Vasquez stood, straightening his expensive blazer and running a hand through his dark hair. Like Sam, he was approaching forty, and a few flecks of grey dusted the temples. In contrast to Sam, however, he was clean shaven.

The man was worth a fair few million and definitely looked the part.

‘I passed my exams if that helps?’ Sam finally spoke, offering a bloody grin. Vasquez scowled and then nodded to Edinson.

Sam braced himself.

The fist crashed against his cheek, sending him lurching to the left once more, blood spraying out on impact.

It probably wasn’t the smartest move to antagonise either man, but Sam needed time. Despite his ability to consume details, there didn’t seem like a way out of this one. But the longer they kept him alive, and more importantly, kept Alex alive, the slimmest of chances remained.

‘This is not working,’ Vasquez said. ‘See, you actually remind me of my cousin. He’s a strong and resilient man but he used to ask the question…how do you hurt strong men? The same way you hurt every man.’

Vasquez strode across the room to the metal door and thumped his fist against it. Sam woozily straightened himself in the chair, blinking away the blur. Edinson stood to the side, and he gripped his powerful fingers into Sam’s short brown hair and yanked his head up.

The door opened and Vasquez stepped to the side. Shuffled footsteps filled the darkness and Sam squinted, willing the pain and fuzziness away.

Two figures emerged through the darkness.

Sam’s coolness faded.

Bound by her wrists and with a gag in her mouth was Alex Stone. Her immaculate brown skin showed signs of bruising on one side of her face, accompanied by a fresh cut that slashed her thin eyebrow. Beside her, a thin man, covered to the chin in tattoos, stood. His beady eyes locked on Sam and a sneer across his bearded face.

In his hand, he held a Glock 17 handgun, his finger looped around the trigger and the barrel pressed firmly against Alex’s temple.

She stared at Sam, her fear shining through the tears.

Sam struggled against his restraints, but the metal bolts held the chair down.

‘Let her go,’ Sam demanded. His words laced with venom.

Footsteps slowly filled the darkness and Vasquez returned to view, a large cigar now hanging from the side of his mouth. He flicked a match, a small flame bathing his hands in an orange glow, and he lit the tip of his cigar. He took exaggerated puffs before a thick, grey cloud of smoke was thrust into the light.