Page 160 of Under Construction

Dennis tightens his grip as the elevator descends. "Now please pleasepleaseshut up and focus on walking. We're not safe yet."

The service elevator opens to the parking garage. Dennis adjusts his grip on Chris, who's fighting to keep his feet under him.

"Almost there." Dennis scans the concrete pillars, shadows deep between parked cars. "The PI's waiting—"

Footsteps echo behind them. Dennis spins, dragging Chris behind a column just as two more guards emerge from the stairwell.

"Check every level," one barks into his radio. "They couldn't have gotten far."

Chris's breath comes ragged against Dennis’s neck. The drugs are still hitting him hard—they'll never outrun anyone like this.

Dennis's phone vibrates. A text from Isabelle:LOADING DOCK. 2 MINS.

"Okay, change of plans." Dennis peers around the column. The guards are moving toward the ramp, checking between vehicles. "We're going to the loading bay."

"Can't..." Chris's knees buckle. "Too heavy..."

"Shut up, I've got you." Dennis hooks Chris's arm more securely over his shoulders. "You weigh less than the bamboo supports I keep having to redesign because someone's being picky about load distribution."

That draws a weak laugh from Chris. They edge along the wall, staying in shadow. Every footstep seems to echo. Every scrape of Chris's boots against concrete sounds like thunder.

The loading dock entrance is just ahead. Twenty feet of open space between them and safety.

A shout rings out behind them: "There!"

Dennis doesn't look back. He heaves Chris forward, half-dragging him across the exposed concrete. Footsteps pound closer. A bullet pings off the wall beside them—warning shots. These men might work for Lancaster, but they're not killers.

The loading bay door rattles upward. Isabelle's sedan—a nondescript silver Honda Accord—idles just beyond, Jessica in the passenger seat.

"Move!" Isabelle appears at the door, gun raised past them. Two sharp cracks split the air. The pursuing footsteps falter.

Dennis practically throws Chris into the backseat, diving in after him. Tires squeal as Isabelle floors it, the car lurching forward and speeding off.

"Status?" Jessica twists around, hands already checking Chris for injuries.

"Drugged," Dennis reports, pulling Chris's head into his lap. "But breathing steady."

"M'fine," Chris slurs. "Just... need sleep..."

"We're not going far," Isabelle says, taking a sharp turn. "Your father's Audi has a tracker. He's already at the safe house with a security team."

Isabelle’s calm confidence tells Dennis they’re not being followed.

"We’ve taken enough detours to lose anyone who might’ve been watching," she adds, glancing at him. "Your father’s team swept the area and locked down the house. We’re fine for now."

Something warm blooms in Dennis's chest. His father tracking the Audi isn't surprising—all Kim Industries vehicles have GPS. But his father actually following that signal, bringing security to make sure his son is safe… that feels new. That matters.

"Good." Jessica's voice carries steel. "It's time Christopher learns what happens when you underestimate a mother protecting her son."

Chris's fingers find Dennis's, squeezing weakly. Despite everything, his lips curve in that familiar smile.

"My hero," he mumbles, already drifting off. "Knew you'd... find me..."

Dennis threads their fingers together, throat tight. "Always."

54Safe

The safe house sits at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, porch lights burning warm against the darkness. Two black sedans flank Dennis's father's Audi in the driveway. His security detail melts from the shadows as Isabelle's Honda approaches.

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