The basement stairs felt like they were shrinking as Isabella's lungs burned. Her emerald gown, once the height of fashion, was now a heavy, silken trap. Behind them, the muffled thuds of chaos echoed through the stairwell—shouts, the heavy stomp of boots, and the terrifyingly sharp cracks of gunfire.
Elias didn't slow down. He moved with a lethal, fluid grace, his hand clamped firmly around hers like a shackle of warm iron.
"My father," Isabella gasped, her heels skidding on the concrete landing. "We have to go back. He's still in there!"
Elias stopped so abruptly that she slammed into his back. It was like hitting a wall of solid granite. He turned, his slate-gray eyes scanning the dimly lit corridor for threats before finally dropping to her face.
"Your father has an entire tactical team, Isabella," he said, his voice a low, emotionless rumble. "My only mission is you. If I turn back, I'm failing the protocol. And I don't fail."
"I'm not a mission! I'm a person!" she snapped, her fear suddenly sharpening into a jagged, desperate anger. "You can't just drag me into the dark like a piece of luggage and expect me to be quiet."
Elias stepped into her personal space, looming over her until she was pressed against the cold, damp wall. He smelled of expensive sandalwood and the acrid tang of gunpowder.
"Listen to me carefully," he growled, his face inches from hers. "There are at least six professional mercenaries in that ballroom who were paid to put you in a cage or a coffin. You can stay here and argue about your feelings, or you can get in the car and live. Which is it?"
Isabella opened her mouth to argue, but the sound of the steel door at the top of the stairs being kicked open cut her off. Heavy, synchronized footsteps began to descend.
Elias didn't wait for her answer. He reached down, grabbed the hem of her expensive dress, and—with a sharp, violent rip—tore the silk up to her mid-thigh.
"What are you doing?!" she shrieked in a whisper.
"Making it so you can run," he muttered, tossing the torn fabric aside. "Move. Now."
He shoved open the heavy steel door leading to the parking garage. A black SUV sat idling in the shadows, its lights off. Elias threw her into the passenger seat and vaulted over the hood, sliding into the driver's side just as the first bullet shattered the rear windshield.
"Welcome to the real world, Princess," Elias said, his hands steady as he floored the accelerator. "Hope you didn't have plans for the weekend."