Page 143 of I’m The Worst

“So she and Wolff fucked?”

Sienna shrugs and leans forward, offering me the vape. “Who knows. Devin didn’t say much. Just that he was hot as hell and really intense.”

Intense.

I almost laugh.

That’s one way to describe him.

I take the vape from her and inhale deeply, the sweet vanilla smoke filling my lungs while the tightness in my chest eases just slightly.

“You know Devin,” Sienna says casually while shaking pills into her palm. “She fucks everybody. Hooking up with her is basically a Sovereign rite of passage.”

I snort.

Devin Harrington.

Commander Harrington’s daughter.

Blonde. Gorgeous. She’s one of the Sirens—a group of Servants trained to entertain Sovereign members and their guests. Singing, dancing, aerial work, private performances at Blackout and other underground Sovereign clubs across Chicago.

Before Russia, I used to envy the Sirens. Now the thought of any of it makes my skin crawl.

“Maybe you should call her. Reconnect or something. She’s been worried about you.”

Doubtful.

Devin worries about Devin.

“Yeah. Maybe.” I push off the mattress and walk toward the windows overlooking the woods behind the house, folding my arms across my chest. The trees sway in the afternoon breeze.

“I’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“Speaking of dealing with shit…”

I glance back over my shoulder. Sienna sits up straighter, already grinning because she knows I’m going to hate whatever comes next.

“A bunch of us are planning the after-party for the next group of Sovereign initiates in a few weeks. We need more stage performers.”

The pit in my stomach deepens immediately.

“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I don’t think I’m really in the mood to be on a stage right now.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun. Those boys have been locked away training for months. You know how feral rookies get when they finally get turned loose on a house full of Servants. They’ll fuck like animals.”

My skin crawls at the thought.

“Please just think about it. You’d be good for morale. I need another hot body up there.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I lie.

My thumb drags over the gold ring still sitting on my finger.

I changed hands three days ago. Which is ridiculous. It’s a fake ring from a fake marriage on a ship in the middle of a nightmare. But every time I try to take it off, something tightens painfully in my chest.

So now it sits on my other hand instead.

Like somehow that makes it less pathetic.