19
EMMY
That night, I dreamed of blood. Of a bloated face, of bruises, of the crunch of cartilage and flashing knives. I was almost grateful when my phone rang, pulling me out of a sweaty, restless sleep. James. Yes, it was five thirty in the morning, but it was eight thirty in DC and he’d made the effort to fit me in before his day started, a day that was bound to be busy. He was the President of the United States, after all.
“Hey.”
“You wanted to speak? What happened to your nose?”
Damn video calls. And yes, James and I knew each other well enough for him to notice the difference in my face.
“It broke.”
“Just like that? Who broke it? Not Sky again?”
“An old friend of Ana’s. Probably the less said about that, the better.”
James sucked in a breath and closed his eyes for a brief s
