Chapter 7

Elie stared at the plastic hotel key card. Her brain completely short-circuited.

She instinctively took a step backward. Her shoulder blades slammed hard against the frosted glass of the bathroom door.

"No," Elie whispered, her voice trembling violently. She shook her head. "No, that's impossible. Ebert wouldn't agree to that."

Mortimer let out a wet, ugly snort. He took another heavy step forward, trapping her completely in the narrow alcove. His massive stomach pressed against her. He looked down at her, mocking her naivety.

"In Wall Street, sweetheart, there is absolutely nothing that a Series C funding contract can't buy," Mortimer sneered, dropping his voice to a dirty whisper. "Including you."

The last brick of Elie's psychological wall shattered into dust. Pure, animalistic panic took over.

She ducked her head and lunged forward, trying to squeeze through the small gap between Mortimer's arm and the wall to escape back into the main suite.

But she forgot about the oversized high heels.

She took two frantic steps before her right ankle twisted violently. A sharp spike of pain shot up her leg.

Mortimer reacted with surprising speed. His thick hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of her long, dark hair.

He yanked backward with brutal force.

Elie let out a piercing scream. It felt like her scalp was being ripped off her skull. The sheer force of the pull threw her off balance, and she fell backward.

She hit the thick carpet of the hallway floor hard. Her elbow slammed into the wall, sending a shockwave of numb, blinding pain up her arm.

Mortimer loomed over her like a mountain of flesh. The thrill of the hunt, the excitement of her resistance, made his eyes gleam with sadistic pleasure.

He crouched down. His thick hands grabbed her bare ankle. He began to drag her roughly across the carpet toward him.

Elie kicked wildly with her free leg. The oversized high heel on her left foot flew off, smashing against the expensive wallpaper.

She reached out, her hands desperately clawing at the wooden doorframe of the hallway. Her fingernails dug into the wood so hard that two of them bent backward, tearing the nail bed and drawing blood.

"Ebert!" Elie screamed at the top of her lungs. "Ebert, help me!"

Right at that moment, the heavy bass of the club music in the main room surged, a deafening drop in the track that completely drowned out her desperate screams.

Her screaming annoyed Mortimer. He raised his thick, meaty hand and brought it down hard across her face.

Smack!

The sharp, explosive sound of the slap echoed in the small space. Elie's head snapped to the side. Her ears rang violently. The metallic taste of blood instantly filled her mouth as her lip split open.

The blow left her dizzy and disoriented. Her grip on the doorframe loosened. Mortimer yanked her ankle, dragging her entirely under him.

He threw his heavy leg over her, straddling her thighs, pinning her to the floor. His hands grabbed the neckline of the red silk dress.

With a violent jerk, the delicate silk tore. The sound of the ripping fabric was the sound of her doom. Elie squeezed her eyes shut, hot tears streaming down her face as she waited for the end.

Suddenly, a massive, deafening crash came from the main room. It sounded like a heavy glass table being smashed to pieces.

The light spilling into the hallway was abruptly blocked by a towering, broad-shouldered silhouette.

Mortimer froze, his hands still gripping her torn dress. He looked over his shoulder, his face twisting in annoyance. "Who the hell is looking to die?"

The next second, a custom-made leather oxford shoe shot out from the darkness with terrifying speed.

The heavy shoe connected squarely with the side of Mortimer's face.

Mortimer let out a sound like a slaughtered pig. The force of the kick lifted his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound body completely off Elie. He flew through the air and slammed heavily into the opposite wall.

The suffocating weight on Elie's chest vanished. She gasped for air, clutching the torn pieces of her dress over her chest, and opened her terrified eyes.

Ebert Ewing stood in the shadows of the hallway. He looked like a demon crawling straight out of hell.

He had taken off his suit jacket. His tie was ripped loose. His chest heaved, and his eyes were a terrifying, bloodthirsty crimson as he stared at the groaning Mortimer on the floor.

Ebert bent down. His large hand grabbed the collar of Mortimer's expensive shirt. With a terrifying display of raw strength, Ebert lifted the massive man off the floor like a dead dog.