Girls with Sharp Sticks (Girls with Sharp Sticks, #1)(90)

He puts Brynn in a headlock, punching Marcella hard enough to knock her squarely to the floor. He slams Brynn’s head into the nightstand, and she falls unconscious.

But I’ll fight until we’re free. Or until he kills me.

I run at him, and he knocks me aside easily. I crash into the nightstand, tripping over Brynn’s body.

Guardian Bose stands taller, looking down as we crawl across the floor, trying to get back to each other. He sniffs a laugh, spitting out some blood. He turns to Sydney. She slides down on the bed, holding up her hands defensively.

The Guardian knocks her hands aside and climbs on the bed to straddle her, his thighs on the outsides of hers. As she tries to push him off, he leans in to put his hands around her neck, pressing her back into the pillow.

“Leave her alone!” I scream, ready to fight for her. Die for her, if I have to. I won’t let the Guardian kill her. Behind me, Marcella stirs Brynn awake while Annalise crawls toward the bed, not giving up either. We’ll fight for our girl. We’ll fight for our lives.

Sydney gags, swatting the Guardian’s shoulders, trying to push him off. But he’s too big. He’s too strong. Sydney swings out her arm, slapping her hand along the nightstand until her fist closes around something shiny.

A pair of scissors.

And then suddenly, violently, Sydney jams the pointy end of the large metal scissors into the side of Guardian Bose’s neck. A small arc of blood squirts around the shears, landing just shy of my shoes.

Brynn screams from the floor, covering her mouth. Marcella turns her eyes away from the horror. I stand motionless with shock, staring down at the growing puddle of blood.

The Guardian stumbles off the bed, falling to one knee in the center of the room with a heavy thud. “You’re . . . dead,” he chokes out, blood spurting between his lips. “All of you.”

I shift a panicked gaze to Sydney, trying to understand what’s happening amid the chaos. What we’ve done. Sydney grips the headboard of my bed, her arms shaking. Annalise sits with her back against the wall, blood freely pouring from her face and staining her shirt red.

I back up toward Marcella and Brynn, each of us grabbing onto each other. The Guardian is a wounded animal, more dangerous than ever. Rabid. He grits his teeth and reaches clumsily to find the handle of the scissors.

Before I can think better of it, I hold up my hand. “Wait,” I say breathlessly.

The Guardian yanks out the scissors.

He must instantly realize what he’s done. His pale eyes go wide as a spray of blood shoots out from the side of his neck in a sudden burst. The Guardian slaps his hand over his wound, but it’s too late. The fluid pulses from between his fingers, pours out of his mouth. He chokes on it and falls heavily to his other knee, shaking the floor.

He falls forward onto his chest. Before I can move out of the way, the Guardian grabs me by the pant leg, knotting his bloody fingers in the fabric. He pulls me to the floor. I cry out as he tugs me toward him, still stronger. Still going to kill me.

Marcella quickly comes over and pries the Guardian’s fingers open, dragging me out of his reach. She wraps her arms around me protectively. Brynn grabs onto us as we watch, all of us gasping. Sobbing. The sound of it echoes around the room. Light scatters frantically on the walls from the broken lamp.

The Guardian looks at us from the floor, gurgling and spitting. His skin has gone waxy as blood pools around his head, spreading out in my direction. Chasing me. I move my foot out of the way.

“Girls,” the Guardian whispers as one last curse. He chokes and blood sputters from between his lips. He takes a final breath—a rattle in his chest. And then his body goes suddenly limp and he dies.

I cover my mouth and immediately look at Sydney. The true depth of what has just happened is still hidden behind adrenaline, fear so deep it might never go away. Sydney is on the bed, marks visible on her neck. Her shirt torn at the collar.

There was no other choice. He would have killed us.

I get to my feet and race over to Sydney, gathering her into a hug as she sobs heavily into my shoulder. Her voice is strangled when she whispers suddenly, desperately, “I love you, Mena.”

And I cry as I tell her that I love her too.





28


None of the other girls come to check on us. In fact, the entire floor is silent. I wonder if they’re scared. Or if they’re obedient. Or if they’re simply asleep. If so, we can’t chance waking them now. Not with the professors still here to stop us.

I take a blanket from my bed and lay it over the Guardian’s body, unable to handle the guilt of seeing him dead on my floor.

Marcella holds a sweater to the cut on the back of Brynn’s head, unsteady herself as she helps Brynn to her feet. Annalise watches us from the wall—her breathing shallow. And when she brushes her hair from her face, I see the extent of the damage. Shards of glass have punctured her right eye, torn the skin open on her cheek. Annalise’s good eye flutters shut and a tear leaks out and mixes with her blood. It’s then that I notice the deep gash in her neck, pumping out a steady stream of blood.

She’s going to bleed to death. Just like the Guardian.

I quickly grab a pillow, pulling off the flowered pillowcase, and rush to Annalise.

“Hey,” I whisper, gently pressing the fabric against her wound. It’s instantly soaked through with blood. I try not to show my panic. “We have to get you to the doctor,” I tell her. “I have no way to stop the bleeding.”