Page 121 of Red Fury
We trade blows in the narrow space, our bodies slamming into seats and walls. I’m stronger than he is, but I’m handicapped by my need to protect the humans.
Kozlov, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to give a damn about collateral damage.
A young man tries to rush past us toward the cockpit, and Kozlov hits him. The man’s head snaps back, and he crumples to the floor, unconscious.
“Bastard!” I scream, launching myself at Kozlov with renewed fervor, trying to coax him away from the fallen male.
“How sweet. Trying to protect the food,” he snarls back, catching my wrist and twisting it until I cry out. “Just like you, my pet.”
I drive my knee up toward his groin, but he moves at the last second, taking the blow on his thigh instead. His free hand wraps around my throat, lifting me off my feet. My vision starts to go spotty.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” he whispers, his face inches from mine. “Just let me feed, little dragon. I promise it will be quick.”
Like hell.
I grab his wrist with both hands and use it as leverage to kick both my feet into his chest. The impact sends him staggering backward, and his grip on my throat loosens enough for me to break free.
I land in a crouch, sucking in great lungfuls of air. My throat feels bruised, and I can taste blood in my mouth, but I’m not done yet.
Kozlov starts toward me again, but this time I’m ready. I feint left, then pivot right, my fist connecting with his kidney. He grunts in pain and staggers, giving me the opening I need to grab him by the back of his shirt and slam his head into the bulkhead.
The impact leaves a dent.
Kozlov doesn’t fall down unconscious like I hoped he would. He shakes his head; it looks like his vision is clearing. I’m sure a few more hard punches will fell him. From the way he is breathing, I can see he is tiring.
Good!
But instead of coming at me, he walks around the bulkhead, grabbing the flight attendant, whose eyes are wide. She’s crying.
“Please! Please don’t hurt me. I have a baby at home. Please.”
“If you do exactly as I say, you won’t get hurt,” Kozlov says, eyes on me.
I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or to her.
“Let the female go,” I tell him.
His hand tightens for a moment on the human’s neck, and her eyes get bigger, bugging out of her skull. She starts to make these choking noises.
“No!” I shout.
He eases his hold. The flight attendant coughs between deep breaths.
“What is your name?” Kozlov asks her.
“Amy,” she pushes out.
“Listen carefully, Amy. Put your hand into my right pocket and take out the syringe.” He turns his attention back to me. “If you try anything,Claire Douglas, I will snap Amy’s neck like a twig. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I say between clenched teeth.
Amy whimpers. She’s still crying, trying frantically to find the syringe in Kozlov’s pocket.
“Hurry up!” he yells.
The passengers at the back are still screaming and crying.
She pulls out the syringe, holding it up.
