“Who was he? What did he do to you?” “Troy. An asshole I met in a bar who thought he could put his hands on me. He was wrong.” She flashed me a dark grin. “Jesus, Savvy—” “I’m fine.” “Did you go to the police? It was self-defense, right?” “The police.” She snorted. “No. I think the self-defense argument would have looked a little thin, given how many times I stabbed him.” “How—how many times did you stab him?” My voice was a whisper. “Maybe a few more times than was strictly necessary. Plus a couple more for good luck.”
