Dana stepped out from the blind spot behind the door like a phantom. Her left hand shot forward, grabbing the barrel of the heavy flashlight and twisting it violently inward, dislocating the man’s thumb. Before he could scream, she drove the palm of her right hand straight up into his chin, snapping his head back with brutal force. As his knees buckled, she hooked his collar and hurled his two-hundred-pound frame headfirst into the heavy steel filing cabinet.
The impact was deafening. The man dropped to the linoleum floor, completely unconscious, his flashlight rolling across the floor, its beam spinning wildly.
Dana caught the rolling flashlight with the toe of her sneaker, kicked it upward into her hand, and killed the beam. Darkness swallowed the room once more.
Total elapsed time: two seconds.
What the hell was that?! the second enforcer shouted from the basketball court, raising his aluminum bat as he rushed toward the office door. Terry! Terry, talk to me!
Silence was the only answer.
Marcus backed away toward the center circle of the court, his eyes wide with rising terror. She took Terry down! Ramos, she’s not a gym teacher! What kind of teacher does that?!
Shut up! Ramos drew a matte-black semi-automatic pistol from his jacket. The distinctive metallic slide racked back with a loud, ominous snap. Callaway! he shouted into the dark. I have a nine-millimeter hollow-point with your name on it! Drop the watch on the floor and step out with your hands up, or I put a bullet through Marcus’s kneecap right here!
Marcus gasped, stumbling backward. What?! Ramos, what are you doing?!
You’re leverage, you stupid brat! Ramos sneered, his eyes darting through the shadows. Your father told me: get the drive back by any means necessary. If Marcus gets caught in the crossfire, well… Richard gets to play the grieving father twice, and the police will blame the crazy Navy vet!
The reality crashed down on Marcus with the weight of a falling mountain. His father hadn’t sent muscle to protect the family honor. His father had sent an executioner. And Marcus was just another disposable piece on the board, exactly like Julian had been.
Dana’s voice emerged from the rafters above, cold, disembodied, and terrifyingly calm.
You should have checked the service logs, Ramos.
Where are you?! Ramos yelled, spinning in a circle, pointing his gun blindly into the dark ceiling beams.
Dana dropped.
She didn’t fall from the high rafters—she had scaled the top of the tiered bleachers in total silence. She descended upon the second enforcer from behind, landing with lethal grace. Her forearm locked around the man’s throat in a textbook blood choke, while her right foot swept his ankles out from under him. The man hit the hardwood with a smothered thud. Within four seconds of relentless carotid compression, his struggles ceased, his eyes rolled back, and he went limp.
Ramos whipped toward the sound and fired.
A blinding muzzle flash shattered the darkness. The gunshot deafened the room, the bullet splintering the hardwood inches from where Dana had been a fraction of a second earlier.
Dana was already moving. She closed the distance in an explosive zigzag sprint, using the strobe effect of the muzzle flash to track Ramos’s position.
Ramos fired a second shot, but panic ruined his aim. The bullet ricocheted wildly off a steel backboard.
Before he could pull the trigger a third time, Dana was on him. Her hand clamped down over the slide of the pistol, driving it backward out of battery, rendering the firing pin useless. With her other elbow, she delivered a devastating strike directly into Ramos’s solar plexus.
Ramos wheezed, the air exploding from his lungs. He dropped the gun, but his street-fighting instincts took over. He swung a savage right hook aimed at her jaw.
Dana ducked underneath the blow, stepped into his pocket, and drove two rapid, punishing punches into his floating ribs. The sickening crunch of breaking cartilage echoed through the court. Ramos roared in agony, stumbling backward.
Marcus, get the gun! Ramos screamed, falling to one knee, clutching his fractured side. Shoot her! Shoot her or we both die!
Marcus stood frozen ten feet away. The black pistol lay spinning on the polished hardwood, stopping right at his sneakers.
He looked down at the weapon. He looked up at Dana, who stood ten feet away, her chest rising and falling with controlled, rhythmic breaths, her eyes locked onto him. She didn’t dive for the gun. She didn’t plead. She simply watched him, waiting to see what choice Julian’s brother would make.
Outside, the storm reached its zenith. A massive bolt of lightning illuminated the entire gymnasium in brilliant, stark white.
