Page 87 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

If I fail, my life ends now.

Unwittingly, Lord Oblog steps forward again; forcing me to steel myself.

It’s now or never.

He opens his lips to speak, gurgling: “I’m telling you this because I…”

He never finishes that sentence.

The moment he’s close enough, I leap forward – bringing that sharp shard of wood to bear and thrusting it straight for his right eye. I give everything I have to the thrust – and it powers towards his bulbous, glistening eye like a dagger…

…and then stops.

I gasp, as my wrist is caught mid-thrust. Seemingly from nowhere, the ropes hanging from that pole have whipped out and grabbed my arm, as if they’re alive, or sentient.

The ropes curl around my arms, and then drag me backward – flinging me against the wood and then wrapping around me like steel bands. One squeeze is enough to force the breath from my lungs, and the splinter falls from my suddenly limp fingers. I’m slammed against the wood so hard; I think I hear a rib crack. The wood is solid and unyielding, and the ropes tighten around with inhuman pressure.

I hang there, stunned – and Lord Oblog laughs at my predicament. His voice is low and heartless. He smiles that cold, evil smile – delighting in my predicament.

“I told you, my pet, for precisely this reason – because I needed to seeyournature. I needed to see if you were a fighter, or a cowering little girl.”

Lord Oblog presses something on his watch.

“Now we have our answer!”

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