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I was adopted by the wealthy Mcclain family, raised solely to be a bargaining chip for their corporate mergers. At my engagement banquet, my adoptive father drugged my champagne to force me into marrying a sixty-year-old tycoon. To escape being ruined by that old man, I stumbled into a dark bathroom and begged a mysterious hitman for help. Driven to the edge by the drug, I gave him my virginity and a ten million dollar check, just to survive the night. But when I finally escaped back home, my nightmare truly began. My stepsister maliciously unzipped my jacket in front of everyone, exposing the fresh bite marks and bruises covering my neck. Furious that his marriage merchandise was tainted, my adoptive father had his guards twist my arms behind my back. "Drag her to the medical suite! I want to know if this piece of goods is still intact!" he roared. I was strapped down to a freezing stainless-steel table by two heavy-set nurses, unable to move an inch. A corrupt private doctor forced cold metal instruments into me, ignoring my agonizing screams while my family gloated outside the curtain. Lying there in unbearable humiliation, my heart completely died. Twenty-two years of obedience meant nothing; to them, I was just a slab of meat on a butcher's scale. That night, locked in my dark bedroom in absolute despair, the balcony door suddenly clicked open. The hitman I thought I would never see again stepped out of the shadows, his eyes turning blood-red as he looked at my bruised wrists. "Since this house makes you cry like that, you're coming with me."
Contents
One Night With The Disguised Tycoon Chapter 1
Gabrielle Mcclain squeezed the stem of her crystal flute until her knuckles turned white. Under the dazzling chandeliers of the Manhattan Crystal Palace Hotel ballroom, her vision blurred into double images. A burning heat churned in her stomach. That glass of champagne was drugged.
She had spent the whole evening refusing. Refusing to smile for Bertram Langley, refusing to take his arm, refusing to sign the marriage contract her adoptive father had already laid out on the table. And this was their answer-a drug slipped secretly into her champagne, and a room full of bodyguards making sure she couldn't leave.
She dropped the glass onto a passing table and stumbled toward the exit. Three waiters carrying silver trays stepped into her path, blocking the main doors. Breathing heavily, she veered into a dimly lit side corridor. Her high heels sank into the thick carpet, her steps floating and unsteady.
From behind her came the oily, revolting laugh of Bertram Langley, the sixty-year-old political tycoon her adoptive father was forcing her to marry.
Her heart dropped into her stomach. She picked up her pace, lunging at the heavy oak door at the end of the hall.
The hinges groaned as she burst into the women's restroom. She slammed the deadbolt shut, her spine sliding down the cold wood as she gasped for air.
The main overhead lights were off. Only the vanity bulbs cast a dim, yellow glow across the marble counters. Bracing her hands on the sink, Gabrielle lifted her head. Through the haze clouding her eyes, she froze. Another figure stood in the reflection of the mirror.
A tall man in a black trench coat leaned against the furthest stall door. His head was bowed as he wiped down a black pistol fitted with a suppressor using a white towel. The cold metallic glint burned her eyes.
Gabrielle jerked backward. Her elbow knocked a glass soap dispenser off the counter.
Thud. The heavy bottle hit the tiles, the sound echoing loudly in the dead silence.
The man slowly raised his head. Deep blue-gray eyes cut through the shadows like a wolf's, locking onto her face.
He lifted the barrel of the gun and aimed it straight between her eyebrows. His voice was low, flat, and freezing.
"Get out."
The drug turned Gabrielle's legs to lead. She couldn't move an inch. She bit down hard on her lower lip until the metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, using the pain to hold onto her fading consciousness.
Heavy footsteps pounded down the corridor outside, followed by a violent pounding on the oak door.
"Miss McClain! Mr. Langley is very worried about you. Open the door!"
She whipped her head toward the rattling door, then looked back at the armed stranger. Trapped between a pack of wolves and a killer, a violent tremor shook her entire body.
The man frowned slightly. The black tactical bandage wrapped around his right wrist pulled tight as his grip on the pistol shifted, measuring the threat outside.
Driven by sheer survival instinct, Gabrielle lunged forward. She grabbed his gun-wielding wrist with both hands. The feverish heat of her palms burned right through the cuff of his shirt.
Disgust flashed across his eyes. He moved to throw her off, but a muffled voice crackled from a walkie-talkie outside the door.
"No sign of the hitman. He might be hiding in the women's room. Prepare to breach."
The man froze. Before Gabrielle could blink, his free hand shot out and clamped around her jaw. His rough thumb dug into her soft skin with enough force to crush the bone.
"They're looking for you?" Gabrielle forced the words out through the pain, her voice carrying a breathless, sweet pant from the drug.
He let out a cold laugh, his sharp features wild and ruthless in the dark.
"Looks like we're in the same boat now, little rich girl."
The brass lock on the main door shrieked as the bodyguards jammed a crowbar into the frame. They had less than ten seconds.
The man hooked an arm around her narrow waist, lifting her half off the floor. He dragged her into the furthest, narrowest stall and flipped the latch.
The space was suffocatingly small. Crushed against him, Gabrielle's nose pressed into the hard muscle of his chest, filling her lungs with the sharp scent of gunpowder and pine.
Crash! The main restroom door flew open. Heavy boots stomped across the tiles as bright flashlight beams swept beneath the stall doors.
At that exact moment, the drug inside Gabrielle erupted like a volcano. A scorching heat climbed up her spine. Her knees buckled, and she slid helplessly toward the floor.
The man jammed his thigh between her knees to prop her up, while his large hand clamped firmly over her mouth.
Her feverish breath spilled across his palm, brushing against his skin and making his blue-gray eyes darken.
The footsteps stopped right outside their stall. The black leather tips of a bodyguard's shoes appeared under the gap, less than an inch away.
"Anyone in there?" the guard barked, shoving hard against the stall door. The panels rattled violently.
Gabrielle squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers clawing into the shirt over the man's chest, her nails digging into his muscle.
He lowered his head until his thin lips brushed the shell of her ear.
"Make a sound," he breathed, his voice a barely audible whisper.
Gabrielle's eyes flew open. She stared at him in disbelief, her flushed cheeks and watery eyes glistening in the dark.
When she didn't react, his free hand slid down her back and pinched the curve of her waist hard through her silk gown.
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