Chapter 2 - Shadows on the MotorwayThe black van pulled over with an aggressive screech of brakes, cutting off the oncoming traffic. The sliding door whipped open before the vehicle had even come to a complete stop. Three men stepped out, dressed not in emergency gear, but in tailored charcoal suits that looked entirely out of place on a rainy British motorway.
Alexander stood frozen, shielding the bundle in his arms. His mind, trained to calculate risk and corporate betrayal within milliseconds, instantly connected the dots.
The Tokyo deal. The sudden leaks. The timing of the lorry crossing lanes with supernatural precision.
This wasn’t an accident. It was an execution.
"Mr. Roses," the lead man called out, stepping through the billowing steam of the Bentley's radiator. He was tall, sharp-featured, with a scar cutting cleanly through his left eyebrow. "Chairman Takahashi sends his regards. He was hoping you’d sign the transfer papers before you left Manchester. Unfortunately, dead men make poor signatories."
Alexander’s eyes narrowed. Takahashi. The Japanese billionaire had been pushing for absolute control of the robotics division, a sector Alexander had fought to keep independent. But this—hired assassins on British soil—went far beyond corporate espionage. This was war.
"You think a car crash is going to stop a merger?" Alexander’s voice dropped into that low, dangerous register that had made seasoned executives cower in boardrooms across London and New York.
The assassin smiled, flashing a row of unnaturally white teeth. He reached inside his jacket, his fingers wrapping around the grip of a silenced pistol. "No, Mr. Roses. We didn't plan on a car crash stopping it. We planned on your tragic disappearance during a routine transit. The police will find your body in the wreckage. A sad, unfortunate end for a brilliant businessman."
He raised the weapon.
Alexander stepped back, his back hitting the crushed metal of the Bentley. He had no weapon. His phone was crushed inside the car. He was bleeding from his temple, his ribs felt cracked, and he was holding a dying puppy.
Checkmate.
Except, the universe had neglected to consult the tan puppy sitting by his foot.
Without a sound, the ten-week-old tan ball of fur lunged. It didn't aim for the assassin's boots or pants. It leapt with impossible, physics-defying agility straight at the lead man’s face, its small teeth sinking directly into the soft flesh of the assassin's ear.
"Aaargh! Get this—get this damn rat off me!" the man screamed, dropping his pistol as he flailed wildly, clawing at his own head.
His two henchmen rushed forward, drawing their own weapons, shouting curses in Japanese. "Shoot it! Shoot the damn thing!"
"Don't shoot me, you idiots, shoot him!" the leader shrieked, bleeding profusely as the puppy clung on like a furry demon.
In that split second of chaotic distraction, Alexander moved. He dropped the white puppy into the deep pocket of his trench coat, grabbed a heavy, jagged piece of the Bentley’s shattered chrome trim from the ground, and slammed it with bone-crunching force into the knee of the nearest henchman.
The man collapsed with a howl of agony.
Alexander didn't hesitate. He grabbed the henchman's dropped firearm—a sleek Glock 19—and fired two rounds into the asphalt between the feet of the remaining attacker.
"Back off!" Alexander roared, blood dripping into his eye, his chest heaving. "Tell Takahashi that if he wants my signature, he can come to Manchester and try to take it himself!"
The tan puppy let go of the leader's ear, dropping gracefully to the ground, panting slightly, before looking back at Alexander with an expression that clearly communicated: What took you so long?
"Get in," a gravelly voice barked from behind them.
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Alexander whipped around. An old, beat-up Ford Transit van had slid sideways across the lanes, blocking the assassins' line of sight. The passenger door swung open. A weathered man with a thick grey beard and a scarred knuckle leaned out.
"You want to live, kid? Get in the van. The Manchester underworld doesn't take kindly to Tokyo trash shooting up our motorways."
