Sam grimaced.
For years, he’d thought he’d fought for the freedom of the world. Every bullet fired from his rifle had taken the world another small step towards it but less than two weeks ago, he’d discovered it was all a lie. Wallace had used him to tighten his stranglehold over the world of global terrorism, and Sam questioned every mission he’d ever completed.
Project Hailstorm.
It had left him with innocent blood on his hand and two bullet holes in his chest. While the truth had been exposed and Wallace’s legacy destroyed, the closing of that chapter in his life had left him riddled with self-doubt and another laundry list of injuries.
Where pride once resided, nothing but regret remained.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Sam forced a smile.
‘Thank you, sir.’
Harris patted Sam on the shoulder, and then nodded to Sharp who stepped forward, indicating to Sam it was time to go. Sam obediently turned, following Sharp’s lead as they headed to the door and the harrowing walk to his cell. As Sam was about to cross the threshold, Harris, who was lowering himself into his chair, called out.
‘Just be careful, Sam.’ His words were heavy with caution. ‘There are a lot of dangerous people in here.’
Sam stopped, and turned back to the Warden, his face emotionless.
‘I know,’ he said, before shooting a quick look at Sharp. ‘I’m one of them.’
Sharp’s nose twitched, a clear tell to Sam that he was nervous. Harris returned to his notes, as Sam followed Sharp’s march back towards the underground cell block. The officer behind him gave him a firm shove in the back, thrusting him further forward. As soon as they’d cleared the corridor and made their way down the steps towards the heavily locked-down lower levels, Sam waited patiently for the retaliation.
Before they unlocked the gate, Sharp drove another fist into his abdomen, followed by a knee to the face that rocked Sam’s skull. As he fell to his knees and shook the cobwebs away, he could hear Sharp laughing as the gates opened and the echoes of hundreds of violent criminals, baying to get their hands on fresh meat, roared through the prison like a mighty crescendo.
Chapter Nine
Deputy Warden Sharp hated standing to attention.
While he’d always strived for a career within the armed forces or the police, the idea of rank and abiding by the established hierarchy angered him. He was a powerful man but having to obey orders took him back to his youth, where he was tormented and bullied by those higher up the social food chain.
Although he saw the contradiction with how he ruled when Harris was on his rest days, it still boiled his blood when he was asked to open a door for his boss. But those days were soon coming to an end, and as he watched Harris struggle to walk towards the car door he’d politely, albeit begrudgingly, opened for him, Sharp couldn’t wait to make what he felt were necessary changes to the way Ashcroft housed its prisoners.
Harris was a light touch.
Sure, he commanded respect from the inmates, but respect meant there would be room for compromise.
After Sharp had beaten and shunted Sam off to his cell, he’d been summoned by Harris, who once again chastised him for his rough treatment of the new prisoners. While his beating of Sam had been administered in a blind spot of the building, Sharp’s reputation proceeded him and when Harris questioned whether Sam would show signs of a beating should he pay him a visit, Sharp could only grunt and shrug.
‘Our job is to govern these men.’ Harris had stated coldly. ‘Not reign supreme over them.’
Sharp had bitten his tongue.
If he had it his way, Sam would be rotting for the first few weeks in solitary confinement. The quicker he could break Sam, the quicker he would bend to his whims. But there was something about Sam that irked Sharp, a resolute nobility that he both detested and envied in equal measure.
The man was a soldier.
One of the best the UK had ever seen.
Sharp had been as obsessed with Sam’s mission along with the rest of the media, following in awe as he raged a one-man war on crime. They had written about how he’d singlehandedly taken down one of the biggest crime empires in London, raided a building on his own, and put several men in the ground.
Then, with the fate of several young girls in the balance, he’d gone to war with a Ukrainian sex trafficking rink, and even went toe to toe with the Met’s Armed Response Unit. Only two weeks ago, he’d brought down one of the most powerful men in the UK and staged a daring attack on a government motorcade in broad daylight.
It told him that Sam Pope wasn’t just made of steel. But that he was nigh on incorruptible.
But that was fine with Sharp. He didn’t need to have Sam in his pocket, nor did he need him to fall in line. All Sharp craved was the fear.
Sam Pope may have been a hero to some, but in here, he was a criminal.
Just another shirt number.
Another man who would eventually walk his final mile in the confines of Sharp’s prison.
When the day came for Sam Pope to walk his own, Sharp would be in the chair, watching with interest as the highly decorated, revered man would eventually fall under his watch.
That was power.
Power that wasn’t quite his yet.
Harris eventually scraped his limp foot across the gravel beside Sharp and locked on his authoritative stare.
‘I trust everything will be in order, tonight?’ Harris half sighed.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Be on high alert.’ Harris awkwardly lowered himself into the backseat of the car. ‘There will be a lot of interest in our new guest.’
‘I’ll keep my eye on it, sir.’ Sharp offered a faux smile.
‘I don’t know whether that’s a good or bad thing.’ Harris mused out loud. A look of concern spread across his withered face. ‘Something doesn’t sit right.’
‘Sir?’ Sharp stood straight, hands
