Sam stepped out.
Cloaked by the darkness, he swung the gun towards the officer, the butt of the handle colliding with the man’s skull with a sickening thud, shaking his brain like a maraca. As the officer slumped unconscious, his partner turned, raised his rifle, casting them both in a magnificent glare.
Sam grabbed hold of the falling officer, holding him upright and protecting him from the scope of the rifle.
The officer demanded Sam raise his hands but refused to fire. With his human shield in front of him, Sam regrettably lifted his pistol and pulled the trigger, shattering the officer’s shin bone with a precise shot. The armed officer instantly fell to the floor, roaring in pain and clutching the broken leg, blood pumping from the wound and ruining the soft, white carpet below. The noise instantly drew the attention of the two other officers, both flashlights landing on the chaos before them.
‘Drop your weapon,’ a voice called out, Sam unable to place it due to the glare of the torches. He spun the unconscious body around before dropping to the ground, tugging the motionless body on top of him. As the two bodies crumpled to the ground, Sam’s vision fell out of the torch’s blinding radius and instantly zoned in on the legs of the officers.
Two shots.
Two more broken legs.
Sam knew that they would survive, he had delivered enough killer shots in his time to know that. But it had immobilised them sufficiently and they would soon pass out due to either shock or blood loss. Either way, he had less than a minute before the final two armed officers were on him, and he angrily shoved the unconscious officer to the side and rolled back into the studio, away from any potential shots from the recently wounded.
Two footsteps pounded through the kitchen.
The cavalry had arrived.
Sam pushed himself to his feet and scanned the studio. A few comfy chairs, some yoga mats, and a full-length mirror embedded in an antique wooden stand. Judging by the effort Kayleigh had put into her appearance when he had met her, Sam wasn’t surprised. Vanity wasn’t a trait he found attractive, but he had enough character defects to keep him off a high horse.
As the footsteps approached the stairs, with a voice barking out an alarmed warning, Sam grabbed the mirror. He walked quickly to the doorway, positioning it in his place before stepping into the doorway to the left, a lovely white, tiled bathroom greeting him.
The first officer stepped onto the landing, sweeping light across the floor and gasping at the blood-drenched carpet and the pain-filled moans of his fallen comrades.
The second officer joined him, his torch frantically panning the hallway.
It landed on the mirror.
The light rebounded back, flashing in both of their eyes and momentarily blinding them.
Sam pulled the door back and launched out, one foot forward and delivered a hard Teep Kick, a brutal Muay Thai move used in Mixed Martial Arts, into the centre of the second officer’s chest. With a shriek of panic, the officer fell back down the stairs, crunching hard against the steps as he crumpled to the bottom. Sam prayed the man wasn’t dead but wasted little time in grabbing the stock of the final officer’s rifle and twisted it, whipping it from the man’s hands and tightening the strap around his neck. As the man gasped for air and batted at his neck with gloved hands, Sam took a step to the side and in one fluid motion, yanked the gun over his shoulder, flipping the man over and sending him crashing to the floor.
As he tried to struggle, Sam brought his own pistol down hard into the man’s temple, the blow striking the man instantly unconscious. Footsteps echoed from above and Etheridge appeared at the other end of the corridor, torch in hand and a look of disbelief on his face.
‘Fucking hell, Sam.’ He shook his head, his mouth agape. ‘Look at my carpet.’
‘Stick it on the tab,’ Sam retorted before nodding his goodbye and darting down the stairs. As he reached the bottom his memory kicked in, guiding him through the house and towards the shattered patio window and into the dark downpour beyond.
He stepped out into the rain, his highly trained ears picking up the sound of the raindrops splashing against the metal of a gun.
The sound was rapidly approaching his head.
With his eyes adjusted to the dark, Sam turned and saw the gun. In one swift movement he shot a hand forward through the rain, gripped the barrel and pushed it upwards. Gripping the handle was the woman he had seen on the camera, her face distorted in a hateful scowl.
Singh shook with adrenaline as she locked eyes with Sam Pope.
She tried to wrestle back control of the gun, but Sam used his considerable strength to wrench her arm to the side, her shoulder tweaking slightly. She swung a vicious kick to the side of Sam’s leg, his knee buckling slightly. She swung another, but as she took her foot off the concrete, Sam stepped inwards, leant into her, and used her momentum against her. The world whizzed by as Singh flipped over Sam’s shoulder, colliding hard with the soaking pavement. The air drove out of her body on impact.
‘Stop,’ Sam demanded.
Singh scrambled onto all fours and realised the gun was pointed directly at her. Sam stood five feet away, his arm outstretched with his fingers expertly wrapped around the pistol.
‘Drop the weapon,’ Singh demanded, slowly pushing herself back to her feet, her clothes soaked through.
‘I can’t do that,’ Sam responded. ‘You need to step away.’
‘I need to bring you in.’ Singh got to her feet, trying her best to slow her breathing. The
