My Human Tranquilizer

Chapter 1 The Thousand-Dollar Slap

Something smashed inside the VIP hospital suite. A woman screamed. I kept reading the notification on my phone.

RENT OVERDUE: FINAL NOTICE.

A security guard ran past the intern's station and joined the suits waiting ten feet from the splintered door.

From my chair, I could see the wrecked doorway and every man pretending he had a reason to stay back.

The door banged open. Victoria Harper stumbled out in a torn designer dress, sobbing. Her blonde hair hung across a fresh scratch on her cheek.

“He’s like an animal!” she cried to the man in charge, David, Arthur’s head of security. “You have to do something!”

David, Arthur's head of security, rubbed both hands over his face. “We can’t get near him, Miss Harper. He’s already broken two of my men’s ribs.”

Another crash echoed from the room. My phone buzzed again. This time, a text from my landlord: *I’m not kidding, Hazel.*

I logged another hour on my timesheet. Crisis intervention interns earned twelve dollars an hour, which was almost funny. At that rate, the car would become my bedroom by Friday.

David spotted me and hurried over. “Hazel. You need to go in.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And do what? Get my throat slit for twelve dollars an hour?”

“I’ll triple it,” he said instantly. “Triple your rate for the next forty-eight hours. Just get the sedative into him. You’re the only one he’s never hurt.”

Triple pay for forty-eight hours covered more than two months' rent. I hated how quickly that settled it.

“Fine,” I said, standing up and grabbing the pre-filled syringe from the medical cart. “But if I die, you’re paying for my funeral.”

The staff watched me cross the doorway. Furniture lay overturned, glass covered the floor, and Arthur Sterling stood in the middle of it.

He was shirtless and sweating, old silver scars crossing his chest and arms. A jagged piece of glass sat in his fist.

His eyes were usually an alert, calculating gray. Now he looked straight through me.

“Get out,” he snarled, the sound vibrating in his chest.

I kept my steps slow. This was the job, assuming I lived long enough to bill for it.

At five feet, he lunged. My back hit the wall, and the point of the glass pricked my throat.

He waited for the scream Victoria had given him. I met his unfocused stare instead and slapped him.

The c***k of my palm against his cheek echoed in the silent room.

He blinked. The glass eased away from my skin.

“Stop it. You’re making a scene, and your screaming is ruining my overtime calculation.”

His chest still heaved, but his eyes found mine. His fingers opened. The glass struck the floor.

Then his weight came down on me. He buried his face against my neck and held on, shaking hard enough that I had to brace a foot against the wall. His breath burned against the cut on my throat.

My pulse kicked under the tiny cut at my throat. Over Arthur's shoulder, I caught David staring.

I held up one finger.

Then I mouthed the words: *One thousand dollars.*

David nodded at once.

Arthur locked both arms around my waist. When the nurses approached, his grip tightened until they backed off.

He spoke against my neck, loud enough for the security team to hear. “Take her with me. Bring her to the estate. Now.”