She snorts. “When I kill the fucker who hurt you, you can thank me.”
I shiver as images of the crime scene from last night flash in my mind. “That’s already been handled.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head even though she can’t see me, fighting to swallow the ball of anxiety forming in my throat. “We’ll talk more when you get here.”
She sighs, but doesn’t argue, sensing my desperation. “Okay,” she says. “Be there in thirty.”
I sit wild-eyed and shivering on the kitchen floor, clutching a steak knife to my chest.
I’ve had panic attacks in the past, but none as severe as the one Saffron finds me in when she walks through the door. True to her word, she arrived in under thirty minutes—but it was more than enough time for the shock to take hold of my system.
As soon as I hung up, the shaking began. It was followed closely by a loud ringing in my ears, which made the room spin so badly I had to curl into a ball on the floor. My windpipe closed, and my vision tunnelled. Soon, I was left in the dark with nothing but my racing thoughts.
“Oh,babe.” Her honeycomb eyes widen in horror. “Whathappened?”
She races over, not giving me time to answer before she crouches to the floor and wraps her arms around me in a motherly embrace. It calms me and allows me to take deep, even breaths, and with each one, I’m further grounded by her hug.
After several long minutes, she pulls back, looking deep into my eyes. Her hands slide down to mine, and she gently works the knife from my grip.
“It’s okay, Grace. You can let go. I’m here—you’re safe.”
Am I, though?
My gaze swings wildly around the room, certain I’ll find Red 7 stepping out of the shadows to finish me off. To fulfill his promise.
I’m brought out of my dark thoughts when Saffron curls her delicate hands around my face, prodding gently with the tips of her fingers. “Does that hurt?”
I wince slightly as she brushes the fresh cut at the corner of my lip. “A little.”
She hums, her brows creasing in concern. “I don’t think anything is broken. Just swelling and a couple of nasty cuts.” Her gaze lowers to the arm clutching my ribs. “How’s your breathing?”
“Hurts,” I say between gritted teeth. “I definitely cracked a rib or two. No need to poke me there.”
Saffron frowns, sliding her hands down to my shoulders. “You should let me take you to the hospital.”
“And pay a grand so someone can give me a pill and tell me to ‘take it easy for a couple of weeks’?”
Saffron is unable to hide her grimace. “Still. It would be good to get checked out. You could be bleeding internally or something.”
I snort. “You’ve been watching too muchVital Anatomy, Saf. I’m fine—just a little banged up.”
“Yeah, well, my friend knew this guy—Brock James—he came in for an infected toe anddiedfrom internal bleeding. It could happen to anyone.”
I level her with a deadpan stare. “Brock James is the actor who died in the last episode, isn’t he?”
She waves me off. “That hardly matters. The point is, it would make me feel a lot better if you got looked at. I’m really worried about you, Grace.”
“Fear mongering straight into a guilt trip? Bold choice.” I reach out to give her hand a squeeze. “I appreciate you looking out for me and caring, but I’m fine. I promise.”
“You don’t look fine,” she mutters.
“I just need the weekend to rest and some greasy pizza, and I’ll be good as new.”
Saffron hums, her brow pinching as she looks off to the side, deep in thought. I’ve seen the expression countless times before, and I know she’s currently thinking of the worst-case scenario—losing me.
Saffron and I have been best friends since the day I stumbled into the Black Orchid Lounge at seventeen, broke, depressed, and desperate for a fresh start.
