The Reaper (Eastward Prison)

Chapter 18

HANNAH

She followed him out of the room. The suit protected her, physically and mentally. She felt herself becoming the MI5 agent, she felt the darkness seep into her. She felt stealthier, more powerful. Anonymised. It was almost intoxicating.

Her and Jack, sneaking through the open prison area. He walked like a Navy Seal, on the balls of his feet, gun up, checking in each cell they walked past. She followed, her breathing loud in her head, the material of the outfit felt heavy against her skin. The once familiar place was lit by the emergency lighting, it threw eerie shadows in places that normally didn't have shadows. She had always felt separate from the prison, the actual cells, the open area with the staircases and the netting. The pool tables on the ground floor. Countless prisoners had been here, bad men. No, men who had done bad things, because they had very few choices. Jack was one such man. And she could count herself amongst them, too, now.

There was a movement ahead. She tried not to jolt.

Another man, in MI5 black riot gear, same as what they were wearing, approached from the left.

Jack immediately took on a friendly posture. Of course, they were one of them, she quickly adapted, too.

The man muttered something to Jack. Something in a low voice, something in a foreign accent.

Jack was right, they were Bratva.

Jack shook his head in response to whatever the man had asked him.

The other man turned to look where he had just come from, turning his back to Jack momentarily. And that is when Jack brought his fistdown hard on the back of his head. The man crumpled to the floor, out cold.

Hannah let out a muffled gasp, but stifled it.

He cleared his throat, picked up the gun. “I’m MI5, Hannah. Have been this whole time. Black ops. Undercover in the Reapers for twelve years,” he said. “They thought the mole was from the Bratva. No, I was the mole.”

She reeled. “You…”

He reached for her hand, then suddenly, looking at her intensely. “I wanted you to know... I always wanted you to know, I’m not as bad as you think I am, Hannah,” he said. “I’m not the bad guy, Hannah, I was trying to help… I remember everything. I thought I was dead, I-”

“You!” The manic shout suddenly echoed in the high ceilinged area.

Hannah whirled around. But hands grabbed her, she bumped backwards against a hard chest. It happened so fast, the air left her lungs. She was handled like a piece of meat, unfriendly, clammy hands. Her heart pounded.

Roper.

“You fucker, you should be dead! Why won’t you just fucking die?” Roper roared. He had a gun, too. He was pointing it at Jack, then pointed it at Hannah, then back at Jack again. He was wild eyed, desperate.

Jack looked on, calm, giving away nothing on his face, he wordlessly raised the gun, pointing it straight at Roper.

Roper grabbed her throat, put her into a choke hold in front of himself, using her as a human shield. Hannah felt the cold gun metal against her temple. She let out a wail before Roper tightened his grip. This wasn't how it ended. Was it? Jack stood stock still with Hannah now in front of Roper. She would have groaned with anguish if she had the use of her throat. Jack couldn’t get a clean shot at Roper without endangering Hannah. If that was what he planned to do.

Jack didn’t waver. The gun was still trained on Roper. Pointing right at Hannah. And there was a moment she wasn’t sure if Jack would shoot Roper, or shoot her. He gave nothing away in his eyes.

“Now, you wouldn’t want to hurt an innocent civilian, would you? Poor Hannah Wells, totally delusional. She thinks she’s your girlfriend, sits by your side nursing you back to health, lies to the police about how you’ve been seeing each other… poor delusional bitch!”

Roper roughly shook her. Hannah tried to kick backwards, lurch sideways out of his grasp. She was gagging, gasping. She was suffocating. She would fight to her last breath.

“Are you going to stop me from shooting her?” Roper rasped.

Jack merely looked on, wild eyes but a cool, calm exterior.

“Shoot her, she’s nothing to me,” Jack’s voice quietly said.

Tears stung her eyes, but she could see less and less anyway. There was a ringing in her ears, the lack of oxygen getting to her. Let’s pretend, let’s pretend, she muttered inside her head.

Roper froze, his grip loosened a fraction of an inch. “What?” he muttered, confused.

Jack’s voice was ice cold. “I’ll do it myself if you keep fucking about like this, Roper.”

Jack gun raised at Roper, hand rock steady. Hannah looked right down the barrel of the gun in Jack’s hand. She looked past the gun to his deep, dark eyes, fixed on her.

Roper’s voice jarred in her pounding ears. “Oh come on Jack, you’d really send your little blondie to her grave with a Bratva bullet in her head?”

Then, bang. Louder than any sound she’d heard in her life.

Jack fired the gun.

The air left her lungs. She spun. Bang. Another, a cracking of the air around her. She was aware the ground came up to her face. And then she wasn’t aware of anything else, everything went black.

She blinked. She could blink. Thank God. If she could blink she was still alive. She drew a breath in shakily. She could breathe. She moved her fingers a little. They were in a puddle of something hot.

Blood. She heard people shouting.

“Police, drop your weapons!”

“On the ground!”

“You’re surrounded! Get down now!”

Jack’s voice, commanding and clear. “I’m MI5, undercover. Don’t shoot! I repeat, I’m an undercover operative!”

Then a rush. Footsteps running over. People grabbing, shouting.

“You shot her?” A police officer’s voice. “You’re not a Reaper? You shot Hannah?”

“She’s wearing a bulletproof vest.” Jack’s voice was full of emotion now. All the emotions, Hannah heard it clear as day. “She should be just winded-

“She is? Where… how-”

“You shot Roper?” Morris’s voice now.

“Nicked him, he’ll live if he gets medical attention. We need him alive. To clear our name,” Jack said.

Hannah watched the puddle of blood inching towards her mouth.

It wasn’t hers. It was Roper’s. She heard a groan on the ground near her. She turned her head to see Roper sprawled on the ground, holding his arm, cradling it, his top bloody and damp.

“Hannah?”

She was rolled over, carefully, strong hands on her.

She looked up. He was there.

“Jack.”

He smiled down at her. A tired, but warm smile. A relieved smile. The smile she had come to know and love.

“I’m sorry, Jack-”

“I’m not, good work, Hannah.” He ruffled her hair and smiled.

“I lied, it was all a lie, I’m so sorry-” She was gulping, hyperventilating, a teary, sweaty, bloodstained mess.“You can go now, I’m sorry, I-”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Jack said. “I meant every word I said. No more games Hannah. I want you by my side, always.”

She looked up at him, through the tears. He pushed the hair out of her eyes, off her face. “I’m here, new beginning, let’s start afresh. Hi, I’m Jack, I’m a former undercover MI5 who had been a member of an MC club. But I’m not anymore. I’m in between jobs at the moment, but Hannah, let’s find that fucking flat and let’s build a life together. Let’s buy a fucking bed and sleep in it next to each other every night. Let me find a fucking nine to five job so I can come home and read police thrillers on the sofa with you. No more blood and danger. No more lies, no more games. What do you think?”

Hannah spluttered and smiled. “I think… a new game?”

Jack flicked an eyebrow up and smirked. “Oh sweetheart, shuffle the pack of cards and deal us a new hand, I’m just getting started.”

“Our new beginning?” Hannah asked.

“Our new beginning.” Jack answered.