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Susan watched Kim climb back into the ambulance with a wince, handing her a Timmies. She eyed her friend as she sat down gingerly, pulling off her mittens and warming her hands on the cup of coffee.

“What’s that?” Susan asked, looking at Kim’s exposed wrists.

“Hm?” Kim said, glancing down at her hands. “Oh, it’s nothing…” she nervously pulled her coat sleeves down.

Susan put down her coffee and grabbed Kim’s arm, pushing the sleeve back up her arm.

“Oh my God, Kim!” Susan exclaimed. “What the fuck? What the fuck?” Kim’s wrists were almost black, her arms covered in brown bruises that looked like… “Are those fingerprints?”

Kim went beet red, shoving Susan away and yanking her sleeve back down. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled.

“ That is not nothing!” Susan said, horror in her voice. “Kim… you look like you’ve taken a beating…”

“Oh my God Susan, it’s nothing, okay?!” she snapped. “Cary just likes it a little rough.”

“A little rough? Kim, that’s not rough. That’s…”

Their radio crackled, interrupting the conversation. “Werner? Orson?” came Sherry’s voice over the CB.

Kim picked up their radio, glaring at Susan. “Yeah,” she said.

“You guys at the Tim’s on Charles? Over.”

“Yes, over.”

“The roads are pretty gnarly, ladies. You might want to take Bristol back to the station, Yonge’s a bit of a mess, few cars are in the ditch. Over.”

“Should we be heading to Yonge? Over.”

“Nah, cops got it covered. No injuries. Over.”

“Okay, thanks Sherry. Over.”

Susan turned over the ignition, eyeing Kim warily. She’d been absurdly jealous of Kim all year. Cary had shown up at the station, charmed the socks off her, gotten her to give up Kim’s address, and the next thing you know Kim was taking the movie star home to meet her mom.

But as Kim absently rubbed her wrists and shifted her legs like she was in pain elsewhere, too, Susan wondered for the first time where the hell Cary had come from.

And what he was capable of.