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And although it feels absurd, I fucking believe her.

“I’ll take that broth now,” I say shakily. Then, a beat later, I add, “And my name is Gloria.”

Judith smiles as if we’re at some rich ladies’ luncheon. “Gloria,” she says. “It’s lovely to meet you. I’m sorry it couldn’t be under better circumstances.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

Judith stands and hands me the mug. “Drink it while I get my First Aid kit.” She tilts her head toward the sofa. “I brought you a change of clothes, too. But wait until I get that cut cleaned up before you change.”

Then she’s gone again, leaving me alone with the fire, which hisses strangely instead of filling the room with the crackle of burning and collapsing wood. I take a short, hesitant sip of broth—and then immediately gulp the rest of it down, my hunger flaring to life.

Along with my own burning rage.

6

Judith dresses my leg wound as if she’s done it before, her touch quick and gentle even as the antiseptic burns. When she finishes, she tells me to lay on my belly, and she does the same with the angry red lines her husband carved into my back.

“I take it he never did this to you,” I say into the carpet.

She presses a soft, cool pad of astringent between my shoulder blades, and I suck air in through my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut against the pain.

“No,” she says.

I tilt my head to lay my cheek against the carpet. It hurts, having her clean the wounds, even if I can tell she’s being gentle, and a hot tear streaks down along the side of my nose.

“You ever guess he could do something like this?” I ask.

“Not until I saw what was in the bomb shelter.”

“That was a bomb shelter?” I try to push up, but Judith presses me down again, tsking softly.

“Yes. I knew he was doingsomethingdown there, but I didn’t think—” She stops and presses more gauze against my back. The pain flares briefly and then fades as she pulls her hand away. “I thought I would have seen it in him.”

“Well, you know, they can hide it.” I hesitate for a moment, then say, “I see it a lot, in my line of work.”

“You see a lot of murderers in your line of work?”

I can’t see her face, but I can hear the teasing in her voice. I scowl, staring at the fire. “No, shitty men. I’m an exotic dancer. And a—well, sometimes I’ll do a little more. For the right price, you know.”

“Is that how Kenneth got ahold of you?” There’s no judgment in her question. No curl of jealousy. Her fingers keep dancing softly over my wounds.

“Yeah.” I tense, waiting for some kind of retaliation. Her palm to dig into a particularly bad cut, something like that. But it never happens. She keeps cleaning my skin, keeps applying the bandages. And I keep getting lulled into a sense of safety that I really shouldn’t be feeling.

“I’m sorry.”

“About me being a whore?”

Judith’s hand pauses. “No,” she says stiffly. “That you’re in this situation at all.”

“But you’re gonna kill him, right? Avenge me?” I twist around, hoping I can get a glimpse of her face. Because I haven’t forgotten that she said that. I’m sure she doesn’t mean it literally. She can’t possibly.

Judith lifts her eyes to meet mine. God, they’re so green. There’s a girl at the Red Blossom who has eyes like that, which is funny, because Judith’s nothing like her. Judith’s nothing like anyone I’ve met.

“We are going to kill him,” she says smoothly. “You can avenge yourself.”

I keep staring at her, even though it’s awkward, twisted around like this. And she doesn’t break my gaze.

“You’re fucking serious.”