I feel the veins in my neck bulge, my throat narrow. If that fucking piece of dog shit harms one single hair on her head I’ll kill him with my bare hands. My right leg starts trembling with nervous energy.

‘God in heaven, why? Why, Lily? Why?’ I smash my fist into the door. ‘Why couldn’t you just fucking leave me to deal with it?’ Pain flowers into my fist. The pain is good, because it focuses my mind. I need to pull myself together. My secretary comes running into my office. Her eyes are wild. She has never seen me like this.

I hold my palms up.

‘Do you want me to do anything?’ she asks in a shocked tone.

I don’t trust my voice. I shake my head and stride out through the open door. I drive back to the house in a state of such agitation that I speed through every single red light I come across. Horns blare at me from every direction. They increase my sense of panic. At an intersection I slam the steering wheel.

‘Damn you, Lily. Always making promises you don’t keep.’

I throw open the front door and race to my safe. There is an icy hand inside my chest: clenched around my heart. I’m so angry I could kill someone. I take out the gun, the one I had hoped I’d never have a need for again. I always knew taking this in my hands again would require a matter of life and death, and this is. I load it up, my movements precise and efficient. It’s like riding a bike. You never forget. I slip it into my waistband. Then I slide the backup, a 9mm, into my right ankle holster and sprint to my car.

I input the address into my navigation system. Twenty-three minutes! That’s how long it’s going to take me to reach her. I tell myself to calm down, but I end up driving like a madman, keeping my foot floored to the pedal even when the near misses become more and more frequent. I sense that Lily’s captor means business, but it is me he is after. She’s just bait. And you don’t hurt the hostage, at least, not until you get what you want.

In this case, me.

I pull up outside the address, adrenaline surging through my body. I switch off the engine and do a quick reconnaissance of the street. All seems quiet. I exit the car and walk quickly up to the discreet entrance. I press the buzzer as per instructions. Someone buzzes me in. Once inside the dimly lit foyer I see the two level staircase that leads up to the flat entrance at the top. I listen. Nothing. I take my gun out and climb the stairs. My heart is thumping so loud I can hear it in the echoing stillness of the stairwell.

I find a key under the mat and use it to push open the door. It swings back to reveal Lily sprawled on the ground and a large man is standing over her. A gun is pointed at her head and her face is chalk white and smeared with blood. I feel myself going into shock.

‘Get out. Don’t come in. He’ll kill us both if you do,’ she screams.

I came to get you and I’m not fucking leaving without you.

‘Drop the gun, Eden, or I swear I’ll splatter her brains right now.’

‘Shoot her and you’re dead.’

‘But she’ll be dead, too. You want to take that risk?’

I can see from the man’s dead eyes that he is a psychopath. He wouldn’t think twice about carrying out his threat. But I’m not giving up my gun, or both Lily and I are dead for sure. Two thoughts occur to me. He is alone. But he won’t be so for long. This might be my only chance. My best hope is to distract the ugly cunt, and make him shoot at me, long enough for me to get a clear shot and finish him. I dive to the ground and roll, spin on the carpet, and bump into a lamp stand—it crashes to the ground. I lunge for the protection of a cabinet.

I see him: his eyes on fire, his shiny face contorted. He roars in surprise and rage, as he turns in my direction and starts firing wildly. The shots come rapidly. The shocking kick of the bullet as it smashes into my chest, shattering bone, muscles and sinew, whips me onto my back. The pain is ice-cold, fills my ravaged chest, and then something hits my head, it snaps back. Oh Jesus…. I pull myself upwards and level the arm that’s still holding the gun. I pull the trigger.

He doesn’t know what hit him as the bullet strikes him in the throat. His throat erupts. A spray of crimson paints the wall behind him as he sinks to the ground, clawing at his open throat, shrieking in agony. His body thrashes and writhes. Then an eerie silence descends. He is dead. I hear a sob, then an elongated wail of horror, the sound of cloth rustling. Lily is crawling toward me.

There is a strange icy throbbing in my chest, but my mind suddenly becomes calm and serene, almost trance-like. As if I am a calm observer. Outside the mayhem. At peace. Maybe I’m dying. Jesus, that would be a bummer. But at least it’s done. The job’s done. Lily is kneeling over me and crying, I feel a tear fall on my face. My head is on fire and I can feel my blood pouring out of me quickly. I try not to acknowledge it. I feel faint.

‘It’s all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I love you,’ she sobs. ‘I love you so much, Jake.’

Some part of me starts smiling. Yeah, me too, babe. Like crazy.

I try to speak, but my lungs are full of fluid, the agony is unspeakable. I try to squeeze her hand, but there appears to be no force in mine.

She starts shaking me. Oh fuck’s sake, Lily. Have a bit of respect. I’m dying here, I want to joke, but my lips won’t move. Oh Jesus, I cannot focus my eyes anymore. The peace envelops me like a fog. But I won’t submit to it. I kick furiously against it.

‘Don’t you dare fucking die on me. Hold on, please, Jake.’ She starts rummaging through the pockets of my jacket, finds my mobile, and dials. I don’t want to die.

‘Hurry, please,’ she cries plaintively, urgently.

Suddenly I hear Lily drop the mobile phone without giving the address and scramble to her feet.

Oh my God! Something’s wrong. She has my gun in her hand and is pointing it at someone standing in the doorway. I can’t see who it is, I can’t help her. Please… Get away, I want to scream. I try to rise up but I’m nailed to the floor.

I hear voices, Lily’s and someone else’s, a man’s, but I’m drifting away...the blackness is calling.

I hear him come up the stairs. My hands are shaking so much the gun seems to be rattling in my hands. I hate guns and I have only had two real hours of firearms training during the two week intensive. There is very little emphasis on SO10 operatives to master weapons since there is no need. Someone who can handle a gun will do so in the street compromising their cover. I take a deep breath. I curl my finger on the trigger. I straighten my elbows and point the gun into the open doorway. The sound of steps comes closer. I stare at the empty space.

Suddenly Billy Joe Pilkington fills the doorway. He is big. He is very big. And he has a gun.

‘Don’t come any further or I will shoot you,’ I shout a warning.