Page 36 of Craving Francesca

“What are you doing here?” Frankie asked dully, letting the door swing shut behind her.

I straightened. She looked like hell. Her skin was so pale she was nearly gray, her eyes hollow.

“You all right?” I asked, pushing off the wall.

“What are you doing here?” she repeated.

“Saw you from across the street,” I replied, looking her over. The fearless woman who’d gone inside had come out as something else. Fragile. “Thought you were gonna take that guy out.”

“He was an idiot,” she said quietly, glancing at the restaurant. “Are you the one who cleared them out?”

“Me and the boys,” I confirmed.

Frankie’s eyes widened in horror.

“Didn’t tell them you were here,” I reassured her. “They were more than happy to clear them out on principle.”

She nodded.

We stood there for a moment, but she was somewhere else in her head.

“You drove here?” I asked. “Where’d you park?”

“Uh—” She looked around in confusion. “In the back.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you,” I said, gesturing toward the parking lot.

She walked silently beside me as we rounded the building. There were only a few cars in the lot, and her Tahoe was easy to spot. I was glad that I’d told the boys to meet me at the restaurant. If any of them had gone around the back of the clinic, they would’ve instantly noticed her rig.

When we got to the Tahoe, I waited for her to pull her keys out, but she just stood there, like she wasn’t sure what she should be doing.

“Frankie?” I called softly. “What’s goin’ on?”

“What?” she asked, her gaze sharpening. “Nothing.”

“You gonna unlock the doors?”

“Oh, right,” she muttered.

She still hadn’t reached for her keys.

“Come on,” I said finally, setting my hand between her shoulder blades as I led her away.

“Where are we going?” she asked. It didn’t sound like she cared.

“I’ll take you home on my bike.”

“All right,” she murmured.

My stomach clenched as she allowed me to lead her across the street without a single word about leaving her Tahoe parked there or how she would pick it up later. When we got to my bike, she halfheartedly helped me put my helmet on her head. She wasn’t fully out of it, but it was enough that alarm bells were ringing loudly in my ears.

Something was seriously fucked, but I was too concerned that I’d make it worse if I asked what the hell was going on.

Frankie’s arms wrapped around me snugly as I pulled out onto the road. We were ten minutes from her place, and she didn’t let go or shift at all the entire ride there. She sat still as a statue, her fingers curled into fists, gripping the edges of my cut.

The neighborhood was quiet as I pulled onto her street. Cian’s bike and Myla’s car weren’t outside their place, and Frankie’s driveway was empty, too. Lou must’ve been at work. Made sense.

I parked close to the front door and turned off the bike.

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