Page 54 of Fully Loaded

Crack! Sizzle!

Pain burst through the side of his neck and his body jolted as shockwaves pulsed through it. The gun fell away from his fingers and he clapped his hand over his neck. His hostage bolted out of reach and Brock’s legs buckled beneath him.

A woman’s round face and blonde hair filled his vision. Her lips morphed into a smile as she moved closer. The end of a Taser stung his neck again. His brain flickered and blackness exploded behind his lids until his body surrendered and fell down, down, down. One last thought dominated his mind as he fought the ominous arms of sleep.

Dani.

Eighteen minutes. Dani’s throat burned with every exhale. She circled her wrists around and around for the hundredth time, keeping as much blood flow to her fingers as she could. When he burst in the door, she’d need to be ready to run. She lifted her lashes to the brusque movement of the second hand on the clock.

Something’s wrong.

Maybe just a minor delay? She shook that off. No. Brock wouldn’t waste a single second. She couldn’t just sit here. What if he needed help? The constant motion of her hands and wrists had added a bit of give to the ropes. She stretched her palms as far from each other as she could, making the ligaments in her forearms and tops of her hands scream. She released them and glued her arms together, then inched one of her hands from the bindings. The rough weaves scraped over her skin, stopping before her knuckles. Almost there. She curled her hand into a fist, pulling the rope again, wriggled her hand, then flattened it.

Moisture coated her palms, making her hands swell. If she’d had time, she would have focused on bringing down her heart rate. No time. She gritted her teeth and pulled. Her hand, decorated in thick red scratches, popped through the restraint and she let out a long sigh of relief. Shaking her wrist, she quickly peeled off the remainder of the ropes and bent to her feet.

The ropes on her feet were much easier to remove. She cast them aside and glared at the door.

Romy had a gun. She had nothing.

She scanned the room and made a face. The only viable weapon options were the overturned stool or the fire extinguisher behind the door.

She stood and her legs shook. She needed to get her strength back and fast. Lifting the solid steel object from where it hung, she held it in front of her chest and pressed her back to the wall next to the door.

Nausea singed against the raw lining of her stomach, which was threatening to spill its contents on the pristine floor at her feet. She closed her eyes and took several calming breaths. Dread churned beneath her ribcage.

If she survived after this, it’d be a miracle.

“Hey asshole!” she called, clamping her hands tightly around the fire extinguisher. “I need to pee!”

The doorknob turned and he skulked into the room. His gaze landed on the empty chair and he fumbled for the gun at his chest. She leaped forward and swung the bottom of the fire extinguisher into his head. A sickening crack! echoed through the room. He teetered and grabbed his head. Blood poured between his fingers. Dani’s heart rocketed into her throat.

“Fucking bitch!” he snarled. She heaved the weapon again, but he shot his arm up, blocking the blow. He dove for her. His shoulder connected with her midsection and her back banged against the wall. The wind whooshed from her lungs and her already foggy head swam. His rough hands reached for the backs of her knees to throw her off balance. If she landed on the ground, she’d have no advantage.

She jerked her knee, catching him in the groin. His body sagged against hers, crushing her ribs, but a satisfying grunt of pain reached her ears. She raised the extinguisher again and brought the steel cannister down on his spine. His back buckled and a howl of agony sang from his lips. His hold loosened and he folded to his knees. Not missing a beat, she swung the extinguisher like a cricket bat.

His head flopped to the side and he collapsed onto his back. Victory flooded through her, taking the edge off her frazzled nerves. She dropped the extinguisher to the ground, removed the weapon from around his neck, and set it carefully on the chair she’d vacated. Grabbing the ropes, she restrained his feet then positioned her hands under his side and pushed. He was deadweight. She shifted, jammed her arms under him, and hefted with all her might. His shoulder went first, and then the rest of his body followed a little more easily. Sweat rolled down her forehead and her muscles screamed with strain, but she quickly secured his wrists behind his back.

She scooped up the assault rifle, placed the neckband over her head, and held the gun in front of her, her finger far away from the trigger. The last thing she needed was to get spooked and accidentally shoot Brock.

Tiptoeing toward the hall, she paused at the door. The sharp ring of a cell phone froze her in place. Then she turned. The sound was coming from Romy’s phone. It could be Ubrigg calling with news on Brock. She bent down, took the phone from his back pocket, and read the name on the screen. Sure enough. Ubrigg.

Without hesitating, she swiped to answer but didn’t say hello.

“Romy! That bastard didn’t show. He’s probably on his way to the lab. Get her somewhere secure. Now.”

Terror immobilized her. Her breath spiraled in her lungs, begging to be released.

“Romy, are you there? Hello?”

She hung up and got to her feet, grabbed her purse from Ubrigg’s desk, and draped it across her chest. She had to get somewhere safe. Ubrigg wasn’t stupid. Now that he knew something was up with his henchman, he’d probably send another guard to the lab. She placed her thumb on the phone’s screen to stop it from going into sleep mode. Returning to Romy’s unconscious form to unlock his phone with his thumb was something she wanted to avoid.

She hovered at the door and scanned the hallway. She couldn’t leave the building until she spoke to Brock. He’d come here looking for her, and if Ubrigg found him before she did, he’d kill him. She charged for the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the cool tile. She found a custodian closet, slipped inside, and dialed Brock’s number. It rang and rang.

“The number you’re trying to reach is unavailable.”

No! She brought up the text message screen and typed. Shit. She couldn’t tell him where to meet her. Someone could have him—or his phone—in their possession. She had to give him some kind of message.

I’m okay. Call this number when you get here.