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“Should I escort her out?” his bodyguard asks.
“How?” I ask, glancing between them, panic making my voice rise. “Where?”
“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Tristan growls. “Can you hold them off long enough to buy us time?”
His bodyguard squares his shoulders. “Yeah, but you have to go now.”
“Where?” I repeat, grabbing Tristan’s arm and staring up at him. “Out the window? We’ll break our necks.”
Tristan gives me a grim smile. “This is a safe house, Vivian. My parents were very prepared.” Seeing my questioning look, he nods to his man and then pulls me farther back down the upstairs hallway, unfazed by the gunfire below us. Throwing open a closet door across from the master bedroom, he pulls me into what looks like an ordinary broom cupboard, complete with boxes stacked from wall to wall. He slams the door shut and begins moving them, clearing a space on the far wall, where…
“Holy shit,” I manage. There’s a door there, its outline faint but unmistakable. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Sometimes it pays to be paranoid.” Tristan grabs the handle, hauls it open, and ushers me into the darkened chamber before slamming the door shut behind us. For a moment it’s pitch dark, but then he taps on his phone light, illuminating his handsome features. “Hey,” he says, cupping my face in his hands. “You okay?”
“Ask me again once we’re away from Lucas,” I tell him, but I cover his hand with my own all the same, closing my eyes.
Tristan presses his lips to my forehead for a precious moment and then takes my hand, leading me through the claustrophobic passageway and down a narrow set of stairs that must pass between the upstairs bedrooms.
The sounds of gunshots burst on either side of us now, along with muffled shouts that could very well be coming from inches of where we are. As if to confirm my fears, a bullet punctures a hole in the walls above our heads, bursting through to the next room and making my stomach lurch.
“Almost there,” Tristan says. “Hold onto me.”
I don’t need to be told twice, and as we clear the first-floor landing, his steady presence is the only thing that keeps me from losing my shit as more gunshots puncture the narrow passageway. When we reach the end of the hallway, Tristan grabs my hand and urges me through a heavy door before quickly closing it behind us.
“Wow,” I breathe, shaking off the adrenaline and looking up at him. “That was close.”
Tristan crouches down, passing his arms under mine and helping me down onto the dusty ground floor platform. His strength is deceptive, and I can feel the warmth of his body through his shirt, enjoying his nearness even as the sounds of gunshots outside intensify. Sliding past me, Tristan opens the final door, and we burst out into the crisp night air. The sounds of fighting explode in my ears, suddenly clearer, and I take a hesitant step forward before Tristan slides an arm around me, gently preventing me from moving forward. “Hang on a minute,” he murmurs, lifting his gun and scanning the yard.
The passageway led us out through what looks like a small cellar opening at the rear of the house, concealed from view by the neatly trimmed hedges. Gunshots crack through the still air, voices scream in pain and rage, and in the distance, I can hear the wails of sirens coming up from the city center. It won’t be long before the authorities arrive, and we’re going to have to move quickly if we want to get out of here before they can ask us questions we won’t be able to answer.
Tristan pulls me down, pinning me to the grass as a bullet sails over my head, shattering one of the upstairs windows as several members of his security detail come storming out the front door.
“When I tell you to run,” Tristan murmurs, his lips level with my ear, “we make a beeline for the rear garage. Keep your head down, and don’t stop for anyone. Do you understand?”
I nod. “Understood.”
“Good,” Tristan says, and his lips brush against my temple. “They’ll be distracted, so as soon as I give you the signal, we’re going to run. Ready?”
“Ready,” I manage.
Craning his neck, Tristan watches, waiting, his body poised and tense, until he sees the first glimpse of an opening. “Now,” he says.
I spring to my feet and start to run, my legs pumping beneath me with Tristan at my side. In a flurry of fight-or-flight, we sprint to the garage, where his Range Rover is waiting in the driveway. Lucas’s men haven’t made it to this side of the property yet, but we’re not totally in the clear; from one of the balconies, someone shouts, and there’s a gunshot, but Tristan returns fire, moving backward as he skirts around to the driver’s side door. “Get in,” he instructs, somehow still keeping his cool, and I scramble inside, dropping my head and covering my neck.
Moments later, we’re speeding away down the driveway, stirring up clouds of dust as we head straight toward the main gate. In the distance, I see several vans and dozens of men closing in on the main road, making the whole place look like a war zone. I half-expect Lucas to be speeding along in pursuit every time I glance over my shoulder.
Indeed, we only make it as far as the next block before there’s the tell-tale roar of an engine from somewhere behind us, and I can only pray Lucas’ goons aren’t in communication with each other, or they’ll be on us like a pack of hyenas on fresh meat. From the side-view mirror, I see a black car gunning down the block, gaining speed. Tristan guns the engine, pushing the car as fast as it’ll go. An instant later, he makes a sudden right, taking us down a smaller side street, but it’s not enough; the sound of our pursuers is getting closer and closer, and we’re almost trapped. I flinch as I hear gunshots from behind us, but Tristan doesn’t even slow down, cranking the wheel to the left and taking us down a different road. “They’re going to catch up,” I murmur, my voice barely audible over the rush of air and the sound of the engine.
“They’ll have to find us first,” Tristan grunts, taking a sharp turn and making a dash past a row of suburban houses.
The road is lined with trees, and in the darkness, I can barely see a thing, so I keep my mouth shut, watching as Tristan pushes the car faster and faster, seemingly threatening to take us skidding off the road.
I clutch the side of my seat for dear life, letting out a gasp as Tristan slams on the brakes, making the car skid, turning us around, and then zooming down a shortcut I’d never have even known existed. Behind us, the car races past, and it will have to pull a U-turn before it can close the distance again.
Tristan doesn’t let up, his foot on the accelerator as he takes full advantage of the straight stretch of road, peeling out and pushing the car to its limit. Just when I think he’s about to crash into a telephone pole, he jerks the steering wheel, making a final sharp turn and taking us back down the road we came.
“We lost them,” he pants, taking a quick glance over his shoulder.
