Page 201 of I’m The Worst

Priest lowers himself into the empty chair beside Raze with the kind of slow control that says he’s injured and would rather cut off his own hand than let anyone comment on it.

A server appears at his shoulder to offer champagne. Priest stares at the tray until the poor bastard visibly rethinks every choice that led him here, then waves him off.

Graves leans back and looks around the table. “This might be my favorite collection of unstable men in one place. We should do this more often.”

“Fuck no,” Priest says.

Raze pours himself whiskey. “Agreed.”

Arsen reaches for the breadbasket. “I’d rather train fresh recruits with a concussion.”

Priest pinches the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “Can this ceremony start already? I have Commanders to fire.”

“Only fire?” Raze asks. “Look at you getting soft.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll make you my next public execution.”

I tune them out long enough to scan the room again, eyes catching on the stage, the black-and-gold banners, Sovereigns filtering toward tables. This whole night is meant to celebrate the South surviving its own collapse. Priest’s old man, the former High Chancellor, went off the rails and forced his own section into chaos. Then he ate a bullet on his way out.

My gaze sweeps the crowd one more time before I finally give up and reach for the bottle of whiskey. The glass is almost to my lips when a side profile across the room stops me.

AJ.

Her hair is gone—hacked off to her jaw and dyed a pale, icy blonde that doesn’t match her skin; the color makes her look almost bloodless under the lights. The black silk gown makes it worse. Its high neck covers too much skin, too sleek and conservative to be something she would’ve chosen for herself. Large diamond earrings brush her neck when she turns toward David, catching the light every time she moves.

I don’t recognize her at first.

She looks half dead.

My hand tightens around the whiskey bottle. She’s thinner than she was the last time I saw her, the silk hanging off her in a way that makes something ugly twist low in my gut. Even the makeup can’t hide how exhausted she looks.

You broke her.

David moves into her space, blocking my view with his back. He puts a hand on her waist and leans down to murmur something into her ear.

I want to rip his fucking arm off.

AJ pushes back from the table and starts walking toward the exit.

Fuck.

I’m out of my chair before I can think better of it, cutting through the crowd eagerly enough that people start moving out of my way. She disappears through the ballroom doors, and I hit them seconds later, shoving one open just in time to catch the sharp click of her heels disappearing around the corner.

Shit. What the fuck am I even doing?

I don’t have an excuse. I don’t have a plan. I’ve spent the last few weeks telling myself I don’t do regret, don’t do guilt— Fucking bullshit.

I haven’t been able to stop seeing her face since that night. The way she looked at me like I’d reached into her chest and tore out her heart with my bare hands. I hated every fucking second of it.

Hated the look on her face. Hated that it followed me across state lines, into hotel rooms, onto planes, into every mission briefing and every half hour of sleep I managed to scrape together. Hated that, no matter how far I got from Chicago, I still couldn’t get the sound of her voice out of my head. Couldn’t stop replaying the exact moment I knew I’d gone too far and did it anyway.

That’s the part I can’t seem to shake.

Not just that I hurt her…that I meant to. That I saw exactly where to put the knife and pushed until I felt it hit bone.

My pace slows as I round the corner, pulse kicking harder the closer I get to her.

What the fuck am I supposed to say?