She’d timed it perfectly.
A train had just arrived, and a swarm of city workers were slowly descending the steps, like a pack of lifeless zombies trudging towards their next feed. Behind her, the pursuer entered the station clearly panicked that she’d slipped through the crowd and onto the train that sat patiently on the platform. With a sense of urgency, he barged through the crowd, hopped the barrier, and bounced up the steps two at a time, ignoring the angry yells of the attendant.
Singh smirked, before turning and exiting the station and approaching the Uber she’d booked before she’d left the apartment. She greeted the man with a smile and dropped into the back seat.
This time, she hadn’t failed, and the sense of victory was enough to make her question what she was doing.
She’d always been a phenomenal police officer, working her way to a position where she could really make a difference. As a Detective Inspector, she was already on her way.
But this, if it ever got back to her, would end any hope of a return.
As the car crawled through the traffic towards her meeting, she relived every moment of her spiral. Her relentless pursuit of Sam Pope, the shoot-out in Paul Etheridge’s home, the siege on the Port of Tilbury.
The very real threat of General Wallace.
The betrayal of Pearce.
Living in fear since then that everything she’d worked for was about to be ripped away from her for trying to do the right thing.
With regret, she knew there was no way back. Unless she did something monumental, the career she’d given her life to, was over.
At least this way she could go out on her sword, knowing that despite the corruption and clear illegality of her dismissal, she’d still done the right thing.
With a chuckle, she realised she was walking the same path as Sam Pope, just she wasn’t armed to the teeth with military grade weaponry.
As she stepped out of her cab and entered the bar, she scanned the booths. She recognised her ‘date’ from the profile picture used on The Pulse website that proudly topped all his articles.
As she approached Helal Miah, he looked up at her, slightly taken aback by the gorgeous woman walking towards him and then he offered her a charming smile.
She wasn’t armed with weaponry.
But with information.
With a deep breath, she sat down in the booth and nodded, ready to tell him everything.
Chapter Nine
The sexual encounter was one of inevitability.
As Wallace thrust powerfully into Assistant Commissioner Ashton, he grinned. Her moans of pleasure gave him vindication as a man, but the feeling of dominance was what he craved. Propped up on his powerful arms, he didn’t even look at her as he thrust as hard as he could.
Ever since he’d stormed into her office, he knew Ashton had been thinking of this moment. A combination of her attraction to power and the possibility of having Wallace’s backing when the top job came up was an alluring cocktail.
One which Wallace would have been happy to sit on.
At first, having her use her officers like his own personal police force had been enough.
But as the situation with Sam began to unravel, he could feel the control slipping through his fingers like sand.
Wallace was always in control.
Always.
Grunting, he felt her slide her hands across his broad back, her fingertips gliding through the sweat.
He was under no illusion why he’d called her to his apartment. It had been three days since he’d dispatched a hit squad to Naples in Italy, where one of his ghosts had made contact with Alex Stone. She was immaterial, an unfortunate cog in a dangerous wheel that was spinning rapidly towards disaster.
Matt Brecker was one of his top assets, as charming as he was deadly. Wallace had given the go ahead for Matt to assemble a small team and to beat Sam’s location out of the poor girl. The last time Wallace had seen Alex, she was lying in the underground room where he’d murdered Carl Marsden, an act that still caused him pain.
Marsden had been a good man.
But he stood in the way of the bigger picture.
The information he’d gained and subsequently passed to Sam would not only bring about his own downfall, it would paint a large target on Wallace’s back. A target that some extremely powerful and dangerous people would quickly take aim at.
But Sam had slipped through the net.
The USB stick was gone and Matt’s progress had been his only breakthrough in three months.
Earlier that morning, Wallace had been informed that Matt and his team had been killed.
An apparent car chase through the city of Naples in the middle of the night, with Matt’s team of henchman killed with horrifying proficiency. Blackridge operated on an anonymous basis, which meant it took nearly two days for his team to pick up the deceased’s records from the Italian government.
Matt had been found in an industrial estate just outside of the city, his body broken from the apparent wreckage of the car nearby. There was no sign of a collision, however a bullet was found lodged in the blown tire.
Wallace knew only one man capable of making a shot like that.
Sam Pope.
Wallace gritted his teeth and pushed harder, his slight gut slapping against Ashton’s naked body as she writhed in a mixture of pleasure and discomfort. There was no passion to the intercourse, just a pure, animalistic fury. With every slam of the headboard, Wallace felt the notion of power and control flow back through him. He quickened his pace, the anger of losing control of the situation fuelling his need to assert his dominance.
They both groaned.
Ashton let out a squeal of ecstasy.
As they finished, Wallace tilted his bald head back and roared powerfully, like a lion asserting its dominance over
