Stephanie Munguia

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Once Dr. Tack has left, Farrow sees the needle marks along the crease of my elbow and forearm. The bandage only hides the main puncture. Pure rage flashes across his face, and he catches my elbow for a better look, but I jerk out of his grip. “You’ve already got one patient. I’m fine.”
Unlucky Like Us (Like Us, #12)
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