Chapter 7

The repo boss scrambled backward, his hands held up in a pathetic gesture of surrender.

"Hey, man, I'm just doing my job," he stuttered, his eyes darting to the guns pointed at his men. "The bank ordered the-"

He didn't get to finish the sentence.

Donovan closed the distance in three massive, terrifying strides.

His expensive leather shoe slammed against the floor before his hand shot out, grabbing the thick fabric of the boss's work shirt.

With a display of terrifying core strength, Donovan lifted the two-hundred-pound man entirely off his feet with one arm.

Donovan's face was a mask of absolute, icy fury.

He pulled his right arm back and drove his fist directly into the center of the man's face.

The crunch of the nasal bone shattering was deafening.

Blood exploded from the boss's nose, splashing across his dirty shirt. He screamed, a wet, gargling sound of agony.

Donovan didn't drop him. He slammed the man's massive body against the marble wall, shaking the entire room.

Then, Donovan raised his long leg and delivered a brutal, calculated kick to the side of the man's knee.

Crack.

The joint snapped backward at a horrifying, unnatural angle.

The boss collapsed to the floor like a sack of wet cement, howling and clutching his ruined leg.

The other repo men, trembling in terror, were swiftly struck in the back of the head with the butts of the security team's rifles. They dropped like stones and were dragged out into the hallway by Kevin's men.

Donovan stood over the weeping boss.

He slowly lifted his foot and placed the heel of his handmade Italian leather shoe directly over the boss's right hand-the same hand that had tried to tear Abigayle's coat.

Donovan shifted his weight, pressing down.

The sound of individual finger bones popping and crushing under the pressure filled the silent room.

The boss passed out from the sheer pain, his head lolling to the side.

"Crush the rest of the hand," Donovan ordered Kevin without looking away. "Make sure he never works in this city again. And for that hand... ensure he understands the price of touching what's mine."

Kevin nodded sharply, grabbing the unconscious man by the collar and dragging him out, leaving a smear of blood on the floorboards.

The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.

Donovan shrugged off his dark suit jacket.

He turned and walked slowly toward Abigayle, who was still sitting on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, trembling violently.

He crouched down in front of her.

With movements that were shockingly gentle compared to the violence he had just unleashed, he wrapped his warm, heavy suit jacket around her shaking shoulders.

The fabric was still radiating his body heat, carrying the sharp, masculine scent of cedar and expensive tobacco.

Abigayle flinched, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She stared at him with wide, terrified eyes, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Donovan reached out. His large, calloused thumb gently brushed against her cheek, wiping away the smear of blood near her mouth.

The heat of his skin sent a strange, phantom shiver down her spine.

Abigayle jerked her head away from his touch.

"Who are you?" she rasped, her throat raw. "Why did you do that?"

Donovan let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated in his chest.

He didn't answer. Instead, he slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly off the floor.

"Put me down!" Abigayle gasped, instinctively grabbing his broad shoulders to steady herself.

"Stop moving," Donovan commanded, his voice vibrating against her chest. "My medical team is already treating your butler in the hallway. He will live."

He carried her across the ruined living room and set her down gently on the only piece of furniture left intact-a large leather sofa.

Abigayle sank into the cushions, pulling his jacket tightly around her neck.

Donovan didn't step back.

He leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the armrests on either side of her, trapping her completely within the cage of his arms.

He stared down at her, his dark eyes burning with a possessive fire that made it hard for her to breathe.

"Abigayle Pena," Donovan declared, his voice a low, absolute command. "From this second forward, you, and your entire family, belong to me."

Abigayle froze.

The sheer arrogance of his words snapped her out of her shock.

A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped her lips.

"Are you insane?" she spat, glaring up at him. "I don't need your charity. Get out of my house."

Donovan leaned in closer, his face inches from hers.

"I am the only man in this city who can pull you out of the hell you just fell into," he whispered, his breath brushing her lips.

He looked at her not like a victim, but like a prize he had already claimed.

"Pena Group is dead," she fired back, her hands balling into fists in her lap. "We have nothing left to sell. So whatever you want, the answer is no."