Page 92 of Riot Reunion
“Holyshit!” He hastily exits the brunette, snatching up his pants, the woman cursing fitfully as she wrestles down her dress.
“What the fuck are youdoingin here?” Robert’s face is cherry red, but I think that’s more from embarrassment than anger.
“Check your phone,” I snarl.
“You can’t just let yourself in—”
“CHECK YOUR FUCKING PHONE!”
He does it, and the bright red hue of his cheeks fades to white. “What the hell?” he whispers. “Where is she? Why did you wait until now to come and find—”
“Be advised. If you finish that sentence, I am going to knock your fucking teeth down the back of your fucking throat. You haven’t been answering your phone.”
“Uh…” He casts around, patting his pockets. “Shit. I don’t know where my keys—”
“Fuck your keys. You’re coming with me.”
35
WREN
The front door stands open—adark omen.
“ELODIE!”My shout ricochets around the foyer, rasping and raw. They aren’t in the living room. I check the dining room and the kitchen, but there’s no sign of them there, either. My blood roars through my veins, my pulse hammering in my ears as I run up the stairs. A smear of blood sweeps up the wall, marring the paintwork, still tacky and wet.
Dear god, no. Don’t let it be Elodie’s. Do not let it be hers.
“ELODIE!”
She doesn’t answer. From somewhere in the house, I hear a muffled thump, but I can’t tell where it came from. Dash’s room is empty. My stomach rolls over as I rip open the door to Pax’s room, but I already know they won’t be in there. Iknowwhere they are. Elodie would have run there because that’s where she feels safe. Fitz would have taken her there because he couldn’t resist violating my personal space. My room is up another level; by the time I’ve taken my first step up the staircase, I can hear them. A scratching sound. Grunting. Thumping. Gasping.
He'shurtingher.
A black veil descends over my vision. A strange, calm acceptance settles in my chest.
I am about to murder a man.
There is no other outcome to this scenario.
He laid hands on Elodie: a crime so grave the English language cannot describe its severity. I’m going to make him fucking pay.
“I’M COMI—”
36
ELODIE
“—NG, ELODIE!”
I scramble, clawing and scratching at Fitz’s hand, his chest, his face, trying urgently to make him get off me. He’s as immovable as a block of marble, though. He’s too fuckingstrong. Another searing jolt of pain lights me up from the inside as Fitz leans on the knife handle, forcing it deeper into my shoulder until I feel metal scraping on bone.
My scream echoes through the house, bouncing off the walls. Stars flash in my eyes, my vision tunneling, fading to black around the edges.
“Stop. Please! I can’t—I can’t—breathe.”
“Good,” Fitz spits. “I get to watch you gasp for your last breath.” This idea excites him. He lets go of the knife, instead wrapping his hands around my throat. His grip is an iron vise, closing around my windpipe, his fingers gouging into the back of my neck.
I try to pull in air, but my diaphragm tugs against nothing.
