“I’ve got information about who was taking those photos and releasing them to the public.” I narrowed my eyes at her, and she threw her hands in the air. “Look, I don’t give a fuck about you. But River Cooper is a damn good player, and he’s on track to be one of the best. I don’t want you to ruin his chances by being a literal ball and chain. Plus, she freaks even me out, and I don’t want him permanently maimed by some kind of bunny-boiling psychopath.” She looked to the left and right. “Can we talk about this somewhere less fucking public, or are you so self-absorbed you don’t give a shit about River and Rigby’s careers?”

Gritting my teeth, I let her into the apartment. She walked around with a single eyebrow raised. “I knew this was a shitty neighborhood, but I thought the inside of the place might be nicer, considering the net worth of the men you’re fucking.”

Damn, I really hated this chick. “Get on with it, Andrea. Who’s the woman? And how did you get your information?”

Andrea spun around, her nose screwed up. “God, it must be delightful to be this stupid and still beguile some of the most eligible bachelors in the state. Hell, in the country. You must be one hell of a good lay.”

Fear trickled down my spine, although she hadn’t said anything more toxic than what she’d been saying in the hallway. No, there was something about the way she’d said it. Softer but somehow more monotone.

“I think you should leave. Any information you have you can give to Devan’s lawyers.”

Then she pulled out a gun.

Every part of me froze. My bones. My skin. My heart. Andrea pointed that gun at my chest, and I stumbled back toward the door.

She waved the gun. “Don’t fucking move.”

My heart started back up, but every thump was a single name. Huey. Huey. Huey. I willed him to stay asleep. Prayed to my parents to keep him quiet and safe. Maybe she’d forgotten he existed. Maybe she thought he was with the guys.

Andrea gestured with the gun. “Toward the bed, whorebag. This only works if you’re on your back, but that should be your natural position, right?”

I moved, my hands out in front of me. I tried to think about the self-defense classes my mom had made me take in high school. I’d complained, of course. I’d told her I was smart—I wasn’t going to be walking around late at night, or in shitty neighborhoods, or going on dates with psychopaths. She’d said most men were good, but some were bad, and the problem was that sometimes they were indistinguishable from each other until it was too late. So it was better to know how to protect yourself.