ODD GUYS WITH REVENGE

Johnson tightened his grip on the steering wheel of his sports car as he glanced at the rearview mirror again. The black SUV was still there, following his every move. At first, he hadn't thought much of it-black SUVs were a dime a dozen in the city, often carrying business executives or tourists. But after several turns and detours, the vehicle's persistence was undeniable.

He was being followed.

The realization hit him like a cold slap. As the 24-year-old heir to his family's billion-dollar empire, Johnson was no stranger to danger. He had been warned countless times by his father and their security team about the risks his name and fortune carried. Kidnapping, blackmail, even assassination-these weren't just abstract threats. They were part of his reality.

He took a deep breath and decided to test the SUV's resolve. Johnson abruptly switched lanes and turned onto a quieter street, one that led away from the bustling main roads. The SUV followed, maintaining a safe but telling distance.

"Damn it," Johnson muttered under his breath, his mind racing. He mentally retraced his steps for the day. Had he unknowingly offended someone? Was this about business? Or was it something darker-an attack on his family?

Accelerating slightly, Johnson turned down another street, weaving through traffic as his heartbeat quickened. The SUV mimicked his every move. He glanced at the two men in the front seats-both wearing dark suits and sunglasses, their faces cold and unreadable.

Adrenaline surged through his veins. This is real. He needed to act.

Johnson reached for his phone and dialed his father head of security, Malcolm. The line rang once, twice, before Malcolm picked up.

"Mr. Johnson?" came the calm, professional voice.

"I'm being followed," Johnson said, his voice clipped. "Black SUV. Two men inside. I've been taking random turns, but they're still on me."

"Where are you now?" Malcolm asked.

Johnson rattled off his location, keeping an eye on the SUV. "What do I do?"

"Stay on main roads," Malcolm instructed. "We're tracking your car's GPS. Head toward a populated area. We'll intercept you."

-

Despite the reassurance, a sliver of doubt gnawed at Johnson. The SUV wasn't slowing down, and every instinct in his body screamed that he was in immediate danger. He took another sharp turn, this time onto a quieter street lined with warehouses and abandoned buildings. It was a gamble-fewer people meant fewer witnesses, but it also meant less traffic to slow down his pursuers.

The SUV sped up, closing the distance. Johnson's hands tightened on the wheel as his pulse thundered in his ears. He could see the glint of something metallic in the passenger's hand-a gun.

He pressed down on the accelerator, his car roaring as it surged forward. The SUV gave chase, its engine growling like a predator closing in on its prey. The quiet streets became a blur as Johnson weaved through narrow lanes, his sharp reflexes keeping him just ahead of the pursuers.

But the SUV was relentless. It gained on him, inch by inch, until it was almost bumper-to-bumper with his car. Johnson could hear the faint sound of shouting from inside the vehicle, though he couldn't make out the words. He took another hard turn, his tires screeching against the pavement as he narrowly avoided clipping a parked truck.

---

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He remembered an old construction site a few blocks away-a sprawling area filled with half-finished buildings and equipment. It was risky, but it might give him the advantage he needed to lose them.

Johnson took a sharp right, heading toward the site. The SUV hesitated for a moment before following. Johnson's heart pounded as he neared the construction zone. He knew the layout from previous visits, a remnant of his family's involvement in the project. If he could navigate the site faster than them, he might be able to escape.

The unfinished roads and scattered debris made for a dangerous terrain. Johnson's car skidded as he turned into the site, narrowly missing a pile of steel beams. The SUV followed, its bulk making it harder to maneuver through the tight spaces. Johnson used this to his advantage, zigzagging through obstacles and forcing the larger vehicle to slow down.

He reached a dead-end where a large crane loomed overhead. There was no time to reverse. He slammed on the brakes and jumped out of the car, his legs carrying him toward a staircase leading up one of the skeletal buildings.

The SUV screeched to a halt, and the two men jumped out, guns in hand. Johnson's heart pounded as he climbed the stairs two at a time, his breath ragged. He could hear the men shouting behind him, their heavy footsteps echoing through the structure.

Reaching the third floor, Johnson ducked behind a stack of cement bags. He needed a plan-and fast. He scanned the area, spotting a wooden plank leading to another section of the building. It was narrow and unstable, but it was his only option.

He stepped onto the plank, his arms outstretched for balance as it creaked under his weight. Below him, the men appeared on the floor he'd just left, their sharp eyes scanning for any sign of movement. One of them pointed toward the plank, shouting something inaudible.

Johnson quickened his pace, his heart hammering as the plank swayed. He reached the other side just as one of the men stepped onto the plank behind him. Without thinking, Johnson grabbed a nearby pipe and swung it toward the plank, dislodging it. The man yelped as the plank fell, leaving him stranded on the other side.

The second man, however, was smarter. He took another route, his footsteps drawing closer. Johnson bolted, weaving through the maze of scaffolding and unfinished walls. He could see an exit ahead-a series of ladders leading down to the ground.

The chase spilled out into an alleyway behind the construction site. Johnson's legs burned as he sprinted, his body running on pure adrenaline. He could hear the men behind him, their voices growing louder. Just as he rounded a corner, he spotted salvation-two police officers patrolling the street.

"Help!" he shouted, waving his arms. "They're after me!"

The officers turned, their hands instinctively moving to their holsters. The men in suits slowed their pursuit, their faces impassive as they melted back into the shadows. Johnson stumbled toward the officers, gasping for breath.

"They had guns," he panted. "They were chasing me."

---

Within minutes, more police arrived, along with Johnson's security team. Malcolm stepped out of an armored vehicle, his face a mask of concern.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, gripping Johnson's shoulder.

"No," Johnson said, though his voice trembled. "But who were they? Why were they after me?"

Malcolm's expression darkened. "We don't know yet, but we'll find out. For now, we need to get you somewhere safe."

As the security team escorted Johnson away, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. The men in suits weren't ordinary criminals-they had moved with precision and purpose. This was planned, targeted.

Sitting in the back of the armored car, Johnson stared out the window, his mind racing. Someone was after him, and they wouldn't stop until they got what they wanted. But who were they working for? And what was their endgame?

The answers eluded him, but one thing was clear: the game had changed. And Johnson would have to be ready for whatever came next.