Sarah finally spoke. Her voice was low and calm. She told them they were making a mistake that would end their lives as they knew them. She gave them one chance to walk away. The room erupted in laughter. They thought it was hilarious—a handcuffed woman threatening three armed men.
Vance stopped laughing and backhanded her across the face. Her head snapped to the side, a trail of blood appearing on her lip. He grabbed her by the hair and told her she was “nothing.” He ripped the top two buttons off her shirt. Dixon cheered, and Reed kept filming.
Inside Sarah, the “Major” took a backseat to the “Operator.” The adrenaline was a cold fire. Vance decided to put her in the holding cell in the basement for a few hours to “cool off” before they “really got started.” He told Dixon to take her down and remove the cuffs—he didn’t want marks on her wrists that couldn’t be explained as “resisting.”
Dixon led her down a dark flight of stairs to a damp, concrete cell. He unlocked the cuffs with a smirk, telling her he’d be back in an hour for a “private session.” He slammed the barred door and left. Sarah sat on the thin, moldy mattress, closed her eyes, and visualized the building’s layout. She waited.
Two hours later, the door at the top of the stairs opened. It wasn’t Dixon; it was the rookie, Reed. He had been drinking, and he thought he’d get a head start on the others. He opened the cell door, a leering grin on his face. As he reached for her, Sarah moved like a blur. She caught his wrist, used his own momentum to slam him into the concrete wall, and applied a sleeper hold. In ten seconds, he was out.
