Page 24 of Faron (The Golden Team #8)

Blue

T he clinic was a mess of broken stories — kids bleeding, babies crying, old men coughing like their lungs were made of paper.

And Faron? He was my shadow.

Always one step behind, one breath away. Tension rippled off him like smoke.

It should’ve driven me nuts.

Instead, it kept me steady.

Until I heard it.

“Doctor Davis.”

I didn’t look up. “One second—”

“Doctor Davis.”

The voice again. Not pleading. Mocking. Smooth as oil. Sharp as a blade.

Rico.

I straightened.

Faron’s hand landed on my shoulder like a stone.

Rico stood in my doorway with two new thugs behind him — big, twitchy, tattooed like warning signs.

Behind them, my waiting room froze.

One baby whimpered.

“Senorita Blue,” Rico said, smiling like a wolf. “We came to talk.”

Faron’s growl vibrated through my back. “Try breathing somewhere else.”

Rico sneered. “You keep this one for protection? Or pleasure?”

I stepped forward.

“You have thirty seconds to leave.”

He laughed. “Or what?”

Faron moved.

Chest to chest. Quiet and deadly.

“You scare kids in here again,” he said, “I’ll take your fingers first. Then your teeth.”

Rico blinked. Just once. Then backed up, slow. His boys stumbled after him.

He spat on my floor. “Puta.”

Faron didn’t flinch.

When the door shut, he turned to me. Hands on my arms.

“You okay?”

I barked a laugh. “You gonna body slam every man who looks at me sideways?”

He kissed my forehead. “Yup.”

And for the first time in a long time… I felt safe.