Hunters Matt Rogers (best inspirational books .TXT) 📖

Violetta nodded. ‘I haven’t seen it before either.’

The safe house was another passion project of King and Slater’s, a shoddy cheap house they’d hastily purchased and converted upon first moving to Vegas. Violetta had quietly understood, and Alexis had scoffed at the idea, considering them paranoid. Slater elected not to rub it in her face now. She’d been through enough this evening.

King said, ‘Who wants to check?’

Slater said, ‘Why not you?’

Violetta hit the button for the interior lights, illuminating King’s face.

Slater winced.

It looked like King had been stung by a dozen bees. His nose and cheeks were painfully swollen and tinged with mottled blue and black bruising. Then Slater saw the concern in King’s eyes through his puffy lids, and realised he probably looked about the same.

King said, ‘I can go.’

Slater shook his head. ‘I’ve got a grip now. I’m fine.’

He had a searing headache, a throbbing nose, and a bruised and aching chest, but those were nothing in comparison to semi-consciousness. At least he could control where his feet and hands went. So he pushed his own door open, stepped out and waded through the long grass to get to the front porch.

It creaked as he stepped up, and he stopped to loiter in the gloom, infinitely patient. His right hand wanted to twitch, wrapped around the SIG, but he didn’t let it. He made himself invisible in the sheer darkness until he was sure no one was lying in wait.

The front door unlocked with the twist of a small key he carried on his regular set.

A paperclip fell from the crack in the door frame as the door swung open and disappeared through the slats in the porch floorboards. It would have gone unnoticed unless you were specifically looking for it, and it had been designed to fall that way. Unable to be retrieved and replaced.

It meant no one had gained entry before them.

He signalled out into the night. Violetta must have caught the gesture, because the faint halo of the Mercedes’ headlights vanished, plunging Slater’s surroundings into black. He pulled out his phone and activated the flashlight feature, secure in the knowledge that no one was waiting for them.

King, Violetta, and Alexis stepped up to the porch.

King said, ‘After you.’

Slater didn’t move. He looked at them all, one by one. ‘Didn’t think we’d be here again so soon.’

He didn’t elaborate, but they knew what he meant.

Hunted.

Cast out.

On the run.

He turned and walked into the dark house containing all of their worldly possessions, and the only family he had left in the world followed close behind.

30

There were enough supplies in the safe house to last them months, if need be.

They had hundreds of military MREs stacked in a supply closet, and dozens of sets of fresh clothes.

Thankfully, this wasn’t that sort of situation.

They’d prepared for the worst case scenario — the government plastering their faces all over social media under the guise of searching for wanted rapists and murderers still at large. The secret world sure had enough photos of King, Slater, and Violetta, and fishing up Alexis’ passport photo would take them seconds. But that would be a desperation play from Uncle Sam, because the group had an ace up their sleeve — going to the media before they were apprehended. They had confidential details on the entire buried clandestine world, details that could be effortlessly cross-checked and confirmed.

So it was still a secret hunt, taking place away from the volatile firecracker that was the public eye.

For now.

Slater hit the light switch for the small kitchen they stepped into and the bulbs overhead flickered to life. He wasn’t sure why it surprised him. They’d diligently paid the infinitesimally small bills ever since they’d purchased the place, but he liked to micromanage, and it made him uneasy that they hadn’t visited since they’d set the safe house up.

He fetched a set of keys from underneath an empty fruit bowl covered in a layer of dust, and opened the padlocked cabinet under the sink. He took out a satellite phone still wrapped in its packaging and tossed it over the countertop to Violetta.

Alexis said, ‘Calling Alonzo?’

Violetta said, ‘Who else?’

She ripped the plastic open and had the phone functioning within a minute. She dialled a number she knew off by heart, and as it rang Slater looked around the house. It was tiny, but felt more hollow than their estate. The furniture was cheap, minimal. The house was cold.

Slater half-smiled.

Alexis noticed. ‘What?’

He gestured around at the relative squalor. ‘Thought I’d be gentrified by now. Used to the life of luxury. But this place still feels more like me.’

Looking at King, he knew the man felt the same.

King made to say something but Violetta cut him off, speaking into the phone. ‘We’re alive.’

A muffled reply came through, clearly elated.

Violetta noticed everyone watching her and hit a button on the side of the sat phone that made the receiving voice erupt from a tinny speaker at its base. She lowered the sat phone to the kitchen countertop, resting it on the dust.

She said, ‘Alonzo, you’re on speaker.’

His voice came back, quiet and composed. ‘You’re all there?’

King said, ‘Yeah.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘For what?’

‘I should have been on top of it. I should have given you time to prepare.’

‘We made it out. That’s all that matters.’

‘Are you hurt?’

King said, ‘No.’

Violetta gave him a look and said, ‘Yes. The boys are. Broken noses apiece. Slater got concussed. I think King tore some muscle in his arm. Look, we’re compromised.’

Slater said, ‘We’re fine.’

Violetta said, ‘Alonzo, hold on a moment.’

She muted the call so he couldn’t hear what came next, then turned to them. ‘Look, I get it. The pain isn’t as bad if you pretend it isn’t there. But if we get assaulted like that again, it’s over. You two are at fifty percent or less whether you want to admit it or not. And—’

Alexis said, ‘I think my rib is broken.’

Slater turned and studied her and realised she might be right. His