Page 83 of From That Moment

I didn’t think anyone would hear me.

Because the only person who might have, was right in front of me, dying before my eyes.

And there was nothing I could do about it.

Chapter 17

Prior

I sucked in a shallow breath,trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. I didn’t think I had time to even focus on that. I turned over, wincing at the pain lancing through my system. I was on my side, and then there was another tug on my back, and someone was screaming.

Was it me? No, I didn’t think I was screaming. Who was making that noise?

Paris. Paris was hurt. I was hurt. Someone had stabbed me? No, that couldn’t be. I’d just walked in the door, and now, everything hurt. Everything ached. I was warm, too warm, and then I was cold. What the fuck?

My body shook, and I did my best to keep moving, to figure out exactly what I was supposed to do. Only I wasn’t moving. And I wasn’t thinking.

And then I heard Paris’s scream again, her shout. And I could think again. There was pain, fiery pain that burned every inch of me. I couldn’t think clearly.

I rolled to my front again, my back aching, blood pooling around me. I looked up at the shadow above me. The older woman wasn’t looking at me. No, she was looking at Paris.

Grinding my teeth through the pain, I moved to my hands and knees and slowly staggered to my feet, leaning against the wall for support. I knew I was leaving blood everywhere, and I didn’t know what she had stabbed me with or even how deep the wound had gone. All I knew was that it hurt, and if I wasn’t careful, I could bleed out here and die. Die without ever being able to fight back, not even knowing the name of the woman who had hurt me.

However, that didn’t matter right now.

I had to make sure Paris was okay.

I staggered forward and threw myself on top of the man who was looming over Paris.

I grabbed his shoulders, rolling to my back and screaming.

I didn’t think the knife, or whatever had stabbed me, was still there, thank God, but my wound was. And it hurt. Then, I didn’t feel much because I was rolling around on the floor with whoever the fuck had been attacking Paris.

Paris screamed again, kicking out, and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her get to her feet and punch the woman in the face.

I frowned, trying to figure out what was happening. I felt like I was two steps behind.

And then the man in front of me had his arms around my neck, trying to strangle me. I moved out of the way, rolled, taking him with me, and then I punched. Punched and pounded and used my fists. I didn’t know if it was enough, but I was bigger than he was. And probably stronger, even if I was in pain.

I had to focus. Had to get this right.

Paris had to be okay.

“Prior!” she yelled. I couldn’t focus. Not again.

“You think he’s going to save you?” the woman asked.

“Fuck you!” Paris yelled, and I pushed the man off me and then punched him one last time, this time hard enough that I was afraid I had broken my hand. I didn’t care. With the amount of blood all around me, I wasn’t sure I would make it past the living room to even notice a broken hand later.

That grim thought in mind, I staggered over the unconscious man under me and crawled towards Paris.

She knelt above the other woman, slapping and hitting, tears streaming down her face.

And then the woman was unconscious, as well. I reached out and tried to grab Paris’s arm to hold her back.

“Paris.”

She froze, then looked over at me, her eyes wide and her face drained of all color.