Raegan jogged up beside me on the dark street. “I’m not a fucking pet, Nico, or one of your Gentlemen.” “What?” “Raegan, come! Raegan, put on pants! Raegan, use different guns!” She imitated my voice. “Are you having some sort of nervous breakdown?” That was a good question, actually. Maybe I was losing it. Getting too paranoid or some shit. Sometimes I wished I’d been born stupid, or at least less intense. It was probably much easier to be a fucking moron.
