A loud crash erupted nearby. She jumped out of bed and started to go for her gun on the nightstand, but she was tackled to the ground by a huge mass of a man. The breath was knocked out of her, but she willed herself to focus. She was under attack and had no idea where Hunter or the CIA security detail was. Then an awful thought struck her—what if they were all dead? What if those gunshots had killed them?

Those thoughts only made her angry, and she fought harder against the man pinning her to the floor. She was able to knee him in the groin, and he rolled off of her, groaning and muttering in a different language. Maybe Russian or something similar? She tried to get to her feet, but he caught her ankle in his large, meaty hand and pulled her back down to the floor. She hit with a thud and started kicking to try to break free, but he had regained his composure, and he punched her in the stomach.

As she tried to catch her breath, he punched her again, even harder. She rolled away, and he missed his next attempt.

She tried to scramble to her feet, hoping she could get to her side arm on the nightstand, but her attacker had other ideas. He lifted her off the ground and slammed her onto the floor. A scream escaped her lips as the pain radiated through her body.

Yelling again, she tried to gather the energy to keep fighting, but if this kept going much longer, she had no doubt she’d be dead soon.

She pushed to her feet and dodged another punch, but then he wrapped his hands around her neck and started squeezing. Stars flashed before her eyes as the breath started to leave her body, and she struggled not to lose consciousness.

As she started to say what she thought could be a final prayer, she found a burst of energy. She dropped low to the ground, startling her attacker, and his grip broke. That gave her the opening to kick him again in the groin, which brought him to his knees. She leapt for her nightstand, grabbed her gun, and aimed it at him.

“Don’t move. Hands up!”

“Layla.” Hunter rushed into the room, breathing heavily. His eyes widened. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, adrenaline surging through her body. “We need to secure him.”

“I’ve got some zip ties in my duffel downstairs. Are you good here?”

“Yeah. What about Ace and Dax?”

He frowned and shook his head.

She knew that meant they were dead—but there was no time to focus on that. She stared into the light blue eyes of the man who had attacked her, unwilling to let him move an inch. “Hunter, how many other attackers?”

“Two. They’re downstairs, dead.”

Without looking at him, she said, “Okay. Go get the ties.”

He jogged out of the room.