flew through the air, all my hope tied up in this last punch. My fist collided into something hard. I opened my eyes and then my knees buckled. He had my fist in his hand. And squeezed.
“Ahh.” Pain seared through my fingers. I collapsed to the ground.
He squeezed harder. The bones cracked under his pressure. Pain ripped across my knuckles and he twisted.
“Stop,” I gasped.
“Did you really think you could hurt me?” He twisted again.
Pain blazed through my arm. I screamed. My arm was on fire. He twisted me around, and I slammed into him.
“You’re ours,” he whispered in my ear. “Finally.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Robotatouille throw open my door. It banged against the wall. His eyes were a wild shade of brown and my captor’s arm tightened around my waist.
“Drop her,” Robotatouille hissed. “Now.”
A smile spread across my captor’s lips. “But you didn’t specify.” He gave my waist another squeeze and air fled from my lungs. “Dead or alive.”
I fought for oxygen and frantically yanked at his arm. Water soaked through my jeans and I looked toward the window and saw Caribbean’s broken tank on the floor.
“No!”
Caribbean .
My heart exploded in my chest.
I struck out, ramming my elbows against my captor’s ribs and it felt like I hit a brick wall.
I gasped, and he squeezed tighter. Black and blue spots blurred my vision. I clawed at his arm as my last supply of air was forced out. This was it. My life was over.
And then Robotatouille launched at him, vaulting over broken pieces of glass. I felt myself going airborne. I hit my dresser like a sack of rice. Edges of objects jammed into my sides, and I gasped as air rushed into my lungs.
I heard another crash. Robotatouille was half off the desk, my captor’s arm wrapped around his neck, and Robotatouille’s hands shoved at my captor’s face.
“Vienna!” Dad barreled through the door with a baseball bat in his hand. He came to a stop, paralyzed by the situation.
“Dad, no!” I tumbled off the dresser.
My body ached when I hit the floor.
Dad ran at me and pushed me behind his shoulders as we watched the stark scene unfolding in front of us.
Robotatouille was losing, his neck trapped between my captor’s arms.
“Stay here.” Dad jumped on the bed and his bat came swinging down on the top of my captor’s head. There wasn’t even a crack to be heard. My captor spun, pushed Robotatouille to the floor, and shoved Dad against the wall, his hand at Dad’s throat, choking him.
“No,” I screamed.
Robotatouille sprang off the floor, grabbed my captor’s hair, and threw him into the closet door.
Dad sagged against the wall and dropped to his knees.
“Dad, are you okay?” I raced toward him.
My captor rammed through the closet door like a bull ready to charge, pieces of wood splintering across his shoulders. He lunged at us, and I pushed myself in front of Dad.
The scene enfolded in slow motion, my captor propelling toward me, his arms reaching out to crush me, and me, frozen, staring back unable to move. I waited for the impact to jar me, for his weight to topple me, but it never did.
Robotatouille leaped from his hidden position, shot through the air, grabbed my captor’s shirt, and rolled on top of him. They wrestled at the foot of the bed.
Robotatouille was pinned in a matter of seconds. The robot had his arm under Robotatouille’s chin. Robotatouille’s feet thrashed on the floor as he struggled to push him off.
I looked around for something, anything. Next to them was the broken fish tank, with a pool of water around it, saturating the carpet. The water was seeping toward their fight near . . . My eyes widened. My captor’s foot. I yanked my desk lamp’s electrical cord out of the wall circuit, dipped the metal prongs into the soaked carpet and jammed the wet electric cord into my captor’s Achilles’ heel charging area.
His head jerked up and his body convulsed. Hot sparks flew from
“Ahh.” Pain seared through my fingers. I collapsed to the ground.
He squeezed harder. The bones cracked under his pressure. Pain ripped across my knuckles and he twisted.
“Stop,” I gasped.
“Did you really think you could hurt me?” He twisted again.
Pain blazed through my arm. I screamed. My arm was on fire. He twisted me around, and I slammed into him.
“You’re ours,” he whispered in my ear. “Finally.”
Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Robotatouille throw open my door. It banged against the wall. His eyes were a wild shade of brown and my captor’s arm tightened around my waist.
“Drop her,” Robotatouille hissed. “Now.”
A smile spread across my captor’s lips. “But you didn’t specify.” He gave my waist another squeeze and air fled from my lungs. “Dead or alive.”
I fought for oxygen and frantically yanked at his arm. Water soaked through my jeans and I looked toward the window and saw Caribbean’s broken tank on the floor.
“No!”
Caribbean .
My heart exploded in my chest.
I struck out, ramming my elbows against my captor’s ribs and it felt like I hit a brick wall.
I gasped, and he squeezed tighter. Black and blue spots blurred my vision. I clawed at his arm as my last supply of air was forced out. This was it. My life was over.
And then Robotatouille launched at him, vaulting over broken pieces of glass. I felt myself going airborne. I hit my dresser like a sack of rice. Edges of objects jammed into my sides, and I gasped as air rushed into my lungs.
I heard another crash. Robotatouille was half off the desk, my captor’s arm wrapped around his neck, and Robotatouille’s hands shoved at my captor’s face.
“Vienna!” Dad barreled through the door with a baseball bat in his hand. He came to a stop, paralyzed by the situation.
“Dad, no!” I tumbled off the dresser.
My body ached when I hit the floor.
Dad ran at me and pushed me behind his shoulders as we watched the stark scene unfolding in front of us.
Robotatouille was losing, his neck trapped between my captor’s arms.
“Stay here.” Dad jumped on the bed and his bat came swinging down on the top of my captor’s head. There wasn’t even a crack to be heard. My captor spun, pushed Robotatouille to the floor, and shoved Dad against the wall, his hand at Dad’s throat, choking him.
“No,” I screamed.
Robotatouille sprang off the floor, grabbed my captor’s hair, and threw him into the closet door.
Dad sagged against the wall and dropped to his knees.
“Dad, are you okay?” I raced toward him.
My captor rammed through the closet door like a bull ready to charge, pieces of wood splintering across his shoulders. He lunged at us, and I pushed myself in front of Dad.
The scene enfolded in slow motion, my captor propelling toward me, his arms reaching out to crush me, and me, frozen, staring back unable to move. I waited for the impact to jar me, for his weight to topple me, but it never did.
Robotatouille leaped from his hidden position, shot through the air, grabbed my captor’s shirt, and rolled on top of him. They wrestled at the foot of the bed.
Robotatouille was pinned in a matter of seconds. The robot had his arm under Robotatouille’s chin. Robotatouille’s feet thrashed on the floor as he struggled to push him off.
I looked around for something, anything. Next to them was the broken fish tank, with a pool of water around it, saturating the carpet. The water was seeping toward their fight near . . . My eyes widened. My captor’s foot. I yanked my desk lamp’s electrical cord out of the wall circuit, dipped the metal prongs into the soaked carpet and jammed the wet electric cord into my captor’s Achilles’ heel charging area.
His head jerked up and his body convulsed. Hot sparks flew from
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