Page 190 of I’m The Worst

He claws at my arm, choking. His movements losing coordination as his boots kick against the floor. Graves strolls over at an annoyingly relaxed pace, a cigarette tucked behind one ear.

“Look at you, K9. Getting all territorial. I’m almost hard watching it.”

Gage makes a broken, choking sound.

Graves steps in front of us. “You really should’ve opened with something less suicidal, sweetheart. Maybe a firm handshake. A nice fruit basket. Not ‘hey, K9, I know you’re a violent, unstable asshole with zero social skills, so let me piss you off and mention the girl you’re psychotically weird about.’”

“I’m not—” Gage chokes out.

“Save it.” Graves pats his cheek. “I’m on your side in the sense that I’d also love to know what the fuck is wrong with him, but right now, your trachea is about to collapse.”

My arm tightens another inch. I’m one thought away from snapping his neck.

“Okay, fun’s over,” Graves says. “As much as I’d personally enjoy watching you fillet a Commander’s son on a Tuesday morning, it does make me look bad.”

I don’t move.

Graves sighs dramatically. “Also, if you kill him, Weston’s gonna blame me for not stopping you, which is bullshit because I’m clearly being very supportive.”

Gage coughs more blood across the floor as my hold tightens again.

“Wolff,” he says, more seriously, and my eyes lift to Graves. “Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Gage wheezes under my grip. Finally, I shove him to the ground and step back, my pulse hammering. He sucks in air, rolling onto his side and clutching at his throat. I stare down at him, blood dripping from my knuckles onto the concrete.

“If you ever come at me like that again, I’ll rip your fucking spine out through your throat.”

Gage coughs, spits blood, and glares up at me with murder in his eyes. Graves steps in before he can say something else stupid and drives the toe of his boot into Gage’s ribs.

“Get your ass up, rookie. Go ice your face.”

Gage groans and pushes himself up on shaking arms. Graves shoves him toward the door with a hand between his shoulder blades.

“And here’s a free tip—if you’re gonna threaten a Scab, don’t corner one in a locker room. We get a little twitchy in tight spaces.”

Wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, Gage staggers toward the door. He’s almost through it when he stops and turns back like the dumb little bastard physically can’t keep his mouth shut.

“I know that dog came from you.” Gage’s split lip curls. “Jackal.”

My hands curl into fists.

“Jesus Christ,” Graves mutters.

“She’s going to destroy her whole fucking life over you, Wolff.”

Graves moves before I do, planting himself in front of me. “Are you fucking stupid? What the hell did I just say? Saving your ass is already making me look charitable, which I fucking hate.” He jabs a finger toward the hall. “Fuck off before I change my mind and let him finish caving your throat in.”

Gage sneers at both of us, then limps out into the hall. The door swings shut behind him.

Jackal…not Jack.

She named the fucking dog Jackal.

I bought her the dog because I needed her focused on something other than pills and parties and finding new ways to kill herself slowly. I didn’t buy her the fucking dog so she could name it after Russia.

Jackal.

The word lodges under my ribs like shrapnel.