Except I was holding a gun on her.

“I don’t want to,” I admitted, and cocked the gun. “So please, Lou, please, get out of my way.”

She stopped moving, her hands in the air, and bit her lip, a genuine flare of fear in her eyes. I thought about what she must have been like before this life, before she’d started being the Lady. I thought of the picture of Eve Dawes, yanked off the street, scared and alone in a justice system that told her she was trash, that punished her but none of the men who had used her. I wondered if Lou had a similar picture anywhere in her file. That kind heart of hers couldn’t have been entirely faked. It must have made her easy pickings for the world, once upon a time.

“Did you ever care about me?” I asked, knowing it was stupid. I was wasting time.

She took one very small step closer, still smiling that little smile. She was too close now—I could smell her. Some of her lemony brightness had faded, and underneath it was a musky, animal smell, a stink. “A little,” she admitted. “I love all my marks, a little.”

I reared back, my cheeks burning as if she’d slapped me.

Lou took the opening, throwing herself on me, barreling me backward. I bounced against the bed and twisted off it, Lou’s knee connecting with my stomach and spiking the air out of my lungs. Stunned, I could barely get my arms up to push her away as she clawed at my hair, climbing up me to get to the gun I was still clutching. “You’re not going anywhere,” she huffed into my neck, her breath tickling my ear, and finally I kicked at her, managing to knock her off for a moment, and then she was back, scratching at me, reaching for the gun.