Behind the bright beam, I could see the silhouette of a large man.

It wasn’t Marcus.

It was Thomas, his chief of security, his face tense and slick with sweat.

“Get up,” Thomas said, his voice tight. “We are leaving. Now.”

He lunged forward and grabbed my upper arm with a grip like vice grips.

I didn’t think.

I swung the heavy brass lamp with all the strength left in my shoulders.

The solid metal base struck the side of his head with a dull, wet thud.

Thomas grunted, his grip slipping from my sleeve as he stumbled backward into the doorframe.

The flashlight dropped from his hand, rolling across the hardwood floor and casting long, erratic shadows up the walls.

“You little bitch,” he growled, clutching his temple.

Before he could lung at me again, Marcus appeared in the doorway, his tie loosened and his eyes wild.

“What is taking so long?” Marcus demanded, his voice cracking with panic. “The perimeter cameras just went dark.”

“She hit me,” Thomas muttered, shaking his head to clear it.

Marcus looked at me, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage.