The Billionaire's Dangerous Redemption (by Claire Winters) novel Chapter 17

17 A Debt of Blood

My brain felt like cotton, the sleeping pills still heavy in my system as I tried to process the frantic voice coming through the intercom.

“Hazel! Open this door immediately!” The voice belonged to Alistair.

I pressed my forehead against the cool wall, desperately fighting the medication’s pull. “Go away. It’s the middle of the night.”

“Ivy is dying! We need you at the hospital now!” His voice cracked with panic.

Even in my drugged state, I recognized the manipulation. “Not my problem.”

“Damn it, Hazel!” His voice escalated. “Open this door or I’ll break it down!”

The security system beeped again. Someone was overriding the building’s entrance code. Less than a minute later, pounding footsteps echoed in the hallway.

I barely managed to back away before my door flew open. Alistair stood there, eyes wild, tie

askew.

“What the hell?” I mumbled, the room tilting slightly. “You can’t just-”

“Ivy’s hemorrhaging,” he cut me off, stepping inside without invitation. “She needs a transfusion.

Now.”

I laughed bitterly. “So call a blood bank.”

His face darkened. “You know it’s not that simple. She has the same rare blood type as you.”

The reality of why he was here hit me like a slap. “You came for my blood.”

“People are dying, Hazel!”

“One person,” I corrected, steadying myself against the wall. “One manipulative person who stole my fiancé and wedding.”

Alistair grabbed my arm. “This isn’t the time for your pettiness!”

The touch jolted me fully awake. I yanked free and slapped him hard across the face.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” I hissed.

His cheek reddened where my palm had connected. For a moment, shock registered in his eyes before hardening into something cold.

“We don’t have time for this.” He seized my wrist with bruising force. “You’re coming with me.”

“I took sleeping pills, I protested as he dragged me toward the door. “I can’t donate blood!”

16:27

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17 A Debt of Blood

“The doctors will figure it out,” he snapped, not slowing his pace.

I struggled against his grip. “I’m in pajamas, for God’s sake!”

“Ivy is dying while you worry about your outfit. Typical.”

The casual cruelty in his words stunned me into momentary compliance. This was the man I had planned to marry. This was the man I had given my blood to countless times over the years.

Before I could gather myself, I was being bundled into his car, the night air cold against my thin sleepwear. Alistair peeled away from the curb, tires screeching.

“Put your seatbelt on,” he ordered, eyes fixed on the road.

“Worried about my safety now?” I asked sarcastically, but complied.

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