Page 93 of Riot Reunion
Again.
Again.
Again.
Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck. I—I—no! NO! I—
Thrashing, I kick my feet against the floorboards. I tear at his hands. I writhe, trying to unseat him. Nothing works. Fitz leers, leaning over me, watching me so fixedly that I know he’s waiting for me to die beneath his hands. There’s no mercy in his bulging eyes. No inkling of remorse. Only madness.
A voice screams inside my head, wordless and frantic. Primal, the animal part of my brain begs me to do something, so I don’t lose this fight.
“ELODIE!” Wren’s voice rises up the stairs, but he sounds so distant. Crackly. I can’t tell how far away he is. All I know is that he’s too late. I’m out of time. Over me, Fitz’s outline swims in my vision, his awful smile warping and contorting. I don’t even think he heard Wren; he’s too focused on me.
Blackness washes over me in silent, calming waves. Bright, then dark again. Bright, then dark. The world fades—
I float down.
Down.
Down.
Down.
—and then theworld comes screaming back into focus, color spasming in my eyes, oxygen rushing down my throat. I am a single blistering white ball of pain, every nerve ending in my body burning with the bite of a thousand fire ants.
Fitz’s weight is off me. Gone.
My neck. Oh god, my neck hurts so bad. My windpipe feels like it has collapsed, though that can’t be true. Iambreathing. Thank fuck, I’m breathing.
My relief is short-lived.
“I’m gonna kill you, motherfucker!”
Wren has Fitz on the ground, but it’s tough to tell who has the better of who. They roll and flip, exchanging blows, Fitz laughing hysterically, trying to gouge out one of Wren’s eyes. The knife he stabbed me with is back in his hand—he must have ripped it out of my shoulder when I was momentarily unconscious—which explains why there’s so much blood on the floor now. My shirt is soaked in it.
I’m still too dizzy to move properly. I try to get to my feet, but my legs won’t hold me. I don’t have the strength. Ihaveto get that knife away from Fitz.
“You’re not re-al,” Fitz says in a sing-song voice, and then sinks his teeth into Wren’s forearm. Wren reacts by smashing his fist into Fitz’s face so hard that I hear his teeth crack.
Get up, Elodie.
Blood runs out of Fitz’s mouth, staining his teeth pink as he tries to clamp down on Wren’s arm again. They struggle, the blade flashing between them, the sharpened metal seeking flesh. Wren tries to twist his body to get a better grip on the bastard, but Fitz uses Wren’s movement to his advantage, hooking his legs over Wren’s and locking them, pushing himself away from the floor and flipping Wren over onto his back.
“Wren!” I cry out, but my voice is broken. I barely make a sound.
Get up, Elodie. Help him.
This time, when I try to stand, my left leg holds steady, propping me up while I labor to get my right one underneath me, too.
Fuck, my neck is killing me.
Fitz is about to killWren, which iswaymore important. Holding a hand to my throat, I stumble over to the two fighting men, waiting for an opportunity to make a lunge for the knife.
Wren hisses, landing a bone-jarring blow to Fitz’s jaw, but the psychopath still maintains the upper hand. He rears back, holding the serrated blade overhead, ready to bring it plunging down into Wren’s chest. Wren grabs his wrist with both hands, locking out his arms, but his downward pressure seems to be winning out over Wren’s upward pressure.
Do something. For fuck’s sake,dosomething, Elodie!
Wren’s hands shake. I rush forward, still not sure what to do. I hold my neck, tugging the cord of my choker necklace away from my skin, trying to loosen it. It feels like it’s strangling me—
