Eighteen hours ago… Steel splinters, that’s what it felt like. Steel splinters grinding into his shins. Tom thought he’d been walking for hours, but when he glanced at his Omega Seamaster only ninety blasted minutes had passed. At twenty-five years old, he was in no way unfit, but traipsing through the Scottish Highlands to fetch help for the drug-addled thug who had recently bitten off his ear, was a test of endurance that no amount of hours on the squash courts could have prepared him for. The dust and grime in his uncombed blonde hair was enough to send him Read more…