Page 63 of Hunted

Kingsley grabs my hand and tugs me back towards the van. “Let’s wait inside, we can put the AC on if it gets too hot.” I nod and let him maneuver me back into the vehicle. We sit in the second row of seats, and Kingsley pulls me to his side, his arm around my shoulders.

“It’ll be okay, sweetheart.”

I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. A sinking feeling settles in my gut, and I already know that whatever’s inside that warehouse isn’t some charity working to feed and support the surrounding communities. There’s no signage or anything to indicate this is a friendly, welcome place.

Maybe they are right to not let me go in there. On the island, Weston had said I’m reckless, and I put myself at risk too much. Is this an example of one of those times? Is that why Kingsley said I needed to trust them? Because I had a hard time telling recklessness from bravery?

“Kingsley?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the guy's backs as they walk towards the warehouse.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“Am I reckless?”

He doesn’t answer straight away, so I turn to look up to him. There’s a slight pinch between his brows like he’s considering the answer carefully. I wait patiently and finally he looks at me.

“You can be, yes. We know you don’t do it on purpose, though.”

“I don’t know how to be any other way.”

“That’s why I said you have to trust us. So we can keep you safe, even from yourself.”

“But how do I know when I’m being reckless and when Weston or Reece are just being overbearing?”

“How about we have a codeword? And when I say it, you’ll know it means you’re being reckless.”

“A code word?” I ask, liking the sound of that. “Okay, what should it be?”

“Hmm… how about…” He taps his chin in thought, drawing my attention to his beard. He’s trimmed it down, but it’s not completely gone, and I love it this length. It makes me want to sink my fingers into it. “Seagull.”

“Seagull?” I repeat, wondering why he chose it.

“Yeah. It’s perfect. Bob was already getting you to do reckless stuff, like climb the cliff to get to his nest or chase him down the beach as if you could actually catch him.” I narrow my eyes in mock anger, then drop the pretense and nod my head.

“Seagull it is.”

A loud knock on the window beside me has a small scream escape my throat as I jump into Kingsley's lap. He immediately wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his other side, away from the noise and the unfamiliar man frowning through the window at us. Behind him are two more men, all with angry expressions on their faces.

My heart starts hammering in my chest when he lifts the tip of his rifle and taps in against the glass again. “Get out here,” he says loudly.

“Crap shells!” I hiss quietly, my fingers digging into Kingsley’s arm. We’re in trouble. There’s no way a strange man knocking on the van door with a rifle was a good thing.

“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. Just stay calm and we’ll do as they say for now. They’re probably just warehouse security. We’ll sort this all out.”

He grabs my hand with his left one and reaches for the door handle with his right. Slowly, he steps out and as soon as he starts to stand up, he’s yanked from my grasp. I scream his name as he’s thrown to the ground and two men stand over him, aiming their rifles at his head. He lifts his hands in surrender, then someone pulls me out of the van by my arm with a grip firm enough that it’ll probably leave a bruise.

I subtly glance towards the warehouse, but there’s no sign of the others now. Hopefully, they are safely inside.

“Don’t hurt her!” Kingsley yells angrily.

“Don’t shoot him!” I yell as I worry about why they’re pointing guns at him.

“Who are you? Why are you here?” the man who knocked on our window asks. They all wear green camouflage, like a military unit, and I start to wonder who’s side they’re on.

“We own that warehouse,” Kingsley says, pointing to the building behind them. They frown at him in obvious disbelief. “Danver’s Charity Group, right? She’s Darla Danvers,” he says, gesturing to me. “We were coming to check how everything was running. Make sure it was all moving smoothly.”

They all frown down at him, then the leader starts speaking in what I have to guess is Swahili. The man gestures to both of us, then to the van and the warehouse. The others seem to argue back, and my worried eyes move to Kingsley.

We stare at each other in fear, unsure what we can do against three men with rifles when we’re unarmed. There’s a gun in the glove box andMcStabby is under one of the seats. I should have kept him on me. I thought I’d be safer off the island. I guess I was wrong. After all, man is far worse than any island could ever be.