Page 100 of Girl Lost

10%.

“Come out, come out,” Hitch called. His voice was eerily calm. “We can end this quickly. Or not. Your choice.”

15%.

His mind raced, processing options, discarding plans as quickly as they formed. He couldn’t stay here. He was a sitting duck, trapped between the terminal and the approaching threat.

20%.

He had to move. Create a distraction. Buy himself more time.

25%.

Corbin unclipped his belt, sliding it free. Careful not to make a sound, he looped it around the nearest cable bundle.

30%.

The footsteps stopped. Corbin held his breath, every muscle tense.

“I know you’re here. I can smell your fear. It’s ... intoxicating.”

35%.

Corbin closed his eyes, steadying himself. Now or never.

In one fluid motion, he yanked hard on the belt. Cables snapped free. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, sparks erupted as live wires made contact.

The gunman cursed, momentarily distracted by the sudden light show.

Seizing his chance, Corbin burst from his hiding spot. The ASP baton extended with a satisfying click, becoming a solid rod of hard metal. He swung with all his might, aiming for the wrist.

A satisfying crack echoed through the room as metal met bone. The impact reverberated up Corbin’s arm.

The gun clattered to the floor, skittering away across the smooth surface.

Hitch recovered quickly. With a roar, he barreled into Corbin’s waist, tackling him. Something tore. Stitches maybe.

They went down hard. Corbin’s back slammed against the cold floor, driving the air from his lungs. Stars exploded behind his eyes as his head connected with the ground.

Hitch was on top of him. His hands pressed into Corbin’s throat, thick fingers digging into soft flesh. He gasped, struggling to draw breath. The baton. Where was the baton?

45%.

The number flashed in Corbin’s peripheral vision, a cruel reminder of how much time he still needed.

With a surge of desperate strength, he jabbed Hitch in the solar plexus, driving the wind out of him. Maybe breaking a rib or two. Hitch coughed out a hunk of air.

The pressure on Corbin’s throat eased.

He didn’t waste the opportunity. He bucked his hips, throwing the larger man off balance. They rolled, grappling for dominance. Corbin’s ribs screamed in protest as they slammed against a server rack.

50%.

Hitch was strong, but Corbin had desperation and years of training with Stryker on his side. He fought dirty, using every trick he’d ever learned.

Corbin chopped him in the throat, nailing his windpipe. Hitch gagged, his grip loosening. Corbin followed up with a knee to the kidney, feeling a grim satisfaction as the gunman’s eyes bulged with pain.

55%.