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“I should see Dr. Doyle,” I said.

“I have already scanned your vitals. You have received a shock, but you are in excellent physical condition.”

Switching tactics was all I could come up with before it exited my room.

“What’s your name?” I asked, desperation lacing my words.

The robot hesitated. “My name is Quinn. Why have you requested this information?”

“Because I need to know your name if we’re going to be friends.” I moved forward, cautiously.

“You wish to be my friend?” Quinn the killer asked as I inched my way toward him.

“We could all use another friend, couldn’t we?” I asked.

“I do not require friends. But your offer is welcome, Miss Meadows.”

“Call me Sam,” I said, forcing a smile as I reached him.

“Sam,” it said.

I relaxed and took a step toward the door. That was a mistake. Quinn lifted me easily into the air above its head, and I screamed.

“It is unsafe outside of this door for my friend, Sam,” it said as my heart flung itself against my chest.

It tossed me, and for one heart-stopping moment, I knew what was coming but could do nothing about the tensing muscles all over my body. Then I crashed across the coffee table, hitting hard against my shoulder. I slid over the side and tumbled onto the ground in a heap.

“Get away from her!”

I managed to roll over, clutching my arm in time to see Mason rush Quinn. I couldn’t even get out a shout before the robot struck him square in the chest, sending him flying back toward the door.

“Mason!” I struggled to my feet as Quinn rolled toward Mason’s bent form. “Quinn, stop. Don’t hurt him.”

Quinn swiveled his head all the way around to face me. “Mr. Bennet should not be on this floor.”

Mason straightened behind him and crept closer. I bit my tongue, wanting to yell at him to stay back, that he was being stupid, but I didn’t want to give him away.

“Quinn, you can’t use force on guests,” I said, desperate to keep his focus on me. “It’s bad for PR.”

Mason’s hands smashed down on Quinn’s head, and for a moment, nothing happened. The torso spun around, and Mason glanced down, stunned. I screamed. Quinn grabbed him by the throat.

“No! Stop!” I ran toward them without thinking and grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a hydropod. I threw it at Quinn’s face, smacking him right in the eye. “Let go!”

Quinn rolled toward me, dragging Mason behind by the neck. Mason’s hands scratched at the metal arms, his face losing color. I searched around me for something—anything—that might make Quinn let go.

I ran for the kitchen, yanked a drawer open, and pulled out a knife. “I’ll hurt myself if you don’t let him go.” I poised the tip over the tender skin at the inside of my arm and waited. My breath came heavy, a lock of hair swinging forward over my eye.

Slowly, Quinn lowered Mason to the ground. He fell back, gasping for air and rubbing his throat. Quinn slid toward me.

“Stop or I’ll do it,” I said.

Quinn halted. “Sam must not be hurt. Sam is my friend.”

“You really know how to pick ’em,” Mason wheezed.

I ignored him. “Quinn you need to move aside and let Mason and I out.”

“Sam must not leave.” Quinn’s head rotated in a full circle, trying to keep us both in his sights.