Page 148 of I’m The Worst

I glare at the tiled wall instead of answering. I’m too fucking irritated to deal with him today.

A couple of rookie Sovereign entering the locker room immediately turn around and leave again when they see him.

Graves watches them go and laughs under his breath. “Pussyasses.”

I’m developing another headache. His grin widens, knowing he’s getting under my skin. “You own a suit?”

“No.”

“Damn. General Maddox too important for the Initiate parties now?”

“I’m not going.”

“Yes, you are.” He rinses soap from his beard. “Weston already confirmed attendance for all ranking officers. Means your ugly ass is required.”

“I’ll skip it.”

“Mm.” Graves shrugs. “Tell Commander Weston that yourself when he asks why his newest General disappeared instead of bonding with the Sovereign’s next batch of psychopaths.”

I shut off the water and step out onto the cold concrete, grabbing a towel while steam rolls off my skin. The headache behind my eyes pounds harder the second I start drying off.

Weeks of this shit.

Shit sleep.

Shit focus.

Shit temper.

Every day feels exactly the same now—training until my injuries reopen, missions, paperwork, repeat. Keep my hands busy long enough and maybe my head shuts the fuck up for five minutes.

Hasn’t worked yet.

Graves leans against the tiled wall, watching me with that lazy, half-amused expression he gets right before he deliberately pisses me off. The loud bastard gets a hard-on from getting under people’s skin.

“You’ve been a miserable fuck since Russia. You’re making me look bad considering I’m the one who gave your name to Weston.”

I pull my hoodie over my head. “I’m fine.”

“Sure.” Graves steps out of the shower, water dripping down tattooed shoulders that are thick enough to break concrete. “Nothing says mentally stable like beating three operatives half to death before lunch.”

“They kept getting up.”

“That’s usually how sparring works.”

I ignore him and shove my damp towel into the laundry bin. Graves watches me for a second before his expression becomes more serious.

“I will kill you, Wolff.” He points at the General insignia tattooed near his collarbone. “I worked my fucking ass off for this rank. They don’t hand General titles to gutter-born Scabs like us. I won’t have my name dragged through the mud. This shit you got going on lately? Not subtle. Get your head out of your cunt before I put a bullet in it.”

My temper spikes, my fists clenching at my sides. His eyes narrow slightly, then he sighs and tosses a towel over his shoulder.

“Just come tonight. Smile at the rich little future killers. Fuck some Sluts. Pretend you’re not one bad day away from skull-fucking someone in the hallway.”

“I don’t smile.”

“No shit. Buy a suit anyway.”

I sling the duffel over my shoulder and head for the exit.