Page 7 of Warrior

I release him and point. Away from where Saint and Reese stand around the corner, toward what I hope is another exit. Gabriel smirks and jerks his head at the other man, who follows him wordlessly down the hall.

“Come on,” I hiss to Saint and Reese. Without waiting for them, I rush up the hall and burst past the curtain?—

Just in time to witness Antonio standing over Artemis, driving the knife into his chest.

“No!” I run for the older man, stilling his hand from pushing the blade any deeper. He folds, and I bring him down to the floor. Artemis lies across from him, blood seeping from wounds in her stomach, and her face is deathly pale.

Too much going on.

He stabbed himself, but I don’t think it went too deep. It’s in the wrong position, though. Or the right one to inflict as much damage as possible.

“You’re not dying,” I tell him.

Saint and Reese skid to a halt beside me, and I wordlessly point to Artemis. I don’t need to give them orders, they both fall to their knees beside her.

Antonio is running out of time.

And Artemis…

“Fuck.” I lift Antonio into my arms. He’s stockier than Artemis, but no trouble. I leave Saint to scoop Artemis up, and Reese to follow.

He’s not dying today. Neither of them are.

We get upstairs, breaking out into the stairwell that leads to her offices and the restaurant. I shoulder my way outside, not stopping until we reach my car.

“Can you drive?” I ask Reese.

His jaw tics, but he nods firmly. He takes the keys and puts himself behind the wheel. Saint takes the front seat, cradling Artemis in his arms. He’s struggling to keep pressure on the wounds. I slide into the back with Antonio, laying him down and folding myself into the space next to his legs.

He isn’t losing blood as fast, but he seems to be struggling to breathe. He’s panting, even unconscious. He gurgles. The knife could be poking into his heart or lung with every inhale, and I can’t do anything about it right now. Taking it out would be a death sentence, bleeding out before we even reach the hospital.

Reese drives like the enemy is riding hot on our heels.

We practically drift into the Emergency Department’s ambulance bay. He heralds our arrival with his horn, and doctors rush to greet us. One stretcher for Artemis, another quickly following for Antonio. The three of us hurry after them, but we’re stopped at the inner doors by a burly security guard.

I bristle.

Saint grabs my wrist, nodding back to Reese.

Reese, who just escaped from the hospital himself.

He looks a bit bloodless, and he sways on his feet.

Damn it.

“We’re going to need another stretcher,” I warn, meeting Reese right as his legs give out.

3ARTEMIS

TEN YEARS AGO

I stand on the stage.

My hands don’t lift to block the bright lights. My skin stings from my scrubbing. I turn in a small circle, but the gazes latched on my body don’t bother me anymore either.

It should, but some part of me has repressed the emotions. In my cell, I scream and cry and beg to be released. But out here, I am nothing.

The voice intoning the bids is incomprehensible, and soon enough I am shuffled out another door. The guard at my back stands straight and tall, using a few fingers along my spine to keep me moving. We go upstairs, into one of the private rooms, and the boy waits for me.

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