17
Stefan drove as if his life depended on it. Being late because he’d not taken a risk? Not an option. His brother’s safety hung in the balance.
The private airstrip was only fifteen minutes from Mom’s place by car, longer by bike, which he assumed Tyson rode. Or had he called for a ride share? It didn’t seem likely given the whole internet was down. Not to mention, the kid had given himself plenty of time to get here.
Like an idiot.
Seriously, what the fuck possessed his little brother to hop on his bike and meet some obviously sick people? Who the hell had sent what amounted to psychological torture to a child? To anyone for that matter?
Sick fucking bastards. Why would they do to his little bro? He couldn’t be late. Couldn’t fail him. Not like he failed EK09. The memory had hit while he drove—had almost sent him crashing.
They were dangling from the bars again. High over the floor, one welded metal ladder lead into another, some of them angled up, others down. By the time he’d run the circuit a few times, his body ached. But he held on. Had to. Falling from this height would hurt.
“ST11. Why are you stopping?” The male in the white coat snapped the query.
ST11 knew better than to reply. They’d accuse him of insubordination. A big word he couldn’t pronounce but understood to mean punishment.
“Can’t.”
The sharp cry had him looking down to see EK09 struggling. Panting. The muscles in her arms trembled. She was smaller than him. Smaller than many. She had difficulty on the bars.
The male in the white coat had a warning. “If you fall and break something, it’s over for you.”
Meaning she’d better hold on. ST11 started moving again, on a set of bars paralleling EK09’s overhead.
He glanced down as he was about to pass her and saw her face. Red. Tense. Eyes wide and frightened. Her whole body shook. She wasn’t able to move, leaving her only one choice. EK09 glanced down. It was far, and the thin padding would do nothing to cushion the impact.
He wanted to ignore her, but her plaintive cry had him moving without thinking. He leaped down to the bar below and hit it, grunting a bit at the sharp impact. He scrabbled to get close enough to grab her wrists.
ST11 might not be as big as the man watching, but he was strong.
Her eyes widened, her mouth worked, and tears shimmered. He felt good about it as he worked to heave her to safety, perching her atop the bars.
The man in the coat said nothing for once but watched. Offered nothing as ST11 grunted and heaved at EK09. He pulled her through the gap, and she gasped as she grabbed hold and rested the weight of her body on the bars.
“Thank you.”
What she said a second before the ladder-like bars tilted.
She fell. They both did. She died on impact, her eyes wide and staring. He broke his arm and, as a result, was tossed away like garbage.
He’d failed her. Failed them both. He couldn’t let it happen again.
Stefan was almost to the small airport. It didn’t have the same kind of security as a major hub.
It was four fifty-nine, one minute before the time on the picture. Not late by any means, and yet the place appeared closed. Not a single car sat in the lot. No Tyson. Nothing but a bike tucked against the building. A bike he recognized, as he’d bought it for Tyson for Christmas two years ago.
A part of Stefan wanted to shout for his brother, but his skin prickled.
Danger.
His brother must have arrived early.
Had they heard the bike?
Had he missed the meeting?
Too late to worry about that now. Stefan parked, kicking down the stand before swinging off the bike. He ran for the only door into the place. A tug on the handle showed it locked. A sign in the window read closed. It didn’t open until the next morning.
If they weren’t inside, then where?
The distant hum of a plane starting up caught his attention. It couldn’t leave, not before he’d made sure his brother wasn’t aboard.
Stefan moved around to the side of the building, noticing the aggressive chain link fence topped with barbed wire circling the place. The main gate had a massive chain and lock holding it shut.
Climbing it was, then. Trespassing was going to hurt. The fencing rattled as he used his fingers and the toes of his shoes to grip the holes. It was noisy as fuck. A good thing the engine noise probably drowned it out.
He dropped to the other side and only gave the briefest of glances to the empty runway. He aimed for the lights coming from the hangar with its bay door open. He angled away from that to the side, keeping to the shadows.
No one shouted an alarm, but that didn’t mean he’d not been spotted. How many inside? What about Tyson? He couldn’t let his brother be hurt.
How would he rescue him? His dumb ass hadn’t thought to bring a weapon. Stefan was a decent fighter, but that wouldn’t mean shit if they had guns. Guys who sent sick pics and asked to meet minors didn’t play by the rules.
If Nimway were here, she’d advocate shifting. As if being a big cat would help if they had weapons.
It was going to be Stefan to the rescue and only Stefan because his phone remained incapable of making calls. Forget the cavalry. The odds didn’t look good, and yet he had to try.
The side door to the hangar opened to his surprise. He quickly slid inside, his approach hidden by some pallets, shrink-wrapped and waiting for loading.
He edged along one and kept an eye out for any movement. There had to be somebody in here, or was everyone already on board?
Passing the line of cargo, he entered a wider area with a few planes parked. Small propeller types for the most part, but there was one sleek private jet with its ass end open and giving the appearance of having been deserted. Stefan highly doubted that.
All the hair on his body stood at attention. Warned him of danger. Told him to escape while he could.
If he left, they’d take Tyson. He knew it. Could almost swear he smelled his brother.
Somewhere.
Close by.
Probably inside that fucking plane.
A trap. He knew it, and yet he still had to look.
Stefan crept across the open space, aware he made himself a target, and yet what else could he do? Waiting might mean his brother was taken from him. He and Tyson might have their differences, but the love was very much there.
No one shouted or shot at him. Nothing moved at all. Meaning he could peek inside the cargo area of the plane. It took a blinking moment to grasp the fact he was looking at his brother in a cage.
Asleep, slightly tousled, and bent into a fetal position to fit. The fucking bastards.
He reached for the cage and began to tug. This close to the plane, the rumble of the engines made his teeth vibrate.
Which was when the gun poked him in the ribs.
“That’s far enough. Let go of the cage and then turn around slowly.”
No point in arguing with the person holding the gun.
Stefan released the cage and backed out, hands up, and turned to see a woman, weapon in hand, her brown hair pulled taut. Her clothes sleek and dark.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“Contractor.” She smiled, that of a shark before biting. “The kind you should listen to when I say hands up and don’t cause trouble.”
His arms slowly rose. “Who hired you? What do you want with my brother?”