Page 31 of Wayward (Wrecked #4)

Sky Sail

Zane

I ’ve got my eyes glued to the SUV in front of us when we pull to a stop inside a garage. The door is yanked open, and a guard with the Rosewood anchor on his uniform glares at me and grunts, “Out.”

I step onto the smooth concrete floor. The air smells of grime, and I tilt my head up. It’s not a garage—it’s a hangar. An airplane hangar. A long, sleek jet with wing-mounted engines sits fifty yards away from the three SUVs.

“Where are we going?” I bypass the guard next to me and yell at Holloway, who’s talking with someone at a messy desk on the other side of the hangar. Calvin, Sam, and Haley are clustered in front of our SUV.

“Shut the fuck up.” The guard next to me maneuvers me toward Haley and the other guys. Collins stands next to Haley, and I want to kick him in the balls. As if he can feel me glaring, he turns and glares back. I’m not one to hold a grudge. But that wanker can take a leap off Tower Bridge.

The guard holding on to my arm squeezes. “Keep quiet.”

We’re waiting—and I’m not sure what for. Holloway marches across the hangar and stands at the bottom of the stairs to the plane. The guard I don’t recognize boards first. Collins positions himself across from Holloway and pulls a large diver’s knife from his cargo pants.

Holloway points to each of us, but his finger lingers on Calvin.

“We’re taking off your bindings for the flight.

But I’ll put them back on—or my man who just went up is trained in giving sedatives.

You muck about, and you’ll find out how to take a little nap—either by fist or his drugs.

Now sit back, relax, and enjoy your flight. Or some bullshit like that.”

“Turn,” Collins says to Haley. She does, and he cuts off her tie and drops it to the pavement. He does the same to Sam, who sprints up the stairs to join Haley.

Calvin turns and gives me a look. I normally understand Calvin’s looks, but not this one. Collins cuts off his tie but shoves it in his pocket.

I’m next. Collins cuts mine off and drops it. I race up the stairs.

It’s posh in here. Teak and mahogany. Leather captain chairs and a sofa. In the back, there’s a table with chairs around it. A large screen takes up the whole rear, or one side of the plane.

There’s no flight attendant—rather, the guard who went up first says, “There.” He points to the chair at the table where Haley sits, her hands folded, resting on the polished wood. Sam and Calvin sit in chairs facing the screen.

“Zane.” Haley squeezes my hand, and the angry indents on her wrist have me seeing red.

“Did they kill the limo driver?” she whispers.

“I don’t know, Little Bird. One of the guards hit him in the head.”

“Oh.” She turns around, staring at the guard talking to Dante.

Damn, I want to tell her it’s okay. But it’s far from okay. Dante and Easton are pushed into bucket seats behind us.

“Sassy,” Dante says, leaning forward.

“Stay in your seat,” the monitoring guard says.

Dante flips him off.

“Dante.” Haley cocks her head at him.

Dante smiles insincerely and nods at the guard.

Calvin tenses in the chair to the right of me, and I’m with him.

This whole thing is odd. How did Holloway know where to find us?

And this jet was clearly waiting—like we’re some sort of VIPs.

I’ve had to take guests to private airstrips before.

Just because you own a plane doesn’t mean you aren’t on some sort of schedule.

Planes have slots to leave just like big yachts have to dock.

Leaning toward the window, I see ramp agents standing on the far edge of the hangar, ready to get us out of here.

I stare out the window at the trio of men in yellow vests, two of them with lighted orange wands in their hands.

I wonder how much they’re paid to look the other way.

What other people have they seen stolen away in the night?

I hope it’s worth it for them. I hope Z is willing to pay them well enough to turn a blind eye.

Hopefully, they can’t sleep at night. I wonder what the going rate is for six lives?

Maybe it’s just some sort of steppingstone into the Zambrano family’s society of people who can be bought off. A steppingstone in crime.

Haley puts her hand on my knee, and I turn back to her.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” the guard barks.

Haley nods, and I place my hands on the table in front of me. I don’t get motion sickness, but facing backward on a plane is going to be a new thing for me.

Holloway’s up the stairs. He ducks his head into the cockpit, and then he’s back.

He comes to the rear of the plane, one hand on Calvin’s chair and the other on the table beside Haley.

The large man looks tired, ragged, worn.

And I can’t help but give an inward chuckle about it.

Good for him. Hope he sleeps well in hell.

A male flight attendant steps out of the cockpit. The stairs retract, and he does something to the door.

“We’ll be off in a second. First, I have someone who wants to talk to you. Watch the screen. He can see you,” Holloway says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking about Father Christmas, God, or Z.

Z’s face fills the screen. “Ah, there you are. The lot of you are quite troublesome.” He’s obviously in his mansion—the one we invaded a few days ago.

Behind him is a dark bookcase that matches the one in Ed’s office.

The file is in Dante’s rucksack—hidden behind the cushioning on the back and the back fabric.

Thayer looks just like any other finance bro about to give a presentation on Zoom.

“I would love to come with you, but my father is flying in. We have a wedding to go to—Krit Niran and Stella Freeman.”

“Stella.” Haley inhales Stella’s name on a whisper.

“Krit Niran and I went to boarding school together when we were twelve in Switzerland. His mother and my father have a bond. He called me, and you’re damn lucky.

When I say that you’d be dead if my dad’s men had found you, I’m not exaggerating.

The man who raised me is many things, and one of them is single-minded.

When he makes a decision, there’s no going back.

And in his mind, you all must die. I’m the only thing keeping you safe.

And yet, you want to get away from here.

That’s fine. I’m taking you away, but you must not try to escape again, or your lives are worthless.

If you let anyone know that you are alive, he will find you.

You’re just damn lucky I found you first—and that I was willing to pay .

. . Now Holloway will give you more instructions.

Be good. And stop trying to get yourselves killed. ”

Sam clears his throat. “So that’s it? You expect us to just .

. . what? Live as prisoners for the rest of our lives?

Just to stay alive? Now that we’re back in society, we’re supposed to forget we have friends?

Families? Jobs? Opportunities? You want us to remain captives?

You should’ve just left us on the damn island. We were happy.”

“Yes—except my father knew where you were. Trust me, I thought about it. Thought about faking it. Lying. Saying we didn’t find you.

But the freelancers he hired—the thugs—would’ve just kept coming back, again and again, looking for a new payday.

That wasn’t going away. So no, I couldn’t leave you on the island.

“And now, I hope we can work through this. But you’re going to have to wait until I can take care of my father. I don’t know how long that will take. Could be months. Could be years. Trust me, I have no intention of keeping you forever.”

“Wait,” Sam says.

“Yes, Captain?”

Sam leans forward in his seat. “What if we issue a truce, a compromise?”

“What do you propose?” Z scowls into the camera. “From where I’m sitting, you don’t have much to bargain with.”

“We go along with your plan to protect us ,” Sam says with disdain. “And you agree to let us go in a week.”

Z turns to the side. Is he looking at someone out of frame? “Two weeks, and I’ll do what I can to get you out of dad’s crosshairs. If I can’t, then my conscience is clean. I won’t like being responsible for your deaths. But that’s up to you.”

I want to scream at the screen, then turn your fucking father in . But that’s not the way his type works.

“Indeed.” Sam turns, looks at each one of us in turn, and we all nod. Even Easton. His jaw is clenched and there’s a feral look in his eyes, but he’s resolute. “It’s a deal. We give our word to follow Holloway’s directions,” Sam says.

“Good,” Z replies. “Holloway?” Holloway steps closer to the screen. “You and your men have the plans. Stick to the schedule, and everything should be fine.”

There’s a weird pause, like Z and Holloway are trying not to argue. Z’s jaw flexes, and Holloway’s hand twitches at his side. Whatever compromise they reached must’ve been shaky. But we’re here. That means someone gave in. The video call ends.

“You heard the man. Paul, tell the cockpit we’re ready to get out of here,” Holloway announces to the flight attendant in the front galley. “How do you turn these damn things around again?” Holloway’s fiddling with a lever on Calvin’s seat.

It takes a few minutes, but the flight attendant turns the chairs around to facing forward. He moves Haley and me to more comfortable bucket seats.

And then we’re in the air.

Going somewhere.

Somewhere I have no idea about.

We’re in the air for a good hour. I’ve been eyeing a tablet in the cubby in front of us.

Haley nods toward it, then looks back at me.

Holloway, Collins, and the other guard are scattered throughout the cabin, but it’s been about an hour since takeoff, and none of us have broken any rules. There’s no touching, no talking.

Behind me, Dante snores louder than the engines.

Since I have the window seat, I take the tablet while Haley leans forward, blocking any view of what I’m doing. I nest the tablet between my body and the cabin wall.

It’s already connected to the plane’s Wi-Fi, and there on the screen is our course.

My heart seizes.

I can’t believe where we’re heading.