Page 119 of Every Last Breath

Cole kicked him one last time, and Val slumped in the corner, knocked unconscious, before the word penetrated.

Mercy.

Mercy cut through the fog of violence and revenge, bringing Cole back to himself. What was he doing?

He stumbled away, sore fists shaking at his sides.

Alive. She wanted them alive.

What would Maddox think of him?

An out of control monster, thirsting for revenge. No better than the Ghost or his son.

Val looked like a deflated balloon, head to his chest, face bloodied, out cold.

Cole had to be better. For himself. For Maddox. She deserved better.

He turned to the control panel of the elevator and rested his aching forehead on the cool steel. The salty bite of his own blood filled his mouth. He released the alarm button. The metal box jerked into motion, and he lifted his head.

A gray flash of wire swept past his eyes and nose. His mind registered what was happening and he thrust his left hand up, but not fast enough. The garrote wrapped around Cole’s throat. The vicious bite of the cord against his trachea pinched his airway closed immediately.

Val tightened the strangulation device, hauling Cole back onto his heels.

The fiber wire cut into his skin. He struggled, clawing at the thin cord, unable to get a purchase. Frantic, on pure instinct, he threw his skull backward, aiming for Val’s face. Again and again—no contact. Val kept his head out of range.

Gasping, Cole kicked at the elevator panel to open the doors. The alarm shrieked, and the elevator jerked to a stop.

Cole pounded with his foot and scratched at the wire. Pushing off the door in a hard shove, he used the leverage to propel them in a surge of force. They crashed into the wall. Air left Val’s mouth in a harsh rush, but his hold around Cole’s throat didn’t slacken.

It tightened. Too tight. A guttural roar blasted in Cole’s ear.

He thrust his free elbow into the man’s gut and side. Val kept his grip.

Panic swelled along with the trapped air burning Cole’s lungs. The garrote stayed taut, digging into his throat. Moisture on his neck. The metallic scent of his own blood hit him.

Desperation was a hot whip lashing him. His heart a painful never-ending throb. He had to get this man off.

Now!

Or he was going to die.

Cole reached behind his back, shoving his hand in the paper-thin space between their bodies, and pulled his Browning blade. He twisted his hand, rotating his shoulder, and plunged the knife into flesh. And he didn’t stop stabbing until the garrote loosened and slipped free.

* * *

Three distraught service workers hovered around the entrance to the Washington Wizards locker room. One had a broken nose. He cupped his bleeding nostrils, his head tilted forward.

“Did a man run in there? Glasses? Dark hair?” Maddox asked through ragged breaths.

The three nodded. “Some crazy guy. He hit Mike when we told him the locker room was off-limits.”

“Is there another way out of there?”

“No.”

“This is Bravo,” Castle said over the comms. “Exits are locked down. We’re headed into the stadium.”

“Find Romeo. I’m at the locker room.” Maddox threw open one of the heavy double doors.