Chapter 8

The midday sun beat down on the red clay, baking the air until it was thick and hard to breathe.

Jaelynn stood at the baseline. She gritted her teeth against the tearing pain in her wrist. She tossed the neon yellow ball awkwardly into the air with her left hand.

She forced her swollen right hand to grip the racket and swing.

The moment the strings hit the ball, a violent, agonizing jolt of pain shot up her arm, straight into her skull.

The ball barely cleared the net, landing weakly out of bounds.

A few people in the stands let out cruel, mocking laughs.

Jaelynn's face was chalk white. Huge drops of cold sweat rolled down her temples, stinging her eyes. But she didn't stop. She bent down to pick up a second ball.

Dolph stood on the opposite side of the court. He didn't move to return the bad serve.

His dark eyes were locked onto her wrist, which was now swollen to the size of a baseball.

He watched her raise the racket again. A sudden, violent surge of anger and frustration exploded in his chest.

Dolph raised his arm and smashed his own racket violently into the red clay.

The loud, aggressive crack silenced the laughter in the stands instantly.

Dolph swept his cold, murderous gaze over the crowd, daring anyone to speak. "Game over," he announced.

Ortega panicked. He thought Dolph was furious at Jaelynn for ruining the match. Ortega jumped up, pointing a fat finger at her. "You useless piece of trash! Look what you did!"

Dolph ignored Ortega completely. He walked straight to the net, his eyes fixed on Jaelynn.

"Come with me," Dolph ordered. It wasn't a request.

Jaelynn blinked, stunned. She dropped the racket.

Under the shocked stares of the entire country club, she dragged her exhausted, aching body and followed Dolph off the court.

They walked in silence through the long, air-conditioned corridors of the club, heading down to the VIP underground parking garage. The silence between them was heavy and suffocating.

Dolph stopped in front of a sleek, black Aston Martin. He pressed a button on his keys, and the headlights flashed in the dim garage.

He pulled open the passenger door. "Get in. I'm taking you to the private clinic down the road to get an X-ray."

Jaelynn stood by the open door. She didn't move.

She knew how this worked. If he took her to the hospital, he would pay the bill, drop her off, and their transaction would be over. She would lose her leverage.

She looked up at his sharp, cold jawline.

Suddenly, she took a large step forward, invading his space. She backed him up until his legs hit the side of the car, trapping him between the open door and her body.

Dolph frowned, his muscles tensing. He opened his mouth to tell her to back off.

Before he could speak, Jaelynn pushed up on her tiptoes. She grabbed the collar of his expensive polo shirt with her good left hand, pulled his head down, and crashed her lips against his.

It was a desperate, messy kiss. She had no technique. Her lips were trembling, tasting of salty sweat and fear.

Dolph's entire body went rigid. His hands instantly came up, gripping her shoulders to push her away.

But as his fingers dug into her skin, he felt how violently she was shaking. He felt her swollen, broken right hand resting weakly against his chest, trying to hold onto him.

His hands stopped pushing.

Jaelynn felt his hesitation. She thought she had failed. A wave of crushing despair washed over her, and she started to pull her lips away.

The second she retreated, Dolph's control snapped.

His large hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He yanked her back, crushing his mouth down onto hers with terrifying force.

He kissed her like he wanted to devour her. His tongue forced her lips apart, sweeping through her mouth, taking everything.

He pushed her backward until her spine hit the cold metal of the Aston Martin. The freezing car body and his burning hot mouth sent a violent shock through her nervous system.

Dolph's hands slid down her back, gripping her waist. He lifted her slightly off the ground, pressing her body flush against his.

Jaelynn let out a muffled gasp. Her injured right wrist accidentally bumped hard against his solid chest.

Tears of pure physical agony sprang to her eyes.

Feeling her flinch, Dolph ripped his mouth away. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving.

He looked down at her swollen lips and the tears in her eyes.

"Damn it," he cursed, his voice a raw, gravelly growl in the quiet garage.

He didn't mention the hospital again. A look of self-disgust flashed across his face. Angry at his own loss of control, he grabbed her by the waist, practically throwing her into the passenger seat, and leaned over to buckle her seatbelt.

Dolph walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat. He slammed his hand against the push-to-start button.

The Aston Martin's V12 engine roared to life like an angry beast. The tires screeched against the concrete as the car shot out of the parking garage.

Jaelynn leaned her head back against the leather seat. She looked at Dolph's tight jaw profile. She knew, in that moment, she had successfully torn off his mask of indifference.