But there was still the possibility he could push the needle inside the girl's throat before she could kill him. Slim, but present. "You move and you’re dead. Drop the needle!"
"I'll do it! I swear to God, I'll jam this thing so deep!" spit flew from his mouth as he spiraled out of control, "Get the hell out of here or I'll kill her!"
"You don't want to do this. Put it down."
"Hell no! You're just going to kill me." His eyes darted past Hatch.
"Nobody's dead out there if that's what you're looking for. I don't have all day, and the longer you take in making it, I can't guarantee this bullet here doesn't rip through your shoulder."
The frantic hostage taker tried without success to press himself further behind the girl, but to effectively hold the needle to her neck, he could not. And the effort left him in no better position than when Hatch first made the offer. No gunshots, she told herself.
"Let me tell you how this is going to go. First, I'm going to shoot you in the top of your right shoulder. It's not going to kill you, but the pain of it will make you wish it had. You will be in screaming agony in a matter of seconds. I will then fire a second shot after the first one moves you safely away from that girl. However, you will not feel this second shot because the jacketed forty caliber round inside this gun will pass through the front of your skull at nearly thirteen-hundred feet per second, killing you instantly."
Her aim never wavered as she negotiated the terms of surrender. He didn't utter a response. Hatch watched the businessman's shoulder rise and fall in rhythm with his breath as he weighed the offer. Hatch took the slack out of the Glock's trigger as her timeline in which she would make the decision for him rapidly approached.
The gunshot that came next cracked like a whip and caught Hatch completely by surprise.
Seventeen
The shot hadn't come from her gun. It came from the other room. Hatch spun to see the source of the discharge. Smoke seeped from the end of the nickel-plated pistol, encircling the head of the tear-stricken girl who'd fired the shot. Her eyes apologized to Hatch as she and the other three girls made a mad dash for the hallway door while the expensive wardrobe of the dead man in the lounge chair absorbed the blood spreading out from the center of his chest.
The dying man's agonal breaths were drowned out by the wild scream from inside the room where Hatch stood. The shirtless American had launched himself into the air with the needle outstretched in his right hand looking like a pirate diving off the top mast.
Hatch sidestepped the poorly planned attack at the last second, allowing the deranged man's momentum to do the heavy lifting. His forehead struck the corner edge of the doorframe with a sickening thud. Until he let out a whimper, she thought the impact might've actually killed him. One solid stomp silenced any further resistance.
Hatch had no time to spare if that shot had been heard over the chaos of the club. There was a chance it wasn't. But Hatch didn’t like playing those odds. In less than twenty seconds, she had stripped the guard of equal size out of his clothes. Seconds later, Hatch was now wearing the clothes of the man she'd bested with a drink cart. Hatch tucked her shoulder length hair inside the ballcap and cinched the brim down, hoping to block her face from view.
Hatch then set about undoing the knots and freeing the girl's hands and feet. "Gracias," she muttered. Her voice was stronger than Hatch expected, but then again if you're drugged and bound to a bed maybe it's best to put your mind elsewhere. Hatch spoke softly but firmly. She needed to get this girl out of the room, but she needed her functional enough so Hatch could address any threats.
"Do you speak English?"
"A little." The weakness in her voice was matched by the trembling wave of her hand.
Hatch was able to get the girl up. With each passing second her assailant's smashed face rested against the frame of the door, she seemed to grow a little stronger. Hatch got the girl into her old clothes.
"I'm Leticia," her voice a whisper, "but you can call me Letty."
"I'm Daphne. We can spend time getting to know each other later. What we need to do is get the hell out of here. And fast. Can you walk?"
"I think so."
Hatch assisted the girl to her feet. She wobbled but maintained her balance.
"Put your hand on my right shoulder. Do not pull or push. Only move when I move." Hatch laid out the ground rules. There was no way she could carry this girl and focus on their escape. But she also needed to keep her close so she could keep her safe. Knowing where she was relative to Hatch was critical should the battle erupt.
Hatch brought her gun up into a low ready, centering it near the Club de Fuego emblem above her left breast. She moved forward to the door leading to the hallway that the fleeing girls had left wide open.
To Hatch's surprise no security team members had entered. A moment later, as she stepped into the hallway with Letty in tow, she saw the reason why. Flames licked their way into the gaps in the door's frame. A heavy layer of smoke filled the top three feet of the hallway.
The thug she'd turned into a doorstop had inch-wormed himself away from the burning door. He looked in Hatch's direction. He grunted loudly. In the smoke, he must've thought she was his partner. His eyes widened when he realized the folly of his assumption.
Hatch turned and headed to the far exit at the other end of the hall. "Stay with me. Do what I tell you when I tell you to. Understand?"
Letty squeezed Hatch's shoulder weakly and nodded. Hatch opened the door and quickly scanned the exterior. Fire engines and police sirens could be heard approaching in the distance, but nobody noticed the open door. The few patrons passing by were in hustled jogs to the back lot. A passing car's headlights gleamed over Hatch just as she retreated inside.