Chapter 17 - The Hunt in the Halls|
I didn't scream. Survival instinct kicked in like an electric shock.
I turned on my heel and sprinted back down the corridor toward the third-floor private suite, slamming heavy oak doors behind me as I ran.
"Grab her!" a voice roared behind me.
Thwack! Thwack!
Suppressed rounds tore through the wooden doorframes, showering me in splinters.
I burst into the master suite, throwing my weight against the four-inch thick mahogany door, sliding the heavy iron security deadbolt into place just as a shoulder slammed into the outside frame.
THUD!
"Open the door, waitress!" a rough voice sneered from the hallway. "Julian’s waiting in the car!"
I backed away toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, my chest heaving, searching the room frantically for a weapon.
Dmitri’s nightstand.
I lunged across the room, ripping open the top drawer of his bedside table.
Resting inside was a sleek, silver 9mm pistol and two full magazines.
I picked up the heavy weapon. My hands were shaking violently, but I remembered my father’s voice from twelve years ago: Slide back, click, aim for the center.
I racked the slide with a sharp, metallic clack.
Outside the door, a heavy mechanical drill began grinding against the iron lock.
ZZZZZZZZT!
The iron deadbolts groaned under the pressure.
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I fell back behind the heavy leather sofa, resting the barrel of the gun over the back cushion, pointing it directly at the lock, my finger resting lightly on the trigger.
"Come on," I whispered through my teeth, tears streaming down my face. "Come on, you bastards."
