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CHAPTER 408

When Ginger Paulson’s horoscope hinted she’d take an unexpected trip, she hadn’t anticipated tripping down a flight of stairs.

The wool scarf muffled her shriek as she became airborne. Everything happened in slow motion, yet lightning fast. She twisted her body, colliding with the ground in a bone-jarring thump. Her left shin smacked into the cement step. Heat bloomed as that section of her skin ruptured. Her right leg collapsed; her knee went one direction, her ankle the other. Burning pain shot through her as the cartilage in her right shoulder popped. Screaming in agony wasn’t an option—the impact had knocked every bit of air from her lungs.

Can’t breathe, can’t breathe, oh God, I’m dying.

Dots swam in front of her eyes. First black, then white, then gray, then nothing.

No sight. No sound. No feeling.

Was she dead?

Immediately her pain receptors came back online, kicked into overdrive and she gasped in lungfuls of air.

Oh shit. Oh holy mother of God every inch of her body hurt.

Tim
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