‘Why, Sam? Why do you have to be the one to do it?’
‘Because this is my fight. It’s not yours. It’s not anyone else’s,’ Sam said coldly. ‘Once it’s done, you’ll have your life back.’
‘The only way I will ever have my life back is if I bring you in myself.’ Singh looked up at Sam, who stood less than a foot from her. She looked down at the gun still in her hand and smirked.
Sam leant in and pressed his lips against hers and Singh dropped the gun, her hand reaching up and running through his recently shaved hair. The kiss was as passionate as either of them had ever experienced, with months of fear, excitement, confusion, and anger bursting forth as they stumbled back into the wall of the lift, with Singh pinned against the metal. They kissed for a few moments longer, with Sam resting his hand on the curve of Singh’s face before gently moving his mouth away from hers.
The moment lingered between them as they considered how different life could have been.
How, down different paths, they may have walked one hand in hand.
But the fight wasn’t over.
Some people didn’t get to live the lives of others. There were those who had to fight. Those who had to make sacrifices.
Those who did the right thing.
Agonising as it was for Singh, she pressed the button on the lift, kick starting it back to life and giving Sam the silent permission to leave and finish his war once and for all.
The doors pinged and the two of them stepped out into a similar looking corridor only on the upper floor. As derelict as the one downstairs was, this one was worse. Clearly nothing more than a cut through for staff, the lighting fixtures were rusty, with a few lights flickering a slow death.
At the end of the corridor, leading towards the bright sunshine that the station was basking in, was a large man. Sam stopped in his tracks, placing a protective arm in front of Singh and moved her behind him. She couldn’t help but feel a flutter as Sam stepped between them like a barrier.
The man was heavyset, with thinning black hair on top of his heavily bearded face. His skin was brown, clearly of an Arabic decent and his frame filled the leather jacket almost to breaking point.
The man’s eyes bore through Sam, as if searching for his soul.
Slowly, the man began to remove the leather jacket, giving Sam every indication that there was only one way out of the tunnel.
‘Let’s go back,’ Singh said quietly, her eyes widening as the man began to walk towards them.
‘You need to get back into the lift,’ Sam said, not taking his eyes off the incoming threat.
‘Sam…’
‘Go,’ Sam ordered. ‘Get out of here and if you can, buy me some time.’
Singh stepped back into the lift, flashing a worried glance as the monstrous man closed in on Sam, who cracked his neck and stretched out his shoulders, limbering up.
The hulking figure approached.
The Hangman of Baghdad.
As the doors closed, Singh held her breath, terrified for the safety of the man she was in love with.
Chapter Seventeen
Sam carefully considered the large man as he approached, noting how the man was very clearly unarmed. The intention was clear.
The man wanted to fight.
Which meant he was good.
Farukh held the weight and height advantage and judging by the glint in his eye, Sam could tell that this was what the man enjoyed. Sam gently cracked his neck, loosened his shoulders, and raised his fists, ready to take the big man on. As the doors to the elevator closed behind him, Sam took a step forward and threw his first punch. With a speed that caught Sam by surprise, the man ducked, drilled Sam in the ribs with a concrete like fist and then thrust his thick, black boot into Sam’s chest.
The impact was sickening and Sam stumbled back, colliding with the wall behind. The man hardly moved, his arms relaxed by his side, almost goading Sam to take another shot.
In his ear, Sam could hear Etheridge complaining that he had no visual on his location, but he knew that Wallace had scrambled the armed police towards the station and that Sam was running out of time.
Sam flicked the earpiece from his ear.
He had already run out of time and escape routes.
He didn’t need reminding.
Sam took a deep breath, looked beyond his bearded attacker towards the bright light of the station and the hint of an exit.
There was only one way to it.
‘Let’s do this,’ Sam muttered to himself and pushed himself from the wall and towards the man. Sam swung a hard right to the head, but as Farukh lifted his arm to block, Sam swerved and drilled it into the man’s ribs. It was like punching a cement block and Farukh swatted his arm down, locking Sam in place. He spun Sam on the spot, then thrust his meaty skull forward, smashing his thick forehead into Sam’s face.
Dazed, Sam stumbled on the spot and Farukh twisted his arm, before kicking him in the back of the knee. Sam dropped down like he was praying and Farukh placed the bottom of his boot on Sam’s spine and mockingly pushed him forward. Sprawled on the floor, Sam was realising pretty quickly that he was outmatched.
As he slowly lifted himself from his chest, blood dripped from his nose, the impact of the headbutt drawing blood. Reaching all fours, Farukh drove a vicious kick into Sam’s ribs, flipping him over onto his back, before lifting and then driving his heel down. Sam rolled out of the way, stamped his right foot back and knocked Farukh’s balance off.
With his attacker wobbling, Sam pushed himself back to his feet and threw a couple of hard hooks, both of them rocking the man’s mighty, beard encased jaw.
They seemed to irritate more than incapacitate and on the third punch, the man ferociously blocked it with an elbow, then grabbed Sam
