All of it had meant that the deaths of Theo, Marsden, and Mac had not been in vain. Even the death of Helal Miah, which hung heavy on his conscience, wasn’t for nothing. The unfortunate journalist may have lost his life, but in exposing Blackridge for what it truly was, he helped save thousands more.

Sam’s fight was over.

But now, with Alex’s life hanging by the thinnest of threads, he could feel that pure, visceral rage that had spurned his war on crime ebbing through his veins.

His muscles tightened.

‘My name is Sam Pope,’ he blurted out, not taking his eyes off Alex. ‘I’ve killed a lot of people for a lot less. Now I made that woman a promise, one I intend to keep. So, either you let us go, or mark my words, I will burn everything you have to the ground.’

Sam turned to face Vasquez as he spoke his final warning, his eyes locking onto the drug lord’s gaze like a shark smelling blood. Unperturbed, Vasquez took two confident puffs on his cigar and let the smoke pour from his mouth. The silence hung in the room thicker than the grey fog, before Vasquez adjusted the lapels of his blazer and nodded to Edinson.

Another rocket of a right fist launched at Sam, this time connecting in the centre of his solid abdomen, driving the air from his body and causing him to slump forward. With Sam gasping for air, Vasquez took a few more steps towards him before squatting down.

The smell of the cigar was overpowering.

‘Nobody threatens me.’ Vasquez spoke calmly. ‘Nobody. Now she, she will live. We need her. But you, my friend, you are just in the way.’

Vasquez stood once more. Sam, trying to regulate his breathing, stared at the dirty concrete floor and the man’s expensive shoes. The door opened to the room and Raul strode in, flanked by two more men. Vasquez didn’t know their names. He didn’t need to.

All that mattered was that they knew his.

Alex watched on, tears flooding down her cheeks as Sam struggled to sit back straight. Edinson, with his hulking frame looming over him, shoved him back, allowing Sam one final glance at Alex before she was ushered away. With the air slowly refilling his lungs, Sam watched helplessly as she disappeared into the shadows.

They needed her?

What the hell was going on?

With his mind racing, Sam tried to direct it through the memories of his time in America. Throughout his career and his assault on organised crime, he’d trusted his instincts.

His training.

There was never a situation where he hadn’t memorised his surroundings or committed as many details as possible into his memory bank.

He had to be missing something.

As he frantically shuffled through the details he’d collected, his trail of thought was cut off by the clear instruction he heard behind him.