AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Closer and closer to the door.
Fuck, were we going to stop?
“Shiiiit,” I cried, wrestling control of the beast.
The Jag screeched to a halt just in time.
Only a few metres leeway before Ry wouldn’t be able to get the plane out of the hangar.
But we didn’t pause. We couldn’t.
There hadn’t been movement a moment earlier, but now security guards were arriving in droves.
The siren still blared in the distance.
A Toyota pulled up, police piling out.
“Fuck, run,” I screamed, throwing open the door and sprinting for the plane.
Tristan was right behind me.
Ezra dashed back to the plane, waiting for us to get there too. We shot up the stairs, our shoes squeaking on the smooth concrete below our feet. Ezra tumbled into the cabin. He closed the flight stairs behind us, and Ry accelerated out of the hangar.
“About bloody time,” Ry said, his disembodied voice coming through the speakers. “We’re doing this blind, so it might get bumpy.”
Code for strap the fuck in.
He wasn’t joking.
Seventeen
Ryder
The sirens were deafening.
Police and airport security were converging on us.
It was like a car chase scene from a Hollywood movie.
Trust Zali not to do things by halves.
If she’d come with us, we could have had a few minutes more to break into the hangar, steal our plane, and get in the air.
But our girl was stubborn, and even though I wouldn’t admit it, she’d probably saved our arses by insisting that the security footage be scrubbed.
“They’re here,” Ez yelled, and within a moment, the sensor confirmed that the cabin door was locked.
I taxied the plane out through the half-open door to the cavernous building.
“About bloody time,” I muttered through the PA system. “We’re doing this blind, so it might get bumpy.”
The guys didn’t have time to patch me up when we’d sped into the airport. By the time we got past the lame attempt at security and into the building, the alarms were already going off. I’d only done the crucial pre-flight checks, so we would at least get into the air.
Then I could stop and take some painkillers—anything to dull the razor-sharp shocks of pain through my shoulder every time I moved.
The bullet had hit my collarbone. It was definitely broken—I could feel where it was separated—but I wasn’t sure whether the bullet was still embedded in me or had exited somewhere out the back of my shoulder.
An officer stood in front of me, using a loudspeaker. “EWB269, you are not cleared for take-off. Power down.”
