Before Mason could respond, Sam swung the gun like a club. The solid handle collided with Mason’s skull, knocking him out cold. The owner of the bar sprawled across the bar room floor and Sam tucked the gun into the back of his jeans, straightened his jacket and headed to the door.

It was a long road to South Carolina, but as he stepped out of the High Five and into the sunshine, he found himself looking forward to the drive.

Chapter Six

The longer the drive went on, the heavier the feeling of dread sat in Sam’s stomach. After leaving the High Five, he’d quickly disappeared down a number of alleyways, doing his best to be swallowed up by the busy state of New York. Eventually, someone would walk through those doors and find the mess he’d made and would undoubtedly call the cops.

Or worse yet, one of the men would awaken sooner than expected and lead the charge to track Sam down, and quickly. Either way, Sam needed to move quickly, and after he’d cleared six blocks from the bar, he’d stopped at a small coffee shop just off Hammersley Avenue in the Valley. The adrenaline of dismantling the three bikers had subsided, and the first appearance of jet lag began to creep into his body.

Nothing a double shot coffee wouldn’t fix.

As Sam knocked the caffeine back, he searched on his phone for the nearest car hire company and then, after ordering another coffee to go, he set off for through Haffen Park, allowing the sunshine to wash over him. The motorcade company was situated on Baychester Avenue, just outside of Edenwold and Sam was greeted by a cheesy grin and an abundance of hair product. The young salesman, whose name Sam didn’t catch, clearly put a lot of stock into his appearance, the complete opposite of Sam. While the young man was groomed to the final strand of hair, Sam’s short, brown hair was roughly brushed to the side, a few grey hairs beginning to sprout among the rest. His strong jaw was covered in a few days’ worth of stubble, and the bruising around his eyes was hanging around like the final remnants of an echo.

Sam made it clear he wanted a powerful car for a long drive.

As the man showed him the forecourt, Sam threw the odd glance over his shoulder, ensuring he hadn’t been tracked down or followed. Every time a motorcycle or siren echoed through the city, Sam’s ears picked up. As the young salesman continued to babble on about the specs of a car, Sam stopped at a Ford Mustang.