Isabella
The city looked alive outside my limo window, bustling with morning energy. People rushed across the streets—businessmen with briefcases in hand, their ties flapping in the cool morning breeze, faces set with the grim determination of those who are running late. Students, backpacks slung carelessly over one shoulder, sprinted toward the bus stops, eyes glued to their phones, perhaps trying to catch up on last-minute assignments or messages from friends. Horns blared in the distance as cars crawled through traffic, inching forward impatiently.
My limo came to a stop at the traffic light, and I glanced out the tinted window again. A small group of beggars huddled at the corner, one of them sitting on the curb with a cardboard sign, pleading for help as pedestrians rushed by. I had never had the privilege of walking down these streets before. Being the heir to the Falcon family came with certain luxuries, yes, but also heavy restrictions. Walking alone in public was out of the question. My safety was paramount; the future of the Falcon family depended on it.
Not that I was going to inherit everything—my parents died young, leaving me as the only child, the vessel for the next generation of Falcons. That's why my grandfather was so strict about who I could marry, why he chased away suitors who didn't meet his high standards. He was searching for the right genes, the perfect lineage to carry on the family legacy. I couldn't afford to mess that up by making a mistake like getting knocked up by the wrong guy. It would be a disaster for the family, and that pressure weighed on me daily.
Sighing, I leaned back in my seat, rubbing my temple. The red light hadn't turned green yet, and the city kept moving outside, oblivious to the war that raged inside me. Just then, a black BMW motorbike screeched to a stop beside the limo. My eyes widened as the rider in the back, dressed in black leather, pulled out a gun.
"Shit!" I screamed, my heart slamming in my chest.
Before I could process what was happening, bullets slammed into the limo's body, the deafening sound of metal clashing against metal filling the air. The bulletproof glass held, but the barrage of gunfire rattled me to my core. Liam, sitting next to me, grabbed me and pulled me down into his lap.
"Stay down, Isabella!" His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the chaos around us.
My heart pounded in my ears as I lay there, huddled against him, trying to breathe through the panic. My hands clutched his arm like a lifeline. I could hear the bullets continuing to rain down on the limo, relentless and terrifying. My entire body was shaking, my breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Oh my God, Liam… what the hell is happening?" My voice was barely a whisper, trembling as I struggled to make sense of the attack.
"We're under fire," he said bluntly, his jaw tight but his demeanor surprisingly composed. "But we'll be fine. The limo's bulletproof."
I wanted to believe him, but the gunfire outside wasn't stopping. And now, more motorcycles had joined the assault. I peeked up just enough to see them—three, no, four more bikes weaving through traffic, each carrying riders who were shooting at us. The limo jerked forward as the driver slammed on the gas, trying to get us out of there, but the attackers were relentless.
I heard the shouts of the security detail through the walkie-talkies. "Two cars down!! We need backup! We're heading to All Saints Road, we need backup NOW!"
The escort cars surrounding us fired back, but the attackers kept coming, their bullets ricocheting off the limo. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing myself closer to Liam as if I could disappear into him, as if his arms around me would somehow make this nightmare stop.
"We're not gonna make it!" I gasped, my voice breaking with fear. "They're everywhere, Liam, oh my God!"
Liam's hand rested on the back of my head, gently pushing me down as another round of gunfire hit the limo. "Just breathe, okay? Stay calm."
Calm? How could he be so calm? My heart felt like it was about to explode in my chest. "Calm?! We're being shot at, Liam!"
"I know," he said, his voice steady, "but panicking isn't going to help. Just stay down."
The limo swerved hard to the right, throwing us both to the side. I yelped, my fingers digging into Liam's arm as I tried to stay grounded, but the car's erratic movements weren't making it any easier.
"They're closing in!" someone shouted from the front.
I glanced out the window and saw the motorbikes, now flanking us on both sides, their riders still unloading bullets. The limo was built for protection, but I could feel the danger closing in. My stomach twisted painfully as the realization hit me—if they caught us, we were done for.
"Liam, I'm scared," I whispered, my voice barely audible over the chaos.
He looked down at me, his expression softening for a moment. "I know. But you're going to be okay, Isabella. I promise."
I clung to his words, desperate to believe him, but the gunfire kept coming, the bullets pounding against the car like a storm. The traffic around us was a blur of honking cars, terrified drivers trying to get out of the way, but it didn't stop the attackers. They kept coming.
The limo raced down All Saints Road, swerving in and out of traffic as our driver tried to lose them. Behind us, I could hear the sound of screeching tires and metal crashing—our escort cars were taking heavy damage. The walkie-talkie crackled again, the voices panicked now.
"We've lost another car! Dammit, we need backup now!"
My body trembled uncontrollably as I huddled closer to Liam, his arms around me the only thing keeping me grounded. "We're not gonna make it," I muttered again, fear choking me.
Liam's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking out the window as he assessed the situation. "We will. Just stay with me."
Suddenly, the limo lurched forward, picking up speed as the driver pushed through the intersection. The attackers kept firing, but we were pulling ahead, leaving them behind. I could still hear the gunfire echoing down the street, but it was fading now, the chaos finally beginning to subside.The limo sped down the street, leaving the chaos behind. My heart was still pounding in my chest, and I tried to slow my breathing, gripping Liam's arm for support. We were safe—or at least it felt like we were. The gunfire had faded, and for a moment, I allowed myself to believe we had escaped.
But then, out of nowhere, a deafening crash tore through the air as a massive truck slammed into the side of our limo with the force of a wrecking ball. The impact was violent, throwing me and Liam across the seat as the vehicle was shoved off the road and onto the pedestrian lane. The sound of metal crunching and glass shattering filled my ears, along with the agonized screeching of tires. The limo spun out of control, slamming against a brick wall, and came to a grinding halt.
For a moment, everything went still. My ears were ringing from the collision, my entire body was frozen in shock. But then, before I could fully comprehend what had happened, my gaze snapped to the side. Four men jumped down from the truck, their boots hitting the ground with a heavy thud. Each one was armed, carrying large, powerful guns that gleamed in the early morning light. My heart dropped into my stomach.
"Liam…" I barely managed to whisper, my voice trembling with fear.
Before he could respond, they opened fire. The gunshots were deafening, a continuous onslaught of bullets pouring into the already battered limo. The vehicle rocked with the force of the assault, the sound of gunfire mingling with the sharp cracking of glass and the hollow thuds of bullets embedding themselves into the car's bulletproof frame.
Up above, I heard another thud, followed by more gunfire from the roof of the limo. The attackers weren't letting up. They had us pinned, and it felt like there was no way out. My breath hitched, and panic surged through me like a wave. My chest tightened painfully as the sound of bullets and the smell of gunpowder overwhelmed my senses. I could feel myself slipping, losing control.
The sharp knock against the window jolted me, and suddenly, I was spiraling. A loud ringing filled my ears, drowning out the gunfire. My vision blurred as my surroundings started to fade, the world around me becoming distant and distorted. My heart raced, and it felt like multiple hands were grabbing hold of me, pulling me into a suffocating abyss.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. It was as though I was drowning, sinking deeper and deeper into darkness with no way to claw my way back up. The panic consumed me, dragging me under, and the world around me disappeared. The gunfire, the cries of tires, Liam's voice—it all melted away into a terrifying void.
Just when I thought I couldn't take any more, a sharp beep cut through the silence.
I gasped, my eyes flying open. I was lying in a bed, the harsh smell of disinfectant hitting my nose. The steady beeping sound filled the room, and I realized it was coming from a heart monitor beside me. My chest rose and fell rapidly as I blinked, trying to orient myself. The panic still clung to the edges of my consciousness, but I was no longer in the limo. I was in a hospital room—a VIP hospital room, by the looks of it.
My eyes darted around, and I saw two familiar figures standing at the foot of the bed—my uncles. They were talking in low voices, their faces grim. My attention was immediately drawn to the door as it burst open, and my grandfather rushed in, his face lined with worry. His eyes scanned over me as he approached, and without a word, he pulled me into his arms, checking me over as though to make sure I was truly okay.
"Are you okay, dear?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
I nodded weakly, still trying to catch my breath.