Codename: Kidnapped

It was a dark and stormy night.

Cliché opening, I know. But the fact of the matter is it was, and if I've learned anything from this experience, lying—to oneself or others—causes far more problems than it might solve.

So, this is where my story truthfully begins, with one dark and stormy night and one restless teenage girl.

The storm was a jumble of crashing sounds and blinding light. Thunder shook the house and lightning lit up the room every few seconds, casting menacing shadows all around me. Wind smashed stray tree limbs against my second-story walls as rain and hail pelted my window.

Needless to say, sleep wasn't coming easy.

In fact, the simple act had now turned into a frustrating and hopeless wrestling match. I tossed and turned, making a mess of my tangled sheets. My pillow took a beating as I scrunched it up and slammed it over my head. Nothing seemed to help. I was in constant motion, flipping furiously onto my back, my side, my stomach, repeat. Anything comfortable didn't shield me from the jarring noise and light. Anything that muted the storm was unbearably suffocating.

Nothing was working, and it had my temper boiling.

"Damn it!" I growled in sleepy frustration. I flipped onto my stomach, trapping my battered pillow under my arms, and glared at my headboard. A piece of my long brown hair drifted lightly into my face, managing to make me even angrier than I already was. Clenching my teeth, I felt heat burn behind my cheeks. In a feeble attempt to calm myself, I let out one short huff of a breath, blowing the inconsiderate bit of hair out of my eyes.

I couldn't take it anymore. 

I leapt to my feet, leaving the tangled mess of covers on my bed. Immediately I felt relief, freedom. At least I could do something productive now that I wasn't trapped in my bed.

But what should I do with this newfound freedom? My stomach rumbled as I remembered the chocolate chip cookies still sitting innocently on our kitchen counter.

A warm glass of milk couldn't hurt either.

I walked forward, my bare feet barely making any noise as I stepped through the hallway. But being all alone in a suddenly very large seeming house in the middle of the night was starting to make me anxious. The unpredictable claps of thunder and flashes of lightning often sent jolts of fear up my spine. There was something ominous about storms like this, and it put me on edge, made my heart race.

I made my way quietly down the long dark hallway, tiptoeing ever closer to the stairs, running my hand along the walls. I didn't necessarily need that contact to know where I was headed. I'd traveled the path from my bedroom to the kitchen often enough to navigate its curves flawlessly, even with only the sporadic flashes of light to guide me. I mostly kept my fingers glued to the wall for moral support. It was solid and reliable, and it helped soothe my buzzing nerves.

Suddenly, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. A small gasp escaped my lips, and I spun wildly around to face it.

An angry sigh floated through my clenched teeth.

I was both annoyed and relieved to find it was only my reflection in a mirror.

"Pull yourself together, Sam," I whispered at my reflection, trying to keep the fear out of my blue-green eyes.

The storm was really starting to get to me. My whole body trembled as I brushed my long brown hair out of my face with a shaky hand. Taking one more fortifying breath, I turned and kept moving. I wasn't going to let something as trivial as a storm keep me from the gooey perfection of my midnight treat. Newly determined, I crept silently down the stairs and over to the kitchen doorway.

I couldn't really explain why I felt such a need to creep around. I was alone in the house that night. My parents had been whisked away to an office team-building retreat of some sort and, being the trusting (if not slightly naïve) people they were, had left my eighteen-year-old self to my own devices for the whole weekend. I could have flipped on all the lights and danced down the hall singing Ariana Grande at the top of my lungs without waking a single soul. But even so, I couldn't shake the impulse to sneak around in the shadows. I couldn't stop myself from jumping at the tiniest of noises—even if I was lucky enough to know I had made them in the first place.

That's when I heard them, the sounds that made my heart stop.

I froze on the spot, listening. I could barely hear them over the noise of the storm, but there they were: the soft rustling and thump of footsteps traveling around my kitchen.

Not good.

My paranoid mind instantly went into hyper-save-my-ass-drive, because I was absolutely sure that someone was there, and I was absolutely sure they were up to no good.

Time to get the hell out of there.

'Ok, screw this,' I thought, giving in to my cowardly instincts. 'I'll just go right back up the stairs. I was never here.' I turned as quickly as I could, panic making my movements jerky and my limbs uncooperative.

Unfortunately, while escaping, I briefly exposed my back to the darkness.

Big mistake.

A strong arm suddenly shot out of nowhere, wrapping tightly around my waist and pulling me into the rock-hard body of its owner. He was strong. Way too strong. In fact, his strength didn't seem humanly possible, not even with the rippling muscles I could feel through his shirt. I struggled and turned, but it was no use. His stony limbs just wouldn't budge. He chuckled, a deeply frightening noise reminiscent of sandpaper on unfinished wood, before twisting my arm sharply around behind me.

"Ouch! Let me go, you freak," I shrieked in a pathetic high-pitched whine I barely recognized as my own voice. The muscles in my arm protested their new position with a sharp stabbing pain. In hindsight, it probably wasn't the smartest thing to call my buff-beyond-belief captor—who could most likely snap my puny-by-comparison arm like a twig—a freak. But I had kind of lost all sense of logic, what with not having had any sleep and being scared stupid.

"Shut up," he growled menacingly before shifting me into one large hand, allowing him to rummage around in his back pocket with the other. That's when he brought out a very big and very sharp hunting knife. It glittered in a well-timed lightning flash as, with a dangerous arching flourish, he placed it with satanic care at my neck.

A litany of choice swearwords flew through my mind. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know if I could do anything. I couldn't think anymore. All my brain could process was what I was feeling, and all I felt was terror.

In fact, my whole body seemed to be going haywire. My nervous tremors were now of epileptic seizure caliber. My heart was hammering so hard against my rib cage I could have sworn it was trying to escape my doomed body altogether. My breathing could now be defined as irregular gasps, as if my brain kept forgetting it needed air, too preoccupied with the fact that soon it wouldn't be remembering anything—on account of being dead.

"Let me go," I whimpered in the most pathetic way possible. It wouldn't do much for my dignity, but it might do something in the way of saving my life. I only struggled out of habit now, having given up hope of ever being able to force my way out of his grasp. But he didn't take too kindly to my resistance, feeble as it may be, and he pressed the knife harder against my neck.

There was a pinch as the cold hard blade caused a couple beads of blood to trickle down into the collar of the oversized t-shirt I used as a nightgown. I could barely feel the pain, what with all the adrenaline pumping through my veins, but I didn't need to. I could feel the ruthless pin-point pressure and the icy chill of the metal against my skin, and it only worked to fuel my fear.

"Walk," his terse demand came from right behind my head as he began shoving me across my darkened living room. We made awkward slow progress as I stumbled forward, struggling in his grasp. I couldn't tell if I should be fighting against the man with the knife to my neck or trying to lull him into a false sense of security with my cooperation.

My eyes widened as I realized he was forcing me toward the back door. Just about every true-crime series I'd ever binged told me my odds of surviving drastically decreased if I was moved to a second location. Of course, at that point, all I was really thinking was, 'I'm dead. I'm so dead. I'm deader than dead. If I walk out that door, I'm DEAD!"

A small, somehow still rational part of me knew that that wasn't completely true. He could have been trying to ransom me or sell me into the sex trade or some other equally unpleasant option where I kept my life. But for the moment, I couldn't imagine a version of this night that didn't end with me dead.

My breath caught in my throat. Tears welled in my widening eyes. My feet tripped over absolutely nothing. It was as if my body had stopped receiving messages from my brain.

But that didn't stop Mr. Muscles behind me. He just moved the arm that was pinning my hands behind my back and grabbed me around my waist. Then, he lifted me like I weighed nothing at all, throwing me over his shoulder like a terrified sack of potatoes. We headed toward the door faster than ever.

Something snapped within me, and I began to fight. My legs kicked and thrashed. My arms flailed, searching for something, anything, that could save me.

As the door frame got within striking distance, I brought my legs up and kicked with all my might. For a second, I felt hope.

He barely grunted.

His free thick-as-a-tree-trunk arm stretched effortlessly toward the knob. He wouldn't be able to open it with my legs pinning the door shut, but I could only stay in that position for so long. Even now, they were burning against the force of him trying to pry it open. This wasn't working.

I was going to be taken away.

I was going to die.

My foot slipped.

I let out a choked sob. In mere seconds, life as I knew it would be over. I'd never see my friends or family again. I'd never even graduate high school. The thought was too much to bear, causing frightened tears to spill from my eyes. All I wanted was a few more seconds, for time to slow down and let me think, let me say goodbye.

He jerked his arm back, and I heard the door slam open against the wall.

I had reached my breaking point.

"Just stop!" I pleaded, shutting my eyes tight, my voice broken and strained, "just freeze!"

I had put all my terror into screaming that last word, and as soon as the plea left my mouth, the whole room went eerily silent. I opened my eyes to a winter wonderland.

Ice and snow were suddenly everywhere, blanketing our overstuffed furniture and covering the windows with a layer of glittering frost. Newly formed icicles hung from the ceiling like cylindrical pointy teeth. But the most surprising and baffling part was that the man holding me was frozen solid, reduced to no more than a dangerous-looking ice sculpture.

I slipped shakily from his icy grasp, my body slow to react to the fact that it was saved.

But instead of jumping for joy or saying a few words of thanks to whichever god popped into my head first—like any normal person would do—I freaked. This wasn't the first time the elements had come to my assistance. It wasn't something I could quite comprehend, nor was it something I really wanted to. Because to tell the truth, it scared me more than the intruder had.

"No," I whispered, eyes wide in horrible realization as I stared into my would-be captor's frozen black gaze. 'Not again. Not again. Oh, please no, not again,' I thought, suddenly dizzy and weak.

I felt faint, all my energy drained. My body was an empty shell now, no substance to make its parts move. My legs were having trouble just holding my weight, and the white powder beneath me crunched softly as I staggered away from one captor straight into another's arms.

It was safe to say this wasn't my lucky night.

"Calm down already. I've got you," another male voice whispered urgently, if not slightly impatiently, into my ear.

'Yeah, right,' I thought weakly. Some random super-strong thug almost killed me, and by some supernatural feat, I froze him solid only to have some other intruder capture me again, and I was supposed to, 'Calm down? You've got to be joking…'

"Get off," I muttered halfheartedly. I was too drained to stand up straight, let alone fight off another guy, even if this one was considerably smaller and younger. The pure exhaustion from the night's events had finally gotten to me, and it wasn't long before I was fighting just to keep awake.

"Oh, quit your whining. You're safe now," he grunted in a rather inconsiderate manner, but I had no time to be skeptical (or even irritated at his less-than-heroic choice of words), for at that moment, my mind slipped into the darkness.

I fainted.

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was a blue-eyed boy staring at me. Or, I should say the blue eyes of a boy staring at me, because he was too close—standing just about three inches from my face—for me to actually see much of him. I stared back for a second and blinked, gaining my senses.

From what I could tell, I was on a cot in a small, well-lit room. It reminded me of a hospital room, but there didn't seem to be any furniture beside the bed, and those silly attempts at cheery decoration were absent from the mundane grey walls. It was then I realized that, even though the boy knew I was awake, he wasn't moving, still inches from my face.

"Ever heard of personal space?" I asked, but it came out harsher than I intended. I had a bad habit of lashing out when I was scared or confused. And, if you asked me, waking up in a different place than you fainted was pretty scary and confusing.

"O-oh, of course!" he said, surprised. Apparently, he'd been too busy staring at me to realize I was alert enough to yell at him.

Go figure.

He backed off quickly but lost his balance, tripped, and fell. I felt my eyebrows rise in incredulous surprise, but he only smiled goofily back at me and turned his torso toward the door.

"She's awake!" he called in a melodic boyish voice, not bothering to get up off the ground. It was as if he hadn't even noticed my angry tone, and he just continued to grin at me from the floor. He reminded me of a pet puppy: relentlessly positive and filled with unlimited joy.

Even his features seemed imbued with this unwavering happiness. It was in the bright blue of his eyes under the shiny gold of his hair—like the sky on a sunny day. He made me feel a little calmer, safer. Like maybe things weren't so scary and confusing after all. Like maybe this would all turn out to be some silly misunderstanding.

I decided if I had to wake up to a strange boy in a hospital bed after nearly being kidnapped, I could have done a lot worse.

But then a tall boy with messy black hair and olive skin strode into the room, and my opinions changed drastically.

Everything about this boy ticked me off, from the superior way he held his all-too-finely-sculpted body to the scrutinizing glare his impossibly deep black eyes gave as they flitted to my companion. His chin was inclined at just the right angle of arrogance to let you know exactly how much he didn't care, the corners of his haughty lips pulled down into the nonchalant frown of someone too superior to deal with the boredom of those under him—which, if I had to guess, was probably everyone.

But worst of all, he was hot. And when I say hot, I mean capital H-O-T hot. Seriously, every angle in his face made him somehow both dangerous and alluring. I could see hints of his toned muscles beneath his tight shirt. Even his tousled black-as-midnight hair and the slightly crooked angle of his nose made him seem strong, tough, untouchable.

And I was infuriated by the way my heart raced as heat flooded my cheeks.

Against my will, my eyes followed the strong line of his jaw down the manly curve of his neck to where it disappeared beneath the soft dark fabric of his shirt.

But when my gaze arrived at the sliver of unblemished skin peeking out above the waistband of his jeans, I tore it up and away. Only to have it lock on the endless dark of his eyes. It was easy to see where he got his attitude of unwavering superiority. He probably had every female within a ten-block radius falling all over themselves to please him.

I was suddenly back on edge.

He took one look at the boy on the floor and rolled his eyes. "Can't you stay on your feet for more than three seconds?" I recognized his condescending voice. He was the rather inconsiderate one from last night. Or at least I thought it was last night; there was no way of telling just how long I had been out. There wasn't a single clock in this place nor, as I was just starting to notice, any sign of a window. Strange.

He shook his head and leaned coolly against the wall. "You're such a klutz, Matt."

'Alright, so blue-eyes is Matt,' I thought, using my master detective skills to gather any sort of clue as to who the hell they were and, more importantly, where the hell I was.

Mr. Arrogant from last night looked over at me with a kind of mild surprise. Or was it annoyance? At this point, I wasn't sure if he was capable of any other emotion.

"I guess this one actually has a brain," he said without much enthusiasm and, if you asked me, rather rudely.

I narrowed my eyes at the boy for a second, my Sherlock skills kicking into overdrive.

'You can hear me?' I tested my theory.

Hey, if I could turn intruders into popsicles, was it so farfetched that he could read minds?

"Point 2 for the new girl," he congratulated me. Not that I could really call it congratulations; his patronizing attitude made it really more of an insult. He made it clear he thought any old idiot could have come to the same conclusion. In fact, his tone indicated he was fairly disappointed it had taken me this long. There was no pleasing him, and I found his good looks were quickly being canceled out by his infuriating personality.

He sighed and glanced back at the boy on the floor. "Ok, Matt, you can do the honors."

"Alrighty then!" Matt said enthusiastically as he practically jumped to his feet.

Wow, they were different. Matt had a smile that never seemed to falter, an invisible aura of pure bliss. Señor Superiority walked around as if under the shadow of a permanent rain cloud. Even their appearances were opposite. Matt's bright blonde locks and sky-blue eyes contrasted completely with Mr. High-and-Mighty's dark features. If Matt was day, Captain Conceited was night.

"I'm Matt, as you may have guessed, and Mr. Happy Sunshine over there is Eric," Matt introduced, managing to find an even better superlative for our haughty companion. I smiled as Eric glared at Matt.

"And you are currently at OSN headquarters." He motioned to the room. "Now stick with me here, this is the confusing part." He paused to make sure I was listening. It was the first time I'd seen him look even the tiniest bit serious.

It didn't suit him.

He locked his bright blue eyes onto mine and held me in his uncharacteristically intense gaze for a few seconds.

"OSN…is a covert government branch dealing in myths, prophecies, and magic."

I snorted.

"You're joking, right?" I asked in disbelief.

Matt managed to sigh without losing his smile. The stare hadn't helped like he had hoped, but it wasn't enough to deter him.

"The new ones never believe," he said with a lighthearted shrug more to Eric than to me. Then he continued, trying not to lose me, "You see, all of us here have supernatural abilities. For example, Skippy here can read—"

"Can read minds, yeah, yeah, I got that much," I interrupted, again sounding a little meaner than intended. I almost cringed at the harsh tone my voice had taken. It sounded like something that would come from Eric's flawlessly frowning mouth, which was a very disturbing thought.

"Then why did you think it was a joke?" Matt asked the way a confused child might ask why he had been laughed at for bringing a teddy bear to school.

"The government is far too blind to notice magic, let alone put in the effort of forming a covert branch to deal with it," I stated cockily, then immediately regretted it. I was going to have to find a way to tone this down or I would be threatening to take Eric's place as Most Annoying Person in the Room.

"Think again, newbie," Eric said as he pushed himself from the wall. It was like he was trying to defend his title, like he wanted to be despised by all. "Although, you do get a few points for not being freaked about the whole superpower thing," he added, sounding like he was doing me some huge favor by giving me this first real compliment.

What was with this boy? I didn't think I'd actually heard one word out of his mouth that was the least bit reassuring. Didn't he realize being nearly kidnapped wasn't exactly the way I wanted to spend the weekend? The least he could do was show some kind of, I don't know, consideration? It was like he was trying to be as insensitive and jerkish as possible. Like he was trying to push everyone away.

And he was doing a damn good job. I already hated him, already felt bad for Matt because he had the misfortune of knowing him.

"So, what can you do?" I asked Matt, trying to be somewhat civil. 'Besides fall on your ass,' I added reflexively in my head, and I could have sworn I saw Eric smirk out of the corner of my eye.

I shot him a warning glare. He didn't get to laugh at my meaner side. I didn't want to be associated with anything he liked. In fact, I didn't want him in my company at all, let alone enjoying it—especially if he had to invade my thoughts to do it.

He just raised a single dark eyebrow, refusing to back down from my gaze.

"I'm telekinetic," Matt said, taking no notice of Eric and ruining the silent glaring match we had begun.

"In human speak, please," I demanded, accidentally turning my full-fledge, specifically-designed-for-Eric glare on him. I grimaced. I really needed to work on the being unnecessarily mean thing; it never helped anyone. And anything Eric seemingly got a kick out of was not something I was going to be into.

Ever.

"It means I can, you know, move things around with my mind," he said, ignoring my insult and maintaining his light tone. I didn't know how he did it. He already had to put up with Eric, and now I was being a bitch too. I'd have to apologize later.

But, of course, Eric was ready to make it worse.

"Yeah, but only if the object isn't too heavy," Eric corrected, stressing the last word, and turning his head to glare at Matt. Matt frowned back at Eric. I didn't believe Matt was capable of glares; it went against his nature.

"That's not fair!" Matt said, his cheeks starting to turn a light shade of pink. "I'd like to see you try to lift something three times your body weight."

"Well at least I can walk two steps without breaking something!" Eric retorted.

"That was just that one time!" Matt defended futilely.

"Right," Eric continued sarcastically. They were bickering like brothers might. There was no actual anger behind the comments—obviously not on Matt's side—and I could tell they had known each other a really, really long time. Maybe I was the only one being hateful here.

Nah.

"And the fifty thousand dollars OSN had to pay? What about that?"

"How was I supposed to know it was an antique?"

"Hello? Still in the room here!" I interrupted. As amusing as their squabbling was, I really wanted to know why the hell I was on a hospital cot in a government building rather than in my nice warm bed at home.

They both jumped a bit before turning towards me again.

"Sorry about that," Matt said apologetically. "Where were we? Oh, right." He looked slightly embarrassed again. "From what Eric told me, you're an elemental?" I blinked at him. That was about as surprised I got ever since I realized that I had 'magical abilities.'

***

It all happened when I was just ten years old…

"Don't forget your lunch!" my mom had said distractedly as she rushed around the room shoving papers and books into my polka dot backpack. She gestured to a little pink lunch box sitting on the counter.

"I know, Mommy," I said calmly, if not a little bit annoyed. My mom always seemed to panic on the first day of school, even though I'd been getting there fine the past five years. Plus, I was going through that phase where I thought of myself as a "big kid" (I was nearly a teenager after all) and I wanted to do everything on my own.

"You remember where the bus stop is?" she asked, opening the front door for me and ushering me out.

"Yes, Mommy," I mumbled. The stop was literally right across the street. I could see the group of kids and parents waiting there from where I was standing on the porch.

"Ok, give Mommy a kiss," she said, leaning down and pecking me on the cheek, "Have a good day at school. Learn lots of new things."

I nodded and ran over to the stop. I could see the bus coming up the street and knew I wouldn't be waiting long.

The bus pulled up a few minutes later. It was one of those stereotypical enormous yellow things, compete with the bold black words Cook County School Shuttle. Apparently, here in Cook County, we were too cool for buses.

It was a couple years past its prime, and its doors creaked loudly as they swung open. I waited in the back as the other kids climbed on before me. When it was finally my turn, I stepped on, careful to avoid the sticky spots where juice and gum had been spilled and never quite cleaned up.

I scanned the bus for a good seat.

Normally I would have gone straight to the back and sat alone, but my stop was one of the last, and all the seats back there were already filled. I started to make my way toward the middle, but I caught sight of a new girl sitting alone near the front. She had little red curls and a cluster of freckles on her pale cheeks. She was wearing a cute, checkered dress and some shiny new white shoes.

For some reason, I had the overwhelming urge to sit down next to her.

"Hi, my name is Sam," I said as I slid onto the torn brown bench seat.

"Oh," she squeaked, surprised that someone was talking to her, "My name's Molly."

"You're new here, aren't you?" I asked even though I already knew. The school was small enough that everyone knew basically everyone else.

"Yeah," she said quietly, "It's that obvious, huh?"

I grinned at her. I liked her immediately.

"I like your shoes. They new?" I asked. They had little bows on the toes and shiny silver buckles.

"Yes, thanks," she said, her green eyes scanning my face to see if I was being genuine. She seemed to make up her mind that I wasn't a threat and smiled back at me. "Do you know Down by the Banks?" she asked, referring to the hand-slapping game.

I nodded, and we played all the way to the school parking lot.

Only then did I think to ask what class she was in. A tiny frown appeared on her face as we both realized she had a different teacher, but we pinkie promised to meet up at recess so I could show her around.

The rest of the morning went like normal. I met my new teacher, and we played introductory games until it was time for recess.

But when I got to the playground, Molly was nowhere to be seen. I asked around, but most didn't seem to know who she was. The one person who did seem to know who I was talking about told me that she'd had some confrontation with the kid who sat next to her and had run out after class.

I assumed that she had gone home when I didn't see her at the lunch tables, and I was happy enough to spend the rest of the day playing with my normal group of friends.

After school, I had a few extra minutes before it was time for the bus to take me home. All my friends had already left with their parents, so I decided to spend that time roaming around the field at the back of the school.

I wasn't alone.

I saw Molly a few yards off, head bent, shuffling her feet.

It was only when I got closer that I realized she was barefoot and crying.

"Molly!" I called to her as I ran the rest of the way over.

She looked up, startled for a second, but relaxed slightly when she saw it was me. She quickly tried to wipe her eyes before I got there, but it was hopeless. They were already red and puffy.

"What happened to your pretty shoes?" I asked, but I got my answer before she even opened her mouth.

"Looking for these?" Robert, Max, and David—the school bullies—were standing in a circle holding up Molly's shoes. Except now they weren't perfectly white but dirty brown and green.

Seriously? I couldn't believe these douche canoes had honed in on Molly so soon. I couldn't believe someone so new and timid would ever do anything to deserve their wrath.

"Jerks," I muttered as I began to storm over to them. Molly caught my hand. She shook her head like she didn't want me to go.

But I wasn't having it. I was so angry. Not only were these boys being total asses, but they had also ruined a perfectly good pair of shoes.

I calmly took her hand off my arm and told her that I was going to get her shoes back whether she wanted me to or not. She smiled a little and nodded, moving off to the side.

"Give me the shoes, guys," I warned, giving them my best death glare, which if I do say so myself, was pretty terrifying, even back then. But apparently idiot boys like these ones were immune to its dark powers.

"Whatcha gonna do 'bout it, huh?" Max, a short round boy, challenged, getting in my face. Even though he wasn't the one holding the shoes, I could tell that he had been the brains behind their operation. He was just another textbook bully, picking on people he thought were lower than him so he could boost his plummeting self-esteem. He needed to learn that just because his face could scare the boogeyman, it didn't give him the right to torment others.

And I couldn't help thinking I would be the perfect person to teach him that lesson.

My hands curled into fists as I stood my ground, staring him straight in the eye. Many colorful words to describe him were now floating through my tiny head, and it was taking serious self-control not to scream every single one of them. If I hadn't been in front of Molly, I might have. She didn't have to hear that.

I took a deep breath before replying as calmly as I could.

"Well, first, I'll punch you in that rotten little face of yours!" I replied, taking a step forward and forcing him back, "Then, when you whine and run for your mommy, I'll pick the shoes off the ground and give them back to their rightful owner."

He just laughed in a smug little way that suggested he was superior to me.

As if.

But his well-trained lackeys joined in despite the clear misconception.

"Look, boys, she thinks she can take me!" He said more to me than his monkey-brained cronies. "Listen, Mommy told me I shouldn't hit girls, so why don't you just walk away. No one has to get hurt. Mmmkay?"

My eyes narrowed. He was talking to me as if I were a petulant toddler, his tone sickeningly sweet, as if to say, 'Now run along, little girl, and let the big kids have their fun.' If this waste-of-space thought he could insult me like that and get away with it, he had another thing coming.

"Sorry, but the only one that's going to get hurt here is you!" I spat, pushing him firmly in the chest, making him stumble back. You have no idea how much self-control it took to only push him instead of, say, punch him in that unfortunate-looking face of his.

For a moment, he looked surprised, like he actually thought that I'd walk away. Then anger filled his eyes.

"You're going to regret that!" he said, voice rising. He pushed me so hard I had to stagger back to keep my balance.

Now he'd done it.

"You think?" I asked, starting to stomp towards him again. But Robert and David had already dropped the shoes and were waiting at my sides. Robert pushed me first, shoving me hard in David's direction. Then David propelled me into Max.

"Yeah, I do," he answered calmly when I reached him. Then he punched me in the gut.

I heard Molly gasp in the background.

Or maybe that was just the sound I made when he forced all the wind out of my lungs. His punches weren't very strong. He wasn't athletic enough to have built up much muscle. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

I doubled over, clasping my arms around my body, pain spreading through my abdomen. I gasped and sputtered for a few seconds, but I refused to give him the pleasure of calling out for help.

My anger grew with each fortifying breath I took, resonating out from where his punch had landed, making my body hot with rage. When I had recovered, I lifted my head and gave him a defiant glare.

"You learn your lesson?" He spat at me.

I could tell that my refusal to back down was disrupting his feeling of superiority. He felt threatened by me, and he was hell-bent on making sure that he regained some form of power. He wanted to put me down in such a way that I admitted that he was the victor.

Like that was ever going to happen.

I gave him a small little smirk, hate in my eyes.

"You mean, have I learned that you're a big, fat bully!?"

I barely got to finish before he shut me up with a quick kick to the shin. Pain flooded my leg. I quickly lifted it up to my chest, wrapping my hands around it as if I could hold in the pain.

But I was too off balance.

He shoved me, and Robert and David caught my arms, locking me in place so I couldn't fight back.

Max stalked towards me, murder in his eyes as he pulled back his fist for another blow. I gritted my teeth and balled my fists, letting my anger fuel my resistance.

But before Max could land his punch, Robert and David yelped and withdrew their hands, shaking them out as they jumped around.

"What's wrong with you two?" Max demanded.

"I-I don't know. It's—she's—" they stuttered in unison.

But I wasn't listening.

This was my chance.

I focused all my white-hot anger, took one step forward, and aimed a punch for Max's stomach.

That was all it took.

The funny thing was my hand never touched him.