CATHERINE
The sound of something heavy hitting the ground made me drop the rod I’d been holding for protection. My heart pounded behind my ears and bile threatened to spill.
Marcus.
He was half-slumped across my kitchen table, breathing like each one he took was a fight against invisible hands strangling him. His shirt was torn and wet with blood, though I noticed immediately, thank God, that most of it wasn’t his. Still, there was enough of it staining his arm and his side that my chest went cold.
“Jesus, Marcus.” My voice cracked as I rushed to him. “What the hell happened to you?”
He didn’t answer right away. He pressed his forearm against the table like he was trying to keep himself from sliding off with sweat dripping from his forehead.
I grabbed a dish towel, pressing it agains
