Dragonfury 02 - Fury of Ice

female I know and love…back at last.”
    He had no idea. Payback wasn’t fun, and after what she’d suffered the last few hours, Lothair was first on her hit list. ’Cause, yeah, given half a chance? She would pump him full of lead. Blow his head off without hesitation.
    Too bad her gun had been lost in the firefight. At the precinct. Where her partner had been blown through a plate-glass window.
    Angela blinked back tears. Oh, no…Mac.
    She’d thought of her partner countless times since the explosion and her capture. Had prayed and pleaded… Please, God, let him be all right . Whether or not he heard her she didn’t know. All she could do was hope.
    Hope. Pray. And beg.
    Holding in a sob, she walked past cinder-block walls and under bare lightbulbs. Lothair hummed behind her—like he knew what she felt and loved the show. She ignored him, her mind fully occupied with Mac.
    Please, don’t let him be dead .
    She could handle a lot: the torture and pain, the humiliation and imprisonment. But a world without Mac? No way she could go there and survive what she knew was coming. He was the big brother she’d never had, the only family she acknowledged. The only one who cared enough to come looking for her.
    Rounding a corner, the empty corridor gave way, branching in two different directions. Angela wanted to go right. She saw tools down there: lying on the concrete floor, leaning against dingy walls, stacked on top of half-open boxes. Two men, looking empty-eyed and exhausted, glanced up, then looked away as though afraid to acknowledge her. Desperation hung in the air around them. Hers? Theirs? She didn’t know. Maybe it was a combination of the two, but as her mind sharpened, her body responded, hitting her with a shot of adrenaline.
    The nausea evened out. Her heart picked up the slack, thumping hard as she scanned the dilapidated hallway, looking for the fastest route, the likeliest weapon with the deadliest potential. Lothair was big, too strong for her to outmuscle. But, maybe, just maybe, she could surprise him. Deploy the blitz attack so many murderers used to down their victims. One sharp blow to the head. One hard slash to the throat, and she’d be free, sprinting back toward that keypad with the access code riding shotgun.
    Lothair veered left.
    Angela lunged right, kicking out of her slippers, forcing her legs to work, her gaze on the box cutter no more than ten feet away.
    A growl sounded behind her. Heavy footfalls followed, pounding out a terrifying rhythm.
    Panic grabbed hold, making her run flat out. Something white flashed in her periphery. Clear plastic. And inside? Loose powder. She grabbed a handful as she sprinted past. Three feet from the tool, Lothair grabbed her hospital gown from behind. Angela twisted, flung her bound hands wide, and opened her palms. The fine dust flew, hitting Lothair in the face.
    With a roar, he reeled and, heavy boots sliding, lost his grip on her. She slid into a stack of boxes. Cardboard toppled, but she didn’t retreat. All she saw was the weapon she needed to stay alive. Time slowed. Sound came from far away, like voices through water as she reached out. The cutter’s metal handle touched her fingertips, then slid between her palms. Her teeth bared, she spun, raising the tool like a knife. She slashed, striking out with an upward arc. The blade struck, slicing through skin to meet bone. Lothair howled as she cut his cheek wide open.
    Blood arced in a violent splash, spraying across the wall and the front of her gown. Angela didn’t care. Victory was seconds away.
    She raised the cutter again. All her focus on her captor’s throat, she plunged forward. He countered, blocking the strike with his forearm. Pushed back by the thrust, Angela pivoted, ducking beneath his arm. She aimed for his ribs.
    Air exploded from his lungs as she slashed him again. “Fuck!”
    Black eyes flashed fury. Angela didn’t slow. She deployed skill instead, kicking out with her foot. Bull’s-eye. She nailed him in the balls. He squawked, cupping himself as his knees hit the floor. She thrust hers forward, hammering him again. His chin snapped up, and his head whiplashed. A sick crack echoed as the back of his skull slammed into the cement wall.
    Breathing hard, she watched him crumple, the makeshift knife raised in defense. One…two…three seconds passed. He didn’t move. And she didn’t wait.
    Galvanized into motion, she leapt over his body. The instant her bare feet