Lethal Captivation: You Can Never Escape

Chloe Sterling gasped, dropping the kitchen knife. A drop of bright red blood welled up on her index finger, staining the white plastic cutting board. She shoved the injured finger into her mouth, but the sharp metallic taste of blood did nothing to calm the sudden, violent hammering of her heart.

The rare, torrential rain of Las Vegas smashed against the grimy window of her cramped apartment. She stood in the narrow kitchen, her breathing shallow and erratic. A cold sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She could not explain the sudden wave of nausea twisting her stomach.

She pulled her finger from her mouth and looked out the window. The cheap curtains were half-open. Down on the street, under the flickering glow of a broken streetlight, sat a black Maybach.

The vehicle was completely silent in the downpour. Chloe squinted through the rain-streaked glass. Her eyes locked onto the license plate.

Nevada.

The blood in her veins turned to ice. Axel Stone. The name tore through her mind like a gunshot. Head of the Stone Syndicate-a transatlantic criminal empire with roots sunk deep into the Old World, stretching from the sun-scorched villas of Sicily to the mist-shrouded estates of Lake Como. To the underworld, he was the Don-the shadow sovereign who had bent half of Southern Europe's criminal dynasties to his will. A man whose whispered name could silence a crowded room. And she had once belonged to him. Two years. For two years she had run, burrowed deep in this forgettable apartment like a wounded animal, praying he would never find her. Two years since she had faked her death and clawed back a sliver of a life, always looking over her shoulder for the monster she knew would come. She had nearly died escaping him. The memory of that night-the blood, the darkness, the cold bite of Lake Como's waters closing over her head-still woke her screaming. She had believed, foolishly, desperately, that a man like him would eventually forget. That she could finally breathe. That the nightmare was over. And now he was here. Her lungs seized, refusing to take in air. Her frantic gaze darted across the room, briefly landing on the canvas tote bag she had dumped on her bed earlier-the one still hiding that discarded medical report she had picked up near the free clinic. She threw the knife onto the counter and spun around, her bare feet slipping slightly on the worn linoleum floor as she sprinted toward the front door.

Her hands shook so violently she could barely grip the cold metal of the first security chain. She slid it into place with a loud clatter.

She grabbed the heavy deadbolt and shoved it home. It locked with a solid click.

From the hallway outside, the sound of footsteps echoed. Leather shoes stepping deliberately on the old, creaking wooden floorboards. The sound was heavy, unhurried, and suffocating.

The footsteps stopped right outside her door.

The brass doorknob turned slowly. The old metal ground together, making a high-pitched scraping noise that sent a fresh wave of terror down Chloe's spine.

She pressed her back flat against the cold wall next to the door, slapping both hands over her mouth to muffle her own ragged breathing.

"Chloe."

The low, gravelly male voice came through the thin wood. That voice. It was the voice of the Don-the man whose gilded cage she had shattered to escape, the man who had sworn she would never be free. The man who ruled a criminal empire stretching across continents yet had spent two years hunting a single woman who dared to vanish from his bed. She had bolted from his estate on Lake Como with nothing but the clothes on her back, leaving behind a life of suffocating luxury and a man whose obsession consumed everything it touched. Every single day since, the fear of this exact moment had eaten her alive. Her knees gave out. She slid down the wall, hitting the floor hard.

She scrambled on her hands and knees, frantically searching the narrow entryway. Her fingers brushed against a dusty wooden baseball bat leaning in the corner. She grabbed it, her knuckles turning white as she pulled herself back up to her feet.

A deafening crash shook the entire apartment. Dust rained down from the ceiling.

The wood around the lock splintered outward. The first security chain snapped under the sheer, brutal force, the metal links flying across the room.

Chloe screamed, stumbling backward until her spine hit the edge of the shoe cabinet.

A second massive kick obliterated the door frame. The heavy wooden door flew open, slamming violently against the interior wall.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped over the ruined threshold, bringing the cold dampness of the storm inside.

Axel Stone wore a custom-tailored black trench coat. Rainwater dripped from his broad shoulders, pooling on her cheap floor. Even drenched, even standing amid the splintered wreckage of a rundown Vegas apartment, he radiated the absolute authority of a man who had never been denied anything in his life. The Don of the Stone Syndicate. The phantom that half of Europe's underworld prayed they would never meet.

His dark, bottomless eyes cut through the dim light of the apartment, locking instantly onto Chloe as she shivered in the corner.

Chloe ground her teeth together, forcing her trembling legs to hold her weight. She raised the baseball bat high over her shoulder.

"Get out!" she screamed, her voice cracking. "Get out or I will call the police!"

A cruel, mocking sneer formed on Axel's lips. He looked at her the way a predator watches a trapped rabbit.

He slowly pulled off his wet black leather gloves, tossing them casually onto the cabinet. The movement was elegant, yet entirely lethal.

He took a step toward her. His massive frame seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the tiny room.

Chloe lost her mind. She swung the baseball bat with every ounce of strength she had, aiming directly for his head.

Axel did not even blink. He raised his right hand and caught the thick end of the swinging bat with his bare palm. The impact made a dull thud, but his arm did not move an inch.

He yanked the bat forward. The sudden force ripped the wood from Chloe's grip. She lost her balance and pitched forward.

Axel dropped the bat and caught her by the waist. His large hand clamped down on her hip, lifting her off her feet and slamming her back against the wall. The air rushed out of her lungs. Their faces were inches apart, their breaths tangling in the tense space between them.

"Two years, little bird," he murmured, the gravel in his voice scraping against her skin. "I tore apart every corner of Europe looking for you. I hunted through Sicily, through Como, through cities you have never even heard of." His grip on her hip tightened, fingers digging into the soft flesh with bruising possession. "Did you truly believe you could fly far enough to escape me?"

The impact against the hard plaster knocked the wind out of Chloe. A sharp cry of pain escaped her lips.

Axel stepped closer, forcing his knee aggressively between her thighs. The movement completely pinned her lower body, cutting off any angle of escape.

He lowered his head, his nose brushing against her cheek. He took a deep, greedy breath of the scent at the crook of her neck.

A violent shudder of disgust ripped through Chloe. She shoved both hands against his rock-hard chest, pushing with all her might, but he felt like a concrete wall.

Axel moved his hand up, grabbing both of her wrists in one massive grip and pinning them above her head against the wall. His free hand shot out, his thumb and index finger clamping down hard on her jaw.

"The running game is over," he murmured, his voice a dark, raspy threat. "Time to settle the bill."

Before she could turn her head, he crushed his mouth against hers. The kiss was brutal, punishing, leaving no room for her to breathe.

Chloe tasted blood. Panic and fury exploded in her chest. She opened her mouth and bit down as hard as she could on his lower lip.

Axel grunted in pain and pulled back slightly. He wiped the smear of blood from his mouth with his thumb. The look in his eyes turned pitch black, radiating pure danger.

He bent down, threw her over his broad shoulder like a sack of flour, and walked toward the small, dark bedroom.

"Let me go!" Chloe screamed, kicking her legs and pounding her fists against his back.

Axel ignored her. He reached the bed and tossed her onto the cheap, lumpy mattress without an ounce of gentleness.

He unbuttoned his trench coat and threw it aside. His large body followed, pressing her deep into the mattress as his hands grabbed the collar of her hoodie, ready to rip the fabric.

Chloe thrashed wildly. Her hand swept across the bedsheets and hit the leather strap of her tote bag, which she had left on the pillow earlier that day.

Desperation fueled her. She plunged her hand into the bag and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper stained with a drop of dried blood.

She slammed the medical report flat against Axel's chest, screaming at the top of her lungs. "I have HIV!"

Axel's entire body froze. The air in the bedroom stopped moving.

He lifted his weight off her just enough to snatch the wrinkled paper from her hand. He held it up to the dim light of the bedside lamp.

The red stamp glared back at him: HIV POSITIVE. She pressed her trembling thumb hard over the top corner, deliberately concealing the stranger's name printed on the header.

A violent tremor went through Axel's pupils. The dark lust and rage drained from his face, leaving behind a terrifying, pale stillness.

Chloe used his shock to push him away. She scrambled to the farthest corner of the bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin to cover herself.

"I did whatever I had to do to survive these two years," she lied, forcing a bitter, self-destructive tone into her voice. "My life is a mess. I am dirty."

Axel stared at her. The veins on the back of his hand bulged as his grip tightened, nearly turning the paper into dust. A dark, possessive fury twisted his features, jealousy slashing through the shock like a blade. The words she had spoken-I did whatever I had to do to survive-painted images in his mind that made him want to burn the world down. His voice dropped to a lethal, guttural growl. "How many?" He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his blazing eyes. "How many men have touched you? How many have taken what belongs to me?"

Chloe watched his chest heave. She waited for the disgust. She waited for him to throw her away like garbage and walk out the door. A tiny spark of hope flickered in her chest.

Instead, a ragged sound escaped him-half laugh, half snarl. "I haven't laid a hand on another woman since the night you vanished," he bit out, his thumb pressing hard against her trembling lips. "I've been losing my mind searching for you, while you-" his voice cracked with a jealousy so raw it bordered on pain, "-you gave yourself to strangers to survive."

A low, suppressed laugh rumbled deep in Axel's throat then, but it was dark and hollow. It sounded like a sigh from hell.

He lunged forward. His large hands framed her face, his thumbs pressing into her cheeks. His eyes burned with a frantic, blood-red madness.

"Even if you are rotting from the inside out, you are mine," he snarled through clenched teeth. "If you are going to die, I will go to hell with you."

Chloe stared at him, completely paralyzed by shock. Before she could process the insanity of his words, Axel lowered his head and kissed her again, harder and deeper than before, showing absolutely no fear of the disease.

When he finally pulled away, he grabbed his discarded trench coat and wrapped it tightly around her trembling body. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the front door.

"I will find the best immunology experts on the planet to cure you," he stated coldly, his grip on her iron-clad. "Until then, you will not leave my sight for a single second."

Chloe closed her eyes in absolute despair. A hot tear slipped down her cheek. The smell of his cedarwood cologne overwhelmed her senses, dragging her mind back to the very night this nightmare began.

Chloe kept her eyes squeezed shut. The heavy scent of Axel's cedarwood cologne slowly faded, replaced by the dry, scorching night wind of Las Vegas.

Time rushed backward two years. Twenty-year-old Chloe walked down a desolate back alley, far away from the glittering lights of the Strip. She wore a cheap, ill-fitting black mourning dress.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around a wooden urn and a framed photograph of her mother, Vanessa Sterling. She had just left the memorial vigil at a run-down chapel on the edge of town.

She had no money for a cab. The long walk had destroyed her feet. The stiff leather of her cheap heels rubbed her heels raw, and she could feel warm blood seeping into her stockings.

She stopped walking and leaned her shoulder against a brick wall covered in graffiti. She bent down, massaging her swollen, bleeding ankle.

A dull, heavy pop echoed from deeper inside the alley. It sounded like a gunshot muffled by a silencer.

Chloe flinched. Her body locked up. Her heart instantly shifted into a frantic, racing rhythm.

Instinct took over. She dropped to a crouch, hiding her body behind a massive green metal dumpster sitting by the curb.

She held her breath and carefully peeked her head around the rusted edge of the metal bin.

Under the sickly yellow glow of a broken streetlamp, a fat man in a loud floral shirt was on his knees. The ground around him was slick with foul-smelling dirty water.

The fat man, Paul Petrov, had his hands clasped together. Snot and tears ran down his face as he bowed repeatedly, begging for his life, screaming that he would give back everything.

Next to Paul stood a woman in a tight, revealing dress. She had both hands over her face, letting out a muffled, terrified shriek.

Standing over them was a tall, lean young man in a sharp gray suit. Dante Sinclair.

Dante wore a cynical, cold sneer on his face. In his right hand, he held a black Glock pistol fitted with a long suppressor.

He did not say a single word. He simply raised the gun and pulled the trigger.

A soft thwip cut through the air. The woman's scream stopped instantly. A dark red hole appeared right between her eyebrows, and she fell backward onto the pavement, stiff as a board.

Paul let out a horrific, pig-like squeal. He scrambled on his hands and knees, trying to crawl away through the trash.

Dante's eyes were dead. He lowered the barrel slightly and fired two rapid shots into Paul's broad back.

Paul's massive body twitched twice on the wet ground, then lay completely still in a growing pool of dark blood.

The thick, metallic smell of fresh blood drifted down the alley on the hot wind. Chloe's stomach churned violently. She slapped both hands over her mouth, fighting the overwhelming urge to vomit.

Her hands shook so badly she lost her grip. The heavy urn and the framed photo slipped from her arms.

The brass corner of the picture frame struck the side of the metal dumpster. In the dead silence of the alley, the sharp clang rang out like a church bell.

The second the sound hit the air, Dante snapped his head toward the dumpster. His eyes locked onto her hiding spot like a hunting leopard.

He raised the Glock. The black hole of the barrel pointed directly at the edge of the green bin.

"Who is there?" Dante barked, his voice like cracking ice.

Chloe's heart hammered against her ribs so hard it hurt. She knew she could not outrun a bullet.

She closed her eyes and took one deep, ragged breath. She forced her panic down, her brain screaming for a way to survive.

She quickly scooped her mother's photo back into her arms. She reached up and pulled the black hairpins from her head, letting her long hair fall in a messy tangle over her cheeks.

She stood up slowly. She purposely unfocused her eyes, letting her vision blur until everything became a fuzzy shape. She needed to look legally blind.

She bit the tip of her tongue hard, using the sharp pain to keep her face blank. Stumbling slightly, she stepped out from behind the dumpster.

She acted as if she saw absolutely nothing. She waved her free hand in the air in front of her, her voice trembling with manufactured confusion.

"Hello?" she mumbled, walking directly toward Dante. "Did my contact lens fall over there?"