"Derek! Stop! For the love of God, go and stop him before he kills someone!"
Patricia Hartwell was slumped on the cold linoleum floor of the VIP suite, her hand clutching her bruised hip. The pain was a dull, throbbing ache, but her fear was sharp and electric. She couldn't see the violence unfolding in the hallway—the heavy soundproof door and Derek’s massive, mountain-like silhouette blocked her view—but she could hear it.
She heard the sickening, rhythmic thud of a fist meeting unyielding flesh. She heard the desperate, wheezing gasps for air. And most of all, she heard the screams of Simon Ashford. They weren't the screams of a man; they were the shrill, terrified shrieks of a cornered animal realizing for the first time that its status and its silk suit were no protection against a
