A few seconds later, the lock of the door thudded into place, catching the other three men off guard. Not to be deterred, Ravi slammed his mobile arm into it a few times, trying his best to take it off his hinges.
Sam pulled the phone from his pocket and tossed it on the table.
‘I’ll save you the hassle, boss,’ Sam said, steadying his feet, ensuring a solid base. ‘I did it.’
Chapman looked blankly at the phone, trying his best to recount the memory of giving it to Sam. A hazy recollection formed in his mind and his eyes widened with surprise.
‘But how the hell…’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s over.’
Chapman stared at Sam in disbelief and then, after a few moments, he slowly reached for the box cutter.
‘Oh, it’s over you piece of shit.’ He spat through gritted teeth. ‘This place will bow to me when I take that head off your shoulders.’
‘Yeah,’ Glen helpfully added. ‘You dumb fuck, you’re locked in here with us.’
Sam smiled. His fists clenched.
‘Wrong. It’s the other way round.’
Sam swivelled on his right foot and drove a right hand straight into Glen’s jaw, knocking him off balance and sending him careening into the brick wall. In one swift movement, he drove his elbow into the side of Chapman’s face, driving him onto his knees and slamming his ribs against the table, the box cutter falling onto the wooden desk. Before Sam could plant his foot back down, Ravi charged, the impact of his truck-like body sending Sam slamming into the wall. To lighten the collision, Sam lifted his knee, steering it into Glen’s crotch. Ravi looped his good arm around Sam’s neck and wrenched back as hard as he could, crushing down on his windpipe and almost lifting him off his feet. Struggling for air, Sam pushed back with both feet, the two men traversing the small floorspace and Ravi slammed into the door. His grip didn’t budge as he wrenched at Sam’s head, Sam frantically rammed the point of his elbow into the cast.
He felt the material cracking and with one final swipe, his elbow broke through, slamming into the surgically repaired bone and knocking it out of alignment. Ravi howled in agony, loosened his grip and Sam slammed his head off the metal cupboard in the corner of the room.
Spluttering, Sam turned to the room, watching as the elderly Chapman reached for the box cutter. Sam kicked the chair forward, the metal scraping the floor and colliding with the man’s ribs. Before Chapman could get his breath back, Sam lifted the box cutter, held Chapman’s hand in place, and slammed the blade through the back of it.
It ripped through the skin and cartilage and penetrated the desk underneath.
The roar of anguish was guttural, swiftly drowned out by the pounding on the locked door. Sam shot a glance towards the glass, where Sharp’s furious face was puffing steam onto the window. Behind him, his guards were grouping, all of them ready to rip Sam apart.
That was a problem he would face shortly.
The pathetic Glen had finally stood, still movingly gingerly after the shot to his genitals and he threw a right hook at Sam, which he easily dodged. Sam’s hand shot out, hooked the arm, and he twisted it, the tendons ripping. In one fluid motion he slammed Glen towards the bench, his head hitting the edge of the seat and his teeth broke against the hard metal.
Sam then stomped, breaking his neck and killing him instantly.
Ravi woozily jumped into action, catching Sam with a vicious left hook that sent blood spraying from his lip, but the follow-up swipe gave Sam an opening. Ravi wasn’t a southpaw, and Sam blocked the incoming blow with his forearm, drove a stiff knee into the man’s solid abs, and hunched him over. Then, with all his might, Sam ran and slammed Ravi head first into the unforgiving steel of the door, the top of his cranium denting the metal with a sickening thud.
The large man slumped the ground, motionless, a streak of blood trailing from the dent to his skull.
Sam took a moment, shot Sharp a look through the glass, and then turned to Chapman.
Cries of ‘TAG HIM!’ bellowed from Sharp, but Etheridge had done his job. Sam’s tag was decommissioned and there was no way to stop him.
Sam sat on the edge of the table, doing his best to avoid the blood that was pooling around Chapman’s hand as the old gangster twitched in pain. With his final reserves of energy, Chapman swung wildly at Sam, who blocked the feeble swipe and then rocked Chapman with a right hand.
Accepting his defeat, Chapman stopped his attack and looked up at Sam.
‘Why the fuck are you doing this?’
Sam leant in close, his words laced with menace.
‘Because your business has cost people more than you have gained. Not just the people you’ve killed but the people who you infected. The lives you ruined with the High Rises. The young girls you sanctioned with the Kovalenkos. All the families rocked by drug abuse or the fear you instilled. You ruined this country, all for money. But what makes this personal, is due to the people who worked for you, the death of my best friend is on your hands.’
With one swift tug, Sam wrenched the box cutter from Chapman’s hand, causing him to howl and turn, his back resting against the table. As with most criminals, when stripped of their power, Chapman began to beg.
‘I can make this right.’
‘Look at me,’ Sam demanded. Chapman did, his watery eyes wide with fear. ‘I did this to you.’
Sam’s wrist flashed past Chapman so quickly, he didn’t realise what had happened. Only when the skin of his throat began to tear open and a waterfall
