A husk of what it was.
Pearce and Sam both looked up at it, and Sam reached for the door handle. He stopped himself, guilt ridden, and he turned to Pearce.
‘Thank you, Pearce.’
‘Don’t.’ Pearce gritted his teeth. ‘This went too far, Sam.’
‘I know.’
‘Then why did it? I told you, keep Singh out of it. She was sniffing around the wrong people and now she’s being used as leverage. Leverage against you.’ Pearce shook his head. ‘Jesus Christ, I should arrest you right now, you know that?’
Sam sat quietly, his shoulders slightly hunched. In the backseat, Wallace still lay unconscious.
‘I didn’t mean for it to get this far,’ Sam said quietly. ‘But what the man has done to me, what he has done to the world. He needs to be stopped.’
‘Then stop him,’ Pearce said coldly, looking over his shoulder. ‘Bring back Amara, deal with him, and then stop. Because this will only ever end one way.’
Sam nodded and then let the silence sit between them for a moment. He pushed open the door, the bitter chill of a brisk spring morning filtered around him. As he stepped out the car, he rested his hand on the top of the door and then poked his head back in.
‘What about you?’ Sam asked.
‘What about me?’
‘Are you done now? With me? With Singh?’
Pearce let out a deep sigh. The thought of it pulled at his heart strings. A heart that was no longer in it.
‘I’m done with it all, Sam. The job. The headaches. Everything. After this, I can’t go back. I can’t be the type of officer I’ve spent my career hunting down.’ He pulled his lips tight, grimacing. ‘I hope this is the last time I ever see you.’
Sam nodded respectfully, despite the hurt in the words. He liked Pearce, respected him and to see what he’d done to the man hurt. He offered Pearce a final smile.
‘Likewise.’
Sam slammed the door shut, then pulled open the one to the back seat. Pearce heard the sickening crack as Sam broke Wallace’s finger, a sure-fire way to bring him back to life. Wallace roared with agony, and Sam slapped him cruelly across the face. Reaching behind him, he pulled the Beretta 92 from his jeans and pointed it directly at Wallace.
‘Get out of the car and get in the goddam building.’
With his hands bound, Wallace shuffled out of the car, sneering at Pearce. The man had been a thorn in his side since Sam had resurfaced and he’d pushed for Ashton to remove him. They had shunted him to the darkest corner of the station, given him errands to run but the man was a relentless bastard.
Now, here he was, helping Sam bring him down and he made a promise that if he made it out the other side of this, he wouldn’t be so subtle next time.
He would have Pearce killed.
Sam shoved Wallace across the street and through the refurbished front door. Beyond the new frame, the lobby was exactly as Sam had left it.
Decimated by a hand grenade.
Sam had taken the entire building by force, dropping the element of surprise of the criminals guarding it in the form of a grenade which had blown out the entire floor. A few more were put down with pinpoint bullets, before Sam had taken the building floor by floor. As he pushed Wallace up the stairwell, both of them saw the bullet holes from Sam’s visit a year prior.
Sam recounted the fight with the horribly scarred man, who he’d sent hurtling to his death in the centre of the stair well.
As they reached the top floor, Sam recounted the fight he’d had with Mark Connor, the brutal beating the man had given him before Sam had ended his life.
The entire fourth floor had been gutted, the sleazy rooms now empty shells, the doors removed in a lame beginning of a refurb job.
The door to the penthouse had been removed, and Sam recalled pushing a hapless criminal through as a decoy, watching as Jackson filled his own henchman with bullets and giving away his position.
It seemed like a lifetime ago.
Since then, Sam had removed all the start-up high rises around London, the smaller ventures hoping to profit from Jackson’s death.
He had taken out the head of the Acid Gang, a notorious street gang who maimed innocent people.
The Kovalenko sex trafficking empire had crumbled, both in the UK and Ukraine.
Sam had fought through Berlin station and brought war to the streets of Rome.
Pearce was right.
It needed to end.
It would end.
Sam pushed Wallace into what was once the penthouse, the plastic sheets, stapled to the stone, rustled in the wind. Outside them, the rickety scaffolding shook and rattled, and Sam didn’t envy anyone who was out on those at such a height.
It was twenty to ten in the morning, and Sam felt a sudden wave of tiredness crash against him and he blinked a few times, trying to stay alert. Wallace noticed and smirked.
‘Why don’t you take a nap?’
‘Why don’t you keep your mouth shut?’ Sam kicked Wallace’s knee out, causing him to grunt and crumple to his knees. ‘Sit down.’
Wallace scowled at him before adjusting himself onto his bottom, sitting on the cold, tiled step. Jackson’s oak desk was still in the room, the large desk either too heavy or too valuable to move. Sam made his way to it, looking over the expert craftsmanship, noticing the spatters of Jackson’s blood that stained it. Sam turned back to Wallace, and plunked himself onto the desk, looking down on his captive.
For a man who had craved power, he looked beaten. Defeat was not a concept that Wallace was accustomed to, and the idea of being overpowered clearly enraged him. With venom behind his glare, he stared at Sam.
‘What are you doing, Sam? Huh? What’s the plan?’
‘Contact your guy. Farukh. Tell him to release Singh, and then I’ll let you go.’ Sam shrugged. ‘Simple.’
Wallace chuckled,
