Chapter 42
IRIS
We move, if you can even call it that.
Marcus works the wall with the phone, the beam skimming along the concrete in tight arcs.
I stay close, a step behind and to his side, watching where the light falls and reaching into the edges it misses.
My hand follows the surface, reading seams and irregularities, searching for anything that might give, however small.
“What is this place?” I ask.
The room feels larger now that I’m upright, its boundaries dissolving into shadows beyond the beam. Pipes run low overhead, forcing us to duck in places.
“My future hospital,” he says, already moving the beam again.
I blink, certain I’ve misheard. “Your what?”
He glances at me, then back to the wall he’s inspecting. “Second stage of demolition. This whole structure was scheduled to come down and make way for the new building.”
The words slot together slowly, like my brain is wading through syrup.
“Oh!” I swallow. “I think I heard about it in the papers.” I pause, searching for the information. “A hospital for kids or something?”
“For children with injuries,” he says. “Congenital conditions. Deformities. The ones who get pushed down the list because fixing them isn’t profitable.
” He drives his shoulder into a crossbar, then moves on when it doesn’t give.
“I didn’t always walk like this,” he adds almost casually.
“My leg bent inward. I couldn’t step straight, and I had to correct every stride. Every day. And damn, it hurt.”
The words sink in. He’s spent his life compensating, adjusting, and surviving. The hospital isn’t a charity. It’s him making sure someone else doesn’t have to.
I recall the Charles Pompeo interview and the implication that Marcus Lockwood’s philanthropy was just another layer of brand management.
A way to make wealth look acceptable. I’d rolled my eyes at the screen, certain I was smarter than the story being sold, while Reggie lost his mind defending him as though I was missing something obvious.
Reggie was right. I was wrong.
This place wasn’t a press release. It was personal. And Drake didn’t just trap us here. He chose the one place where Marcus had intended to turn pain into something survivable.
Marcus keeps sweeping the light of his phone across the wall.
“But that wasn’t the worst part,” he adds.
“My own mother wouldn’t keep me. I was discarded before I ever had the chance to be anything else.
” His mouth tightens. “After that, I was adopted by people who didn’t have to take me. I was lucky.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, but it feels inadequate.
And—oh God. That sentence. No wonder it landed like a blade.
“Marcus.” I touch his arm. We’ve said our apologies, but this is something I still need to say. “I told you that you weren’t what I was interested in.”
“You didn’t mean it.”
“I did, but not the way it came out. That was cruel of me.”
He covers my hand with his palm, the grit from his skin transferring to mine. “Apology accepted,” he says. “Now let’s keep going. There has to be something we can use to get out of here.”
I try to move again, determined not to be the liability I already am. I make it a few feet before my knees threaten to buckle. My body makes the decision for me, and I sink back against the wall.
Marcus is at my side instantly.
“Hey.” His hands are warm, stopping me from going down. “Let me work. You stay here, okay?” His fingers press lightly into my wrist, checking what he already knows. “Gather strength. We’ll need it soon.”
Soon. Not if, but when.
I just nod because arguing would slow us down.
He moves away again, methodical and focused. I draw a careful breath and straighten as much as I can against the wall.
Marcus looks back at me. “You still with me, Iris?”
The ceiling answers before I do. A crack splits the air, followed by a dull thud somewhere above us. Dust shakes loose, settling over our shoulders and hair.
Marcus freezes with his head tilted, listening the same way he did with my breathing earlier.
“That wasn’t random,” he says.
Another sound follows, like metal dragging, then comes a hollow bang that echoes through the pipes.
“Soft strip,” he mutters. “They already pulled the interior supports. This place is hollowed out.”
“He’s using the work that’s already been done,” I say.
“Yes.” Marcus scans the ceiling, the walls, and the way the weight is redistributing. “He doesn’t need explosives. He just needs patience.”
A section of the wall sags, then gives way.
Marcus grabs my arm and pulls me clear just as debris slams down where I’d been standing. Before he can move again, he sweeps his phone beam across the wall, and something in the surface breaks the pattern.
“Wait,” I say. “There.”
He keeps moving, and the light veers away from the spot.
“Marcus, further back. You just passed it.”
He brings his phone around again, slower this time.
“That section.” I point to a cluster of old pressure gauges. “It looks more recent against everything else.”
Marcus steps closer and studies it. “That’s not a wall.”
He wedges a loose metal bar into the seam and leans into it. I drop beside him, scraping at the edges with unsteady hands and working through the weakness. The concrete gives sooner than it should, breaking away to reveal a narrow opening beyond.
“Drainage access. It must’ve been sealed off during later renovations,” he mutters.
Another shudder runs through the building.
“This is it,” Marcus says. “You first.”
“You’re faster. I’ll slow you down.”
He shakes his head. “Your pace is my pace, Iris.” His hand settles on my back, already steering me toward the opening. “I’m right behind you.”
I crawl on my elbows and knees, counting movements so I don’t panic. Marcus stays close, his phone’s weak beam skimming the dirt and broken stone ahead of me.
The crawl drags on until there’s a scuffle, followed by his grunt.
“You okay, Marcus?”
“Yeah. Keep going. It’s just a little tight back here.”
Above us, the noise is now closer and heavier.
Then the light dies.
“Shit,” he mutters.
I hear the scrape of his hand along with his curse. But nothing comes on.
We keep moving anyway, feeling our way forward, the tunnel narrowing, the ground slanting upward. My breathing turns shallow again, but I don’t stop.
Then, something pale breaks the dark.
Rubble frames it unevenly, with one side sloped and packed tight, the other jagged with snapped brick. An exit no one ever meant to use.
“Iris,” Marcus says. “Stop.”
I freeze.
The opening is narrow. Too narrow.
He makes the call. “You can fit. I can’t. Go!”
“No,” I say immediately.
“Iris—”
“No!” I say stubbornly.
He grips my calf, his fingers tightening. “Listen to me.”
“I am listening,” I snap. “I’m not leaving you down here.”
Another crash sounds above us. Dust pours into the tunnel, and my lungs seize. I bend forward, gasping.
Marcus’s hand spreads between my shoulder blades, and he shifts me just enough to give my chest room. “In through your nose,” he says gently. “That’s it. Don’t force it. Let it come.”
“Marcus…” I pant. “Let’s go back. I’m fine. I can follow you.”
“No,” he says. “You go now. You find help. You live.”
My throat closes.
Is this love? The thing I once dismissed as overrated? It’s definitely more than just safety or heat. You can fuck a man in a mask and call it intimacy. You can be protected by a man and accept that as safety.
But this is something else.
This kind of love doesn’t need a mask. It needs him.
“I’m not leaving you!” I exclaim.
“Come on, Iris,” he says, his tone firmer now. “If you go, this isn’t for nothing.”
I shake my head, trembling. “You don’t get to decide that alone.”
“I do,” he says. “Because I can’t lose you and still call this survival.”
I falter, and my hands slip when they shouldn’t.
Marcus doesn’t wait.
There’s only just enough space for him to brace himself behind me. His hands clamp around my hips, lifting enough of my weight that the ground barely burns as he forces me forward. I try to fight him, but my efforts scatter.
The opening catches my ribs, then my hips, and suddenly, I’m out, my knees dipping in dirt, my hands sinking into softer soil.
My fingers feel thick, and my limbs lag behind my thoughts. But I gather myself and turn back.
Marcus’s head is still in the opening. “I’ll find another way,” he says.
“No.” I reach for him, sobbing, my hands on his face. “You once told me you wanted to love me. That you wanted me to love you back.”
“I did.” He cups my face, his thumbs wiping my tears. “But here’s the truth, Iris Vaughn. I didn’t want to love you. I already loved you.”
I shove at the opening again. There has to be a way to make it wider. My arms strain, but nothing budges.
I let my hands fall as I look at him. Mud streaks his face, and dust clings to his skin, but his gaze is fixed resolutely on mine. “I love you too, Marcus,” I quaver, still reaching for him.
A crack splits the air.
Dirt rains into the opening, followed by concrete, then more dirt. It happens fast, sealing the space where Marcus was.
“Marcus—” I gasp.
I force my body to move. I claw at the soil until my fingers burn, until the earth compacts under my hands and refuses to move. But I keep scraping.
“Marcus!”
Nothing answers, and no matter how hard I claw, it isn’t enough.
I get to my feet somehow. I have to get help.
“I’ll come back for you!” I shout into the dark, needing to believe he can still hear me.
Then…I hear a bark.
I lift my head.
Another bark hits my ears, closer now.
“Blanket,” I gush. He’s growled at other dogs before, but I’ve never heard him bark for a person. Still, I know it’s him.
And yes, it really is.
I get to my feet and move toward him as shapes break out of the dark. Blanket reaches first, then Liam, right behind him, running hard.
“Iris!” he calls out.
“Here!” My voice cracks.