Mac would need to stowaway, but he was hardly the friendliest face. With the burns that lacerated the right side of his face, along with his wiry frame, he was hardly inundated with offers. But now, as he stood in the rickety, wooden office of the Maxwell Logistics Company, he knew he had a chance of getting home.
Although it had been branded as a logistics company, the office was a front for two East London brothers who were importing and exporting as much as they possibly could. While they clearly had ties to the underworld on both sides of the Channel, Mac wondered how many brain cells they actually had between them.
Josh Maxwell was the eldest brother, his thinning brown hair and pale skin gave him the complexion of a librarian, but he spoke with the authority of a man in charge. Beside him, his brother, Eric, was once a power lifter. Now, while the bulk still remained, the extra layers of flab that filled out his shirt told Mac he’d succumbed to the temptations of a life of crime.
As Mac lied about paying them once they’d reached the docks in Southampton, Eric slid a card through the small pile of cocaine on the edge of the messy desk, straightened it into a thin line, and then hoovered it up like an anteater on steroids.
Mac shook his head. Reliance on drugs was a weakness and he already knew how the situation would go.
They would act tough. Already, Josh had started his speech about being a dangerous person. Not the type of people you want to piss off and so forth. Eric would eyeball him, hoping for him to make a move so he could explode in a cocaine fuelled rage and beat him into submission. It seemed rehearsed, and Mac wondered how pathetic people must be to fall for it.
Eric stood up, loudly exhaling his enjoyment before dabbing his finger in the cocaine and rubbing it across his gums. Josh sighed.
‘Fuckin’ hell, mate. You wanna keep it down?’
‘That feels good,’ Eric said to nobody, shaking away the cobwebs and returning his gaze to Mac, seemingly offended by Mac’s lack of interest. ‘You got a problem, son?’
‘Calm down,’ Josh interrupted, a clear act to underline his authority. He turned to Mac and pointed to his face. ‘Ugly fucker, aint ya?’
Mac smiled politely. Considering the pain and horror he went through in the Taliban camp being told the scars he wore made him unattractive was child’s play. He ignored it and folded his arms.
‘So, are you able to take me across tonight, or not?’ He demanded, catching both brothers off guard. Eric shuffled on his feet as if to go for him, but Mac just raised his only eyebrow. Josh chuckled.
‘I like you. You got some serious bollocks talking to us like that. But we don’t do things for free, so why don’t you fuck off and find some kind of burns victim charity to take you home.’
‘Yeah, fuck off.’ Eric chimed in, more for his own self esteem than anything else. Mac stood stoic, staring at them both.
He needed to get back to the UK.
Sam Pope had been sentenced earlier that day. It had been on the radio, which meant he would be in prison by the time Mac arrived in London, but that wouldn’t be too much of a problem. Blackridge had their roots in pretty much every part of the government and Mac could call in his final favours to be put in a locked room with Sam. The government would probably thank him once he’d beaten Sam to death, using his death in prison as a political tool for some agenda he didn’t care about.
But he needed to get back.
With both sets of eyes glaring at him, and their patience wearing thin, Mac looked at Josh and spoke calmly.
‘How about you take me across tonight and at least you can survive?’
Both men furrowed their brow in confusion, and Josh glanced at his brother, then back at Mac.
‘What the fuck are you tal…’
The gunshot echoed like a clap of thunder and the back of Eric’s head exploded, covering the wall behind in a splatter of blood, brain, and bone. In one swift movement, Mac had slipped his hand to the gun that was tucked in the waistband of his jeans and smoothly brought it up. He had done it a thousand times and the precision was now ingrained in him. Within a second, he’d the gun up, both hands wrapped around it, perfectly in line with his eye, and his finger expertly on the trigger.
Eric crashed to the floor and Josh howled in terror as he gazed into the obliterated skull of his younger brother. As he dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his gaunt cheeks, he wept in fear as Mac took a step forward, careful not to leave a print in the thick, dark blood that was pooling around the large corpse.
‘I’ll ask you again.’ He spoke coldly. ‘Can you take me tonight?’
As Josh offered a pathetic nod of his head, Mac slid the gun back into his waistband and headed to the door. He was greeted by a cold slap of wind across his charred face. Any feelings or emotions brought on from killing a man in cold blood had long since eroded.
Mac had killed before.
Men.
Women.
Children.
When Wallace had ordered, Mac had obediently pulled the trigger. Whatever hell was awaiting Mac in the afterlife was going to be a holiday in paradise compared to the living hell Wallace had pulled him from.
But now Wallace was dead.
Killed by the same man who had left Mac to rot.
Giving Josh a few moments to grieve for his recently deceased brother, Mac looked out at the port, at the rough sea that was thrashing angrily in the spring night. By morning, he would be back home.
Back to finish Sam once and for all.
Chapter Seven
‘What a day.’
Assistant Commissioner
