Hard enough that I can feel the bone flexing.
Hard enough that I know he could move that forearm up six inches and it would be a very different conversation.
"Let go of me." My voice is steady.
How it's steady, I have no idea.
My whole body is shaking, but my voice is steady, because I am a Mercer and Mercers don't break.
Not out loud. Not where anyone can see.
"We're delivering a message," the tall one says. "Consider yourself an envelope." He leans in. Close enough that I can feelhis breath on my face. "Two hundred thousand. Or next time, it won't be a conversation."
The short one shoves me sideways.
I stumble, catch myself on the hood of the sedan, and by the time I've straightened up, they're walking away.
Casual. Unhurried.
Like they just had a chat with a coworker and not like they just assaulted a woman in a parking garage.
I stand there.
I stand there, breathing hard as I press my hand against my collarbone where the forearm was. I feel the bruise already forming under the skin, and I wait for the shaking to stop.
It doesn't stop.
My knees give out.
I slide down the side of the sedan and sit on the concrete floor of the parking garage, my back against the tire and my knees pulled to my chest and my hands shaking so hard I can barely hold my own arms.
The fluorescent light above me buzzes and flickers.
Somewhere in the garage, a car alarm goes off and then stops.
The mundane sounds of a world that doesn't know what just happened two minutes ago.
I should call 911.
That's the logical thing—I'm a nurse, I was just assaulted, there are protocols.
Call 911. File a report. Follow the chain of command.
I don't call 911.
Instead, I call Coin.
He answers on the first ring. "Leah?"
"I'm—I'm at the hospital. In the parking garage. Third level." My voice cracks. After everything… after holding it together through Angelica, through the attack, through sitting on thisfloor, the sound of his voice is what breaks me. "Coin, they—two men. They grabbed me. They know my name, they know about us, they said?—"
"Are you hurt?"
"I'm okay. Bruised, but I'm okay."
"Don't move. I'm coming." A pause. The sound of keys. A door slamming. An engine starting. "Leah. Stay on the phone with me."
"Okay."
