Chapter 22
Rhys
Rhys exhaled, and it felt like a thousand worries leaving his body as he watched the phone disappear down one of Westminster station’s toilets. He exited the stall, washing his hands out of habit rather than necessity, before emerging into the station proper.
As he waited for Penny to exit the women’s toilets, he kept an eye on passers-by. The evening rush hour meant the Tannoy announcements never stopped, a constant backdrop against the sound of hundreds upon hundreds of footsteps passing through.
A shrill, never-ending ringing broke through the noise like the swing of a scythe. The fire alarm.
His heart jumped as a woman exited the toilets, almost running into him. He watched as the crowds gravitated towards their nearest exit, corralled into place by the employees.
It was mere seconds before one of them spotted him like a grizzled sheepdog spying a defiant ram. “This way, sir,” the man said, a walkie-talkie on his hip. “This isn’t a drill.”
“I’m waiting for my…” Rhys trailed off. “My friend,” he finished lamely, knowing damn well she was far more to him than that.
The employee’s facial expression didn’t change. “Please exit the building.”
Rhys darted into the women’s toilets before he was forcefully shepherded outside. “Penny?” he called, looking down the long row of stalls. A large window sat at the end of the row, the glass frosted.
She was nowhere to be seen.
“Penny?” Rhys yelled, running down the stalls, slamming the doors open as though to check she wasn’t hiding behind one of them. His own voice echoed around him, calling her anew. He could hear the employee behind him, but Rhys wasn’t listening.
If she wasn’t here, then where the fuck was she?
Panic and horror threatened to drown him. They lashed him to the spot like rope as he glanced around, fire burning in his eyes and terror shattering his heart.
Rhys was about to turn, to run back out into the station to search for her, when he noticed movement in the window. It was only propped open an inch or two, but it was enough for him to see someone he recognised in the sliver of space—one of Chomsky’s guards—getting into a car.
Oh fuck, no. No, no, no.
Rhys advanced without a second thought. He went to shove the window open, but found it was restricted to its current angle.
His second shove came with a loud snap as the restrictor broke.
He scrambled through the window just in time to see a dark grey car racing past him—leaving a sickening splatter of red on the ground behind it.
Penny.
Rhys ran.
He ran faster than he’d ever done in his life, the air sawing in and out of his burning lungs, each and every step rattling his teeth.
The solid brick walls closed in on him as his vision honed in on the car.
Hope rose in his heart as it came to a stop at the junction out onto the main road.
Rhys gave it his all, ignoring his screaming muscles as he reached out to grab the car’s spoiler.
His fingers were inches away when it accelerated, tyres squealing as he turned onto the Victoria Embankment.
“No!” Rhys’s bellow was less a word and more a corporeal mass of fear and frustration. He attempted to keep up, but it was already a speck in the distance, barrelling through a red light and out of sight.
Dazed, Rhys stood in the middle of the road, his hands in his hair as the gravity of the situation washed over him.
The blast of a car’s horn eventually shifted him onto the pavement. He took his phone out with a shaking hand, dialling the only person he knew who could help.
“Yello?” Roman answered, the sound of a baby gurgling in the background.
“They have her.” Rhys’s voice broke. “Chomsky has Penny.”