Page 128 of Until the End

But with the door locked, there wasn’t anything they could do except wait to die.

With a smirk that made Ashley’s skin crawl, Bravo removed his wig and mustache.

Lee Pomeroy’s eyes flashed with fury. “Howe!” he yelled. “What are you doing?”

Soundproofing muted their terrified screams and furious cries, forcing her to read their lips. They banged on the shatter-resistant glass that divided the observation room from the chamber, picked up chairs, and flung them at the door.

It was horrible. A fifteen-car pileup happening right before her eyes.

The timer was set for five minutes. Only three left.

Before she could strategize how to take out both Bravo and Charlie as quickly as possible, Bravo did the unthinkable.

He turned toward Charlie with a pen in his hand. The cap slipped to the floor. Silver glinted in the light, a wink of violent intent.

Bravo’s hand swooped up and lodged the ice pick in Charlie’s ear. Then Bravo stabbed him a second time in the chest.

Ashley drew her Glock out of her holster, flipped the safety off, and aimed. Forget about giving that psycho a chance to attack her first. She’d waited seven years to make him pay for what he’d done to her in Germany, for the way he’d tortured her. She wasn’t going to wait a second longer and fired.

The report of the gun roared in the compact space, but Bravo was unaffected.

She squeezed again and again.

Two more shots rang out. Still nothing.

“I gave you the one with blanks,” Bravo said, his grin spreading.

Leaping forward, Ashley threw the gun, slamming it into his face with the full force of her body behind the blow.

He staggered back, dazed, nose busted and bleeding. She pulled her belt off and braced herself. Just as she predicted, he charged, swinging the ice pick.

Ashley caught his wrist with the belt and moved the sharp point of the steel shaft away from her. She smashed the heel of her free palm up into his broken nose.

He might not have screamed, but the certain agony of that blow left him at a disadvantage that she seized. She knocked the ice pick from his hand.

The shank clattered to the floor. But in the tussle, it was kicked and glided into a corner.

Howe rebounded, far too quickly. He landed a vicious punch to her gut that left her doubled over in pain. With a leg sweep, knocking her feet from under her, he brought her hard to the floor. He withdrew the gun from the holster on his hip.

If she didn’t move lightning-fast, he’d have her and those precious nanoseconds would cost her life. She whipped her legs around his calves in a scissor move and rotated with all her might, flipping herself facedown, and brought him to the floor.

Raising her heel, she thrust her foot into his face. Her kick was perfectly aimed. His head dropped back. She went for the gun still locked in his grasp. But he fought her with the strength of a madman. They rolled, both throwing jabs. Taking some and deflecting others.

She pried the gun free from his hand, but he wasn’t intent on letting her keep it. He delivered a powerful blow to her head that made her fingers open in reflex.

The gun rattled to the tile, sliding under the table.

He pounced on top of her, but Ashley sent the side of her hand sailing in a chop to his jugular. Gasping, he fell backward.

In a blink, she was on her feet. Moving, moving to the closest weapon—the ice pick. She seized it and jumped up.

Bravo had already reached the gun. He was rolling from under the table. She flipped the ice pick in her hand, holding it by the stainless-steel shaft.

As he spun toward her, prepping to take aim, she threw the ice pick. And hit her mark—Bravo’s throat.

Not a breath to spare to think. She ran to the door of the sealed room and glanced at the timer. Nine seconds dropped to eight.

She wrangled out the security pass. Six seconds. Pressed it to the digital lock. Four seconds. The red light blinked. Why didn’t it work?