Chapter 231
[ 489 words ]
Chapter 231:
She yanked her leg hard, trying to break his hold and bypass the foot of the bed to reach the heavy oak door.
Jarrod did not even bother to put on his boots.
He moved with a terrifying, explosive burst of speed. His bare feet hit the thick carpet. In one massive stride, he crossed the room. He planted his left hand against the doorframe, his right arm held rigid and motionless at his side. His towering frame became a solid wall of muscle and bone, completely blocking the only exit.
Caroline stumbled back half a step. The physical intimidation was suffocating.
She lifted her chin, her gray eyes turning to absolute ice.
𝘠o𝘂𝗋 𝗱аi𝗹𝗒 𝖽о𝘀е 𝗈𝖿 𝘯𝗼𝘷𝖾𝗅𝗌 о𝘯 𝗀𝗮l𝗻𝗈𝘃𝗲𝗅ѕ.𝘤o𝘮
“Move out of my way, Jarrod,” Caroline warned, her voice flat and cold. “My hospital shift is not optional.”
Jarrod’s left hand remained braced against the doorframe. His jaw was locked so tight the muscles twitched beneath his bruised skin. His right arm hung still, the field splint a rigid outline beneath his shirt.
“You are not walking out that door,” Jarrod stated. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated against her collarbone. “Last night, professional cleaners tried to hit your apartment. The threat hasn’t been neutralized.”
Caroline took a sharp breath, forcing the hot spike of frustration down into her stomach.
“I cannot hide behind your bulletproof glass forever,” Caroline argued, trying to use logic against a man operating on pure paranoia. “I have a life. I have a job.”
Jarrod let out a dark, humorless scoff and leaned forward, closing the distance between them.
The heavy, aggressive scent of cedarwood and sweat instantly swallowed the oxygen around her.
“If it keeps you breathing,” Jarrod rasped, his black eyes burning into hers, “I will lock you in this room for the rest of your natural life.”
The absolute sincerity in his voice sent a cold shock down Caroline’s spine. Words were useless. He was entirely deaf to reason.
Her body took over.
Caroline feinted left, dropping her shoulder in a perfect tactical misdirection. As Jarrod’s eyes tracked the movement, she violently pivoted right, her hand shooting out to grab the brass doorknob.
She was fast. But Jarrod was a tier-one operator.
He read the fake instantly. His long left arm shot out. His large hand clamped around her narrow waist, his fingers digging into her ribs.
Fighting against his grip, Caroline instinctively bent her arm and drove her elbow backward in a vicious, professional strike aimed directly at his floating ribs — a move designed to crack bone and force an attacker to drop their hold.
The strike landed against the bruised, battered right side of his ribcage with a heavy, sickening thud.
Jarrod let out a sharp, ragged grunt of genuine agony. His body stiffened as the pain tore through the barely healed fractures. But he did not let go.
Instead of retreating, he absorbed the blunt-force trauma. His left arm tightened around her waist like a python, and he lifted her entirely off the floor.
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