Free Sparked (The Metal Bones Series Book 1) by Sheena Snow

“I’ve had enough. I’m calling the police.”
    “Wait.” I felt my lips move. W hat if the police are on the R.I.A.’s side? “Wh-What if he’s right?” I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. “What if he’s telling the truth? There were times I could have sworn, and then . . . there was Green Eyes.”
    My head snapped up in realization. It explained him, his warning, his eyes—his stalking.
    Robotatouille scowled. “Who’s—?” And then he threw his head back and laughed, the deep crackle bounced off my broken walls.
    Dad glared, not finding it funny at all. “We’ll wait until Vienna’s mom comes home.”
    I pursed my lips.
    Great.
    Robotatouille disposed of the dead robot. He didn’t want it to attract attention, in case the neighbors poked their heads out. So he hoisted him out the window. Only the trees stood witness now.
    I surveyed the mess in my room. My bookcase was knocked over, my books scattered on the floor. Some pages had been ripped out, others lay open, tossing in the wind. The fish tank, well, I wasn’t able to look at that. The covers on my bed lay twisted with muddy footprints wrecking the sheets. Picture frames and perfume bottles lay broken on the ground, adding to the glass pieces. My closet door was broken with a huge hole where Robotatouille had thrown my captor.
    I tried to put my books back on the shelves in a somewhat orderly fashion. I stuffed the books in, hoping they would fit so I could move on to the next broken memory. Dad picked up a shattered picture from my dresser. The picture of the three of us at my high school graduation—marred by water spots. My parents’ eyes were glowing. One of the rare times we felt like a functional family. I brushed glass pieces out of the bottom of the frame, and Dad placed it back on my dresser.
    Then I heard two, maybe three voices from outside my window.
    “Sounds like Robotatouille,” Dad said.
    I looked outside but didn’t see anyone. Then I heard something about dismembering the parts and about a car. I bit my lip, remembering why they were now able to dismember him.
    Dad swept up the remnants of the glass and debris, making my room look somewhat normal. We kicked out the rest of the glass that hung onto the sides of the window, leaving an empty hole in the wall.
    “Maybe it would be safer”—Dad looked at me—“if you went with them. I can’t . . . protect you from this.”
    “Dad.” I touched his shoulder.
    “I couldn’t stand to lose you, knowing there was something I could have done.” Dad looked out the window. “I think you’re right. I think they might be your only chance.”
    I felt my breath catch in my throat. This seemed so impossible. This seemed so out of a dream.
    I can’t believe this is my life.
    Dad grabbed my shoulders. “I’ll fix this. I will. And when I do, you’ll come home. Think of this as a temporary solution.”
    I nodded, knowing neither of us would say the things lingering in the back of our minds.
    This might never end.
    Dad pulled me into a hug. He smelled of Old Spice aftershave.
    “You should pack some things before you leave.”
    “I know,” I said. His gray eyes lost their twinkle. “It’ll be okay. I’ll come back.”
    Dad smiled. “Of course you will.”
    I smiled as wide as I could. I think we both wanted to believe it.
    When I was done packing, I scanned my room one last time. My eyes slid over my high school graduation picture. I picked it up off my desk and ran my hands over our smiling faces.
    Our lives had been so isolated before. Maybe if I came back things would be different, better. Maybe Mom would . . .
    I couldn’t finish the thought. Hope. Hope was a dangerous word. One I had said too many times in my mind.
    I set the picture down and carried my bag outside.
    The three of us sat in silence on the couch. Not moving or looking at each other. If we had a clock in the kitchen, you would have heard each tick.
    I was actually going to do this,