Stephanie Munguia

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Police are saying something about the drugs and collecting evidence. I’m a second from shouting how she needs a fucking doctor, and then in sprints my best friend. Farrow is running straight for Luna, his trauma bag already half-unzipped, and for a brief second, his eyes flash down to me. I’m handcuffed. On the ground. His focused gaze is suddenly stabbed with pain.
Unlucky Like Us (Like Us, #12)
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