I rubbed at a callus on my hand, inspecting it like it hadn’t been there for the last thirty or so years. “See, that’s the problem, Lance. You’re playing a part in being a bad guy.” I looked up again, meeting his gaze. “But I’m not acting.” I moved a hand to my shirt as if I was simply rubbing an itch. “I am the fucking villain.” In one swift motion, the pistol was in my hand, and I was taking aim at Lance.
