This excerpt is from Sugar Rush.
Bree saw blood soaking into the concrete, and her knees went weak. She whipped out her cellphone, punching wrong numbers with numb fingers until a man plucked it from her hand.
“I’ve already called 9-1-1,” he said in a voice she recognized for some reason. “They should be here—” The scream of sirens cut off his response.
“Thank you.” She mouthed the words since he wouldn’t hear them anyway.
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