Page 114 of Riot House

Fitz will see her coming.

He does.

“CARINA, NO!”

He’ll have time to turn.

He does.

He’ll be waiting for her when she collides with him.

He is.

The knife will—

The knife—

I can do nothing but scream as Fitz spins the blade over and thrusts it upward, right into Carina’s stomach.

51

WREN

Carina,Carina,

Sweet little Carrie.

Mother hen of the fourth floor.

Thisis precisely why Harcourt designated her protector over all new female students. Because she’s selfless, and she’s brave, and she’s willing to sacrifice herself to ensure the safety of others. I see it now.

The blade finds its mark, disappearing up to the guard, and a wet, rattling gasp flies out of Carina’s mouth. A deranged laugh slips out of Fitz as he cradles Carina’s head in his hands, catching her as she slides off the blade. He seems morbidly fascinated by her expression, as her eyelids flutter with surprise. I’m still moving toward them, covering ground. I get there in time to stop him just before he drives the knife into her stomach for a second time. Elodie’s right there, too. She grabs Carina by the arms, dragging her out of the way as I bulldoze Fitz to the ground.

“GET OFF ME!” he roars.

He’s older than me, not to mention bigger, but I’m stronger. A bright slash of pain sears up my arm. Blood spills over my skin, crimson and gushing, but I don’t let go. I wrap my arm around his throat, my feet kicking in the dirt, fighting for purchase as I try to get behind the bastard. If I can only get him in a proper chokehold, I’ll be able to cut off his air supply. He’s fighting like the very devil himself, though, and he won’t drop the fucking knife.

“Carina! Oh my god, Carina!” Elodie lifts her, yelling to Mercy. “Untie her hands! For fuck’s sake, don’t just stand there!”

“Accept—it—Wren!” Fitz snarls. “The job’s—half—done!”

My hand is so slick with my own blood that I lose my grip on his wrist. Fitz seizes the opportunity and slashes back, over his head. The razor-sharp steel catches me on the crook of the neck, another lash of agony burning bright and hot, but still I don’t let go. Fitz whimpers, flailing, stabbing backwards again and again. I scramble, twisting to avoid the point of the weapon.

“LetGO!It’s not supposed—to go like—this!”

I don’t give a fuck how it was supposed to go. I finally manage to get myself behind him. I tighten my hold around his throat, using my other arm as leverage to apply pressure. “Stab me all you like, Wes. I’m not letting go until you’re down.”

“You can’t—let them—take me,” he growls.

Another cut to my forearm. One to my thigh. Another to my side.

Fitz’s movements begin to slow. The knife clatters to the floor. His fingers lock around my arm, trying to prize it loose, but there’s no way in hell he’ll succeed. I won’t let him hurt anyone else. I’ll bleed out here in the dirt, holding the fucker down until my very last breath, before I allow him to hurt one more person because of me.

“She’s not breathing!She’s not breathing!” Mercy’s piercing cry fills my ears. The next thing I know, Elodie’s standing over us and the knife is in her hands.

“Evil…sick…twisted…” she pants.

I expect that she’ll gut him from stem to sternum, but she doesn’t. She spins the weapon over, holding it by the guard, and brings the heavy metal handle crashing down on Fitz’s head with a sickeningcrack.