In Jacob's doorway, a total of six very tall, muscular, well-dressed, lean men were standing. Two were posted on either side of the door frame, looking out. They saw her first. Two were zipping up what looked to be a Jacob-sized body bag. And the other two were engaged in serious conversation. One of which was smoking, and the other had bronze hair.

Looking directly into her frightened eyes, the guard to the right of the door frame stated flatly, "Boss, we have a problem." Isabella's eyes grew wide, and she was panicked. She hadn't realized she had stopped, dead in her tracks, to assess the situation. She was great at math, and she didn't think that counting to six thugs on the first floor would have taken such a noticeable amount of time. "Shit," she thought to herself.

Glancing over his shoulder, the man with the bronze hair, the boss, surveyed Isabella quickly, raking her body over. Everyone was quiet. The zipping of the body bag stopped. "Grab her, and let's go." He stated, authoritatively.

The doorway guards began to approach, each reaching to their waist bands. Already terrified, Isabella's fight or flight response kicked in. She dove up the stairs. Her heart was pounding. Two gunned men were chasing her. And when they caught her...she didn't know, but she didn't want to find out.

She may not be as strong or as fast as them. But she knew the layout of the complex. On the second floor, she make some quick turns through apartment hallways, knowing which ones were dead-ends and which still had room to run. After a series of turns, she cascaded down the flight of stairs onto the 1st floor. She found a shadow and stopped, shrugging her backpack off. It would only slow her down when she would have to run again. Before setting it on the ground, in a spot she vowed to remember, she removed her mace from the bag, holding it with a death grip.

Her back against the wall. She was in a shadow with the can of mace clutched tightly to her chest. Her chest was heaving and her breathing was ragged. Her legs felt shaky and weak. She knew she needed to move but felt immobile.

Just then a noise to her left, from the staircase she just ran down, propelled her legs forward. Around the corner, down another hallway. A man yelled, "Here is her bag. Keep looking. She must be close."

Looking over her shoulder as she ran, she ran into a study object. Wishing it was a wall, the object, clearly now a man, grabbed her two wrists.

"Got her, Boss," the smoking man from earlier, still with a cigarette in his mouth, hollered . Though her wrists were immobile, Isabella could just barely reach the trigger of her pink mace. She pushed with all the finger strength she could muster. Direct hit-the liquid forcefully sprayed his eyes. The man threw her down, and she roughly scrapped her hands on the concrete, trying to break her fall.

The smoking man screeched, "You maced me, you fucking little bitch." He drew his gun and pointed it at Isabella as he approached her.

Isabella threw her blooded arm above her head and prepared for whatever the impact of a gun at pointblank range would be.

She heard footsteps approaching. She wondered if they brought an Isabella-sized body bag as well.

"James, enough!" The copper-haired boss demanded. The gun on Isabella's head shook.

"Boss, she fucking maced me!" James explained.

With a chuckled, the boss said, "If you were coming after anyone else, I'm sure they would have maced you, too. Now, go get cleaned up, and go with the Mike and Eric, and get rid of the bag." The boss commanded.

James removed the gun from her head, and Isabella allowed her body to crumble to the concrete.

James stalked away. The door guards from earlier approached. It was the four of them: the boss, Isabella, the curly haired right guard, and the burly brown-haired left guard who had her backpack.

The boss knelt down, running his hand over Isabella's hair where the gun was held, smoothing the strands as he went. This poor girl was traumatized. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He wished he could stay and comfort her, but they needed to get away from the crime scene.

"Let's get you cleaned up, shall we?" The boss suggested in as sweet of a voice as he could manage.

Isabella looked at him, puzzled, "Who are you?"

He looked at her with a devilish grin and said, "I'm Edward Cullen."