Chapter 690
“Lean on me,” he said, the words tight with pain.
Ignoring the hot, tearing sensation in his own flesh, he half-carried, half-guided her rapidly toward the private guest suites.
Eliza buried her face in his neck.
She closed her eyes and swallowed the suffocating terror. The clock was ticking. Midnight was coming. And she was going to face the monster alone.
The black SUV moved with silent, predatory speed, gliding into the underground garage of the Swiss safehouse and coming to a precise, controlled stop at the elevator entrance. The acrid smell of burning rubber filled the damp air.
Dallas didn’t wait for the security detail to open the doors. He kicked his own open and moved immediately to Eliza’s side, his movements stiff with controlled pain.
He wrapped his arm around her waist like a steel band, pulling her securely against him — his touch an unyielding promise of safety. His dark eyes swept every corner of the dimly lit garage, radiating the lethal, hyper-vigilant energy of a predator backed into a corner.
He guided her into the steel elevator.
The moment the metal doors slid shut, Dallas pressed his finger to his encrypted earpiece.
“Shields.” His voice was a harsh, vibrating rumble in the small space. “Initiate Fortress Mode. Maximum tier. Nothing gets in or out of this perimeter without my biometric authorization.”
Eliza leaned her back against the freezing metal wall.
A brutal cramp seized her abdomen — a terrifying clenching that stole her breath. She wrapped her arms around her waist, a primal instinct to shield the life inside her. Gideon’s whisper from the chateau corridor coiled around her spine like a venomous snake.
Level 9.
It wasn’t just a threat. It was a promise to drag her into the exact subterranean hell where he had systematically broken Dallas five years ago.
Dallas noticed instantly — the violent tremor in her shoulders, the way her hand moved to her stomach.
He cut the comms channel. He stepped forward and pulled her tightly against his chest, his broad, calloused hand moving up and down her spine in a heavy, grounding rhythm, as if trying to soothe the very bones that sheltered their child.
Eliza buried her face in the lapel of his tuxedo. The fabric smelled of expensive cologne and the faint metallic tang of gunpowder. She forced her lungs to expand, using every ounce of her willpower to push the suffocating panic down into her gut.
She couldn’t let him see how terrified she was. She exhaled slowly, letting him read it as exhaustion from the night.
The elevator chimed. They reached the top floor.
Dallas stepped out first. He walked to the massive blast door and personally verified his fingerprints, his retinal scan, and a complex vocal passcode. The heavy hydraulic locks hissed. The steel door swung slowly open, revealing the absolute security of the inner sanctum.
Zoe stood directly behind the door, fully geared up, her face a mask of cold professionalism.
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