Private Princess

Chapter 120

One thousand feet above the country’s sprawling capital, the wind slapped Morgan hard in the face as he followed Flex onto the highest level of the Shard, nothing between them and the elements but guard rails. Morgan kept the revolver trained at Flex’s head, but he knew there was no way he could pull the trigger. The shot had been a difficult one before — now, with the wind, it was a near certainty the girl would die first.

“Let her go and I’ll put my gun down,” Morgan said, his voice raised against the wind.

Flex backed himself into an area of the roof where the glass panels that gave the building its name would cover his back from heli-borne snipers.

“You’re out of options, Flex. London is covered in cameras. Your crimes are on tape. You can go to prison, or you can die.”

Flex snorted, and Morgan knew he was holding out for a third option — to keep the girl as a hostage, and bargain his way out.

Morgan hadn’t considered that there could be a fourth.

Suddenly, with no warning, Flex shoved the girl forward at Morgan, the massive muscles of his chest and arm propelling her like a rag doll. The girl’s arms flailed and her hair was blown in the wind as she stumbled and tripped the few meters toward the American. Morgan knew instantly what Flex’s ploy was: to buy himself two seconds to reload his empty pistol, and finish Morgan, so he made to sidestep and fire while Flex was reaching for his spare magazine. But the girl came at him like a lost child to her parents, her eyes wild with terror, unable to see that by grabbing at Morgan, she was sealing both of their fates.

“Off!” Morgan screamed at her, pushing the clutching girl away and expecting 9mm rounds to begin punching into the bodies of both of them. “Off!” he yelled again, grabbing a scruff of her jacket and sending her spinning toward the door. But her flailing arms knocked the pistol from his hand, and sent it skidding across the metal floor.

Now unarmed, he knew that he would die.

He looked to Flex. The murderer pushed the fresh magazine onto his pistol and was raising it up to face Morgan’s body. As it came, the thumb of Flex’s left hand moved to push down on the release catch, which would allow the top-slide to come crashing forward and chamber the round that would kill Jack Morgan.

Morgan knew there was no escape now, so he steeled himself to look Flex in the eye, desperate to avoid showing a single ounce of fear that the man could enjoy.

Flex’s thumb hit the weapon’s release catch.

Prepared for death, Morgan watched as the top-slide came forward.

And jammed halfway.