Chapter 27: Escape
Isabella continued to walk in the dark.
She couldn’t see anything at all, yet the sheer weight of the earth above her felt heavy, pushing down on her shoulders.
She remembered her father’s quiet voice from years ago, telling her how the old estate had been built over old escape routes.
’Left at the split,’ she told herself over and over, her throat tight with fear. ’Left at the split, then twenty steps down.’
Every time her foot slipped on a wet stone, her heart leaped into her throat. She kept moving, her hands outstretched, feeling her way forward through the pitch-black passage.
Miles away, Kian sat in a high-rise office building, his coat thrown over the back of a leather chair.
The emergency board meeting had been a disaster of yelling executives and flashing news screens, but he had managed to lock down the trading stock.
He leaned against the desk, rubbing his tired eyes.
The door to the office burst open. One of his senior managers rushed in, holding a plain white envelope. The man looked pale, his shirt collar unbuttoned, sweat shining on his forehead.
"Mr. Carter," the manager panted, placing the envelope on the desk. "This was left on your car window at the harbor. The security guard didn’t see who dropped it."
Kian frowned, pulling the small piece of paper out of the envelope. Written in dark, smooth ink were six simple words:
’You should have heeded my warning.’
Kian’s blood ran cold.
Of course it made sense.
The harbor explosion. The collapsed structures. The board emergency. None of it was a business disaster. It was a distraction.
"Get my car," Kian ordered, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register as he snatched his phone from the desk.
He dialed Luke’s number immediately. The phone didn’t even ring. A harsh, flat automated tone beeped three times before dropping the signal completely. Jammed.
"Dammit!" Kian roared, slamming his palm onto the heavy mahogany desk. He grabbed his coat and bolted out the door.
Back at the Kingston estate, the heavy front doors swung open.
Aaron drove through the grand entryway as if he owned the place till he got to the main house.
He wore a dark wool coat against the morning chill, a thin trail of gray smoke rising from the cigarette held loosely between his fingers as he got out of the Jeep.
Beside him, two of his men moved quickly to secure the main hall, but Aaron didn’t even look at them.
He walked with slow, easy steps, his polished shoes clicking against the white marble floor.
Luke stood at the top of the grand staircase, his hand resting on the grip of his gun.
His face was covered in sweat, a long cut running down his left cheek from the fight downstairs.
When his eyes landed on Aaron, Luke’s jaw went tight.
He didn’t panic, but a cold knot of dread tightened in his stomach. He knew who Aaron was.
Everyone in their world knew who Aaron was.
Aaron stopped near the base of the stairs, looking up at Luke. He took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a soft cloud of smoke toward the high ceiling.
He looked at Luke the way a man might look at a stray dog blocking a driveway.
"Where is she?" Aaron asked softly. His voice didn’t carry any anger, just a quiet, heavy authority that filled the vast room.
Luke took a slow, steady breath, stepping down two stairs. "I have no obligation to tell you anything, Mr. Kazarov."
Aaron let out a faint, dry chuckle. "You’re a loyal man, Luke. I respect that. But if you value your life, I suggest you stop wasting my time."
Luke didn’t move. His posture remained rigid, his dark eyes fixed on the man below.
Aaron tilted his head, watching the slight twitch in Luke’s jaw. "She’s in the safe room, isn’t she?"
Luke’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he forced his face back into a blank, stone expression. But it was too late. Aaron had already seen it.
"Right," Aaron murmured, tapping an ash off his cigarette onto the pristine floor. "The safe room."
He stepped toward the hallway leading to the back quarters.
Luke moved instantly, leaping down the remaining stairs and stepping directly into Aaron’s path, raising his weapon. "I cannot let you pass."
Aaron stopped, looking at the gun pointed at his chest, then up at Luke’s eyes. A faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"You’ve got nerve, kid. I’ll give you that."
"I have my orders from Mr. Carter," Luke said, his voice hard, though his fingers tightened nervously around the grip. "You cross this line, and I will open fire."
Aaron stared at him for a moment, then began to speak in a quiet, conversational tone.
"Luke Garcia. Served four years in special security training. Top of your class. Joined the Kingston family six years ago. Kian treats you like a little brother, doesn’t he?"
Luke’s chest heaved, but he didn’t answer.
"You’re afraid of him," Aaron continued, his blue eyes turning cold as his faint smile vanished completely.
"You’re afraid of what he’ll do to you if I take her. But you should be far more afraid of what happens if you stay in my way."
Before Luke could respond, three of Aaron’s men rounded the corner, their guns drawn, their heavy boots thudding against the floor.
"Boss," one of them said. "West wing is cleared."
Aaron didn’t even look back at them. He kept his eyes on Luke. "He’s all yours. Don’t waste too much time."
Luke realized instantly that he was completely outmatched. He pressed the quick-dial button on his shoulder radio, shouting over the open channel to the remaining guards upstairs.
"Move her! Get Madam Isabella out of the safe room now! Take her to the rear—"
A heavy fist caught Luke across the side of his face, cutting his words off in a spray of blood.
Luke stumbled back, but he didn’t drop.
He dodged a wild swing from the second man, driving his elbow hard into the guy’s ribs, then ducked under a heavy right hook.
He fought like a cornered beast, landing two heavy strikes that sent the first attacker sprawling across the floor. He was fast, ruthless, and brutal.