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Chapters (79)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Anthony Riches
  3. NEMESIS
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Contents
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. 64
  71. 65
  72. 66
  73. 67
  74. Acknowledgements
  75. Read on for an exclusive preview of the next Mickey Bale thriller Target Zero
  76. Prologue
  77. 1
  78. About the Author
  79. An Invitation from the Publisher

And then the story of that night. Their summons to the house by the same mystery man. To find the carnage he’d inflicted on Joe’s people. And Joe sat there, all the time Mark was spilling his guts. His smile slowly broadening as he realised that he had at least part of what he wanted. And, at length, when Mark was done, he nodded and stood. Giving Lewis a significant look. Then walked slowly around the prisoner, puffing at his cigar. Reigniting the red-hot tip.

‘I said if you told me what I wanted there’d be no pain. And that was true. Almost.’

He bent with surprising speed, stubbing the cigar out on Mark’s hand. The prisoner reacted predictably, clutching the hand with his face contorted at the burn’s sudden agonising pain.

‘Jesus! I—’

Distracted by the unexpected assault. Which meant he barely had time to register the sudden movement behind him. Lewis stepping up and levelling his pistol at the back of Mark’s head. Looking at Joe. Who simply stepped away from the recumbent prisoner. Not wanting to risk getting any flecks of blood on his trousers. Primarily for evidential reasons, but also because it would be heart-breaking to have to burn well-tailored gear.

And nodded.

36

Lewis looked over the Rhino’s steering wheel at the gym’s entrance. Slid the seat back another notch to give his big frame a little more room to relax into. Then took a sip of his Red Bull. Relaxed, but alert. Because the journalist had to come out of the gym at some point. And when she did, he intended to be ready for anything. It was after eight in the evening, daylight fading rapidly. Not that Lewis was all that bothered whether it was light or dark. He wouldn’t need to be able to see her car to follow her. Not since Ac1d had joined the gang.

A weird-looking kid, but sharp as all hell when it came to tech. Five minutes after the journalist had given up his mate, Ac1d had pulled her phone number off the paper’s computer system. Set up a tracker on her phone, its location services handily enabled. And Lewis had been on the spot fifteen minutes after that. Almost two hours ago.