Page 66 of Hunted
“What do we do?” I ask in worry. “Didn't anyone see you?” I glance at the building, but it’s still quiet.
They shake their heads, easing a little bit of my worry. “We didn’t stay long, just enough to grab a couple photos and check the locks. We couldn’t open them, but we told them we’d get help,” Reece explains.
“Then we heard the gunshot and ran back here,” Weston adds.
“What do we do? Do we call someone?”
Reece nods. “Yes, I’ll make the call, but I’d feel better if we were all safely in the van and we move to a different spot. Weston, can you tie up that guy?” he motions to the man I knocked unconscious.
I watch from the back seat of the van, where I’m perched in Bower’s lap, his arms wrapped tightly around me, as dozens of people are escorted out of the warehouse. The entire area is full with ambulances, police cars, fire trucks, and what seems to be an army of people helping. I wanted to help too, but the guys reassured me that we were best to leave the professionals to deal with it.
Reece had managed to get a hold of the right authorities, and two police cars arrived thirty minutes later. I was kept in the van with Bower and Kingsley while Weston and Reece spoke to them out of earshot. They showed them the bodies, and I was terrified Kingsley would be arrested for killing them, so I clung to him, hoping if I held on tight enough, they wouldn’t be able to take him from me.
They let the police go inside on their own, and within twenty seconds, one man came back out and started talking on his phone with urgency. Thirty minutes later, the parking lot was swarming with emergency vehicles.
Eventually, they came over and took our statements. It was clear these were actually good cops, and they were disgusted by what these men had done. I saw a couple of men escorted from the building in handcuffs. It didn't make sense to me that only a handful of men were responsible, but it wasn’t like the police could sit and wait for others to arrive, leaving those poor people in cages.
I tried to count everyone and when I got to thirty-four, it seemed like they were finally done.
The whole thing took hours. None of us spoke about leaving. I think we all needed to see with our own eyes that those people got safely out of there. And seeing them wrapped in blankets and given water as the paramedics looked them over… it helped ease some of our tension.
After all, this was supposed to be my family's charity business. How did it end up like this? And how long had it been going on for?
I gasp, my eyes going wide as all eyes turn to me in concern.
“What’s wrong, Zee?” Bower asks from behind me.
“When…” I try to swallow down the large lump that’s risen in my throat, afraid to even ask the question. “My dad saw this place. Why didn’t he shut it down? Why did he go to Australia?” I look at Reece as I continue, “Has this been going on all this time?”
He presses his lips together in a tight line, a pained expression covering his face. I squeeze my eyes shut tight, knowing he’s already come to that conclusion. “I’m sorry, Darla. I’m so fucking sorry. I wish I had known.”
I open my eyes and reach forward, laying my hand on where his is resting on the console between the two front seats.
“But I imagine your dad was afraid of your grandfather going to jail, so probably went to talk to him about it. He was probably coming back here to shut it down after he spoke to him.”
I nod as I consider his words. He’s right, my dad would never have condoned it, and when he had made us leave Perth, he definitely seemed desperate to get back here quickly. If only our plane hadn’t gone down, he would have shut this down fifteen years ago.
“It’s not his fault, or ours. It’s Frank’s,” Reece says firmly, a glint of determination in his eyes. “I don't know how he’s gotten away with thisfor so long, but we’ve already put an end to this, and we’ll put an end to him, too. I won’t stop until he’s on every country's most wanted list.”
“Can you do that?” I ask in surprise.
He shrugs. “Won't know until I try.”
Chapter eighteen
Weston
Igrip the yoke firmly, holding the plane at just the right angle as I hold my breath. When the wheels connect with the ground, I engage the brakes as my new plane starts to slow down. I exhale deeply, feeling like I can finally breathe again.
As the plane slows down, someone speaks over the radio, directing me where to park. Since I'm in a private plane, I’m not directed to a main terminal, but to a private one at the north side of the airport. Glancing out the windows at the sunny day, I let myself breathe a little easier.
We made it.
After a long flight to France, where we fueled up, and an even longer flight the rest of the way home, I was ready to be on solid ground for a while.
I was pleased that Reece gave in, when we landed in France, and took a sedative. He wasn’t helping anyone with how anxious he was during the flight from Kenya to France.
“Reece, wake up, we’re home,” Darla’s gentle voice reaches me from where they’re seated in the back.
