Page 94 of Extracted

Right now, she had the upper hand. If she could injure one of the men after her, she might just have a chance.

Fight over flight.

She blinked in the dim lighting and focused on taking deep breaths to lower her heart rate, which seemed ready to blow out her eardrums. Only a single bulb lit the hall, and it was far down the corridor. One of the doors to her left had to connect with the bar, and she sure as hell didn’t want to go there.

She needed an escape route.

Fast.

Directly ahead of her was a staircase going up. That wasn’t a good idea either. To her right was a long, dark corridor with more doors. Probably more spaces similar to the one she’d left, maybe another business—or maybe an exit. That way was her best bet.

Angry footsteps stormed on the concrete.

He’s coming.

She brought the end of the hammer toward her shoulder. The door punched open. Her heart stalled in her chest as she gripped the handle and swung with all her strength.

Smack

The blow of metal on bone made a grotesque sound. The body crumpled to the floor at her feet like a wet towel.

Her chest heaved as she stared down at the blood oozing into a pool around Perry’s head.

Ohmigod, ohmigod. I’m a murderer.

Vomit slammed against the back of her throat—sickly sweet cola combined with stomach acid. She turned away and retched on the floor. The hammer fell from her fingers and clattered to the cement.

She gasped and wiped her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut. She had to get a damn grip and run before one of his friends came. Leaving the hammer on the floor—she wouldn’t touch one again as long as she lived—she took the gun from her purse. Her hand trembled around the heavy weapon.

Moisture clung to her eyelashes, probably from the retching and the emotional whiplash of killing someone. Mascara burned her eyes. Using her knuckles, she dashed away the wetness and forced her muscles to cling to the gun.

If she wanted out of here in one piece, she couldn’t give up now. She couldn’t return through the room where she’d been held captive and exit into the back parking lot. More people could be coming that way.

Moving as swiftly and quietly as her shoes allowed, she scurried down the hall to her right.

Anxiety hiccuped in her chest, begging her to stop and take a breath, but she couldn’t. No time for a breakdown. Later she could get choked up over what she’d done, but right now she needed to find out if Dallas was alive.

And what the hell had happened to Cole?

Cole!

She had her phone. She had his number. Rounding the corner of the quiet hallway, she pushed open a janitor’s closet and hid inside. With the cement floors and loud metal doors, she’d likely hear if anyone came her way.

She didn’t turn on the light but left the door slightly ajar. Shoving her hand inside her purse, she pulled out her phone. A little gasp ripped from her throat.

Her fingers fumbled over the screen. She redialed the last number and pressed the device to her ear. It rang once. Twice.

No, no, no. Please pick up. Please don’t be dead. He can’t be dead, for god’s sake.

The line clicked on.

“Jesus Christ. Gemma?”

She let out a light laugh. Its hysterical pitch would have scared her in any other circumstances. “It’s me. What happened? Where’s Dallas?”

Men’s voices followed by rustling came through the phone.

“Gemma!”

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