He’d yet to engage with the two men who had demanded he step in, but judging from their suits, their haircuts and the myriad of high-tech equipment, they were government.

FBI.

CIA.

Whatever.

All Sam knew was he was on very thin ice. The only thing keeping it from breaking was a fake ID. They clearly weren’t there for him specifically. The paperwork on the bench had mugshots of the bikers he’d just met. But as the most wanted man in the UK, being ushered into an undercover government van wasn’t ideal.

The two agents couldn’t have been more difficult. The man who had held him at gun point was mixed race, his light brown skin contrasting with the white shirt that clung to a muscular frame. He eyed Sam with suspicion, as if trying his best to place a memory in the correct mental folder.

The other was at least twenty years older. Approaching sixty at Sam’s guess, and his grey hair was parted neatly at the side. His clean-shaven jaw was strong, and as he smiled, he revealed tobacco-stained teeth. When he spoke, his southern drawl made him sound like a cowboy.

‘Sorry for my partner. Agent Alan can be a little more, shall we say, hasty when it comes to getting things done.’

‘Who are you?’ Sam asked, playing it as confused as he could.

‘Bit late to be asking that?’ The younger agent scoffed, folding his muscular arms across his chest as he leant against the back panel of the van. The older agent sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration.

‘Sorry.’ Sam held his hands up. ‘I would have asked before, but you had a gun in my face.’

‘Enough.’ The senior agent rose his voice, commanding the room. ‘Son, I’m Special Agent Terry Sinclair. Behind me, that’s Special Agent Joe Alan. We work for the Drug Enforcement Administration.’

‘The DEA?’ Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

‘Ding fucking ding.’ Alan snorted sarcastically, much to Sinclair’s annoyance.

‘Again, let me apologise for my partner’s behaviour. It’s been a rough few months.’

‘You guys need some counselling?’ Sam shrugged. Alan stepped past Sinclair and leant forward, going nose to nose with Sam.

‘You got a smart mouth. I’ll be happy to fix that for you.’

‘Okay, let’s calm down.’ Sinclair reached forward and pulled Alan back by the shoulder. In the cramped environment, Alan looked double the size of Sinclair. Sam could feel the tension level rising. But again, he had no idea what was happening.

Alex was mixed up with a violent biker gang.

The DEA was snooping around.

What the hell was going on?

Sam kept his eyes on the irate Alan as he stepped back to the far end of the van and then turned to Sinclair.

‘Am I under arrest?’