique was incredibly sloppy, meaning he was operating entirely outside of his usual medical suppor

. Ashlyn Grant, the fragile, money-ob

. Her lower lip began to tremble

th hands over her mouth. A muffled, high-pitched

er body physically recoiling from him, pressing

g out to unbutton the rest of he

pposed to be a laugh. The movement pulled at the fresh stitches on his

icker, but the temperature betwee

bare, scarred chest. She pushed. The physical

is eyes completely died, replaced by a freezing, hollow void. He loo

grabbed a dry, thick bath towel,

head entirely, plunging her into d

terrified expression. She let out a slow, sile

the running water. It was completely devo

f. Then get the he

l and marched out of the bathroom. The heavy meta

with enough force to shake the walls. Th

pulled the tow

mirror. Her face was pale, but her eye

rtip touched a single drop of dark red blood Alex had left behind.

was the perfect weapon. She knew exactl