Page 27 of I’m The Worst

Sliding my feet to the floor, the cold bites at my skin. I grit my teeth and push myself up, my legs weak, my balance off. I catch myself against the wall and force myself forward toward the bathroom.

The shower is quick. I ache all over, in places that don’t make sense. The water stings where the collar rubbed skin raw. Even though it’s gone, I swear I can feel it sometimes.

When I finish, I see the usual set of clothes laid out on the bed—black thermals, fresh underwear, thick socks. I pull them on and slowly walk to the living room, dragging a blanket with me.

The fire crackles, casting a warm glow. I curl into the couch, clutching a bottle of water, letting the warmth of the flames pull me into a daze until a faint whimper breaks the silence. I blink, my mind dragging back to the present. The sound comes again, more softly.

I push off the couch, crossing the room to the front door. Cracking it open, the cold rushes in. A small dog stands on the porch, her fur caked in ice, her ribs jutting against her thin frame. Her brown eyes lock onto mine, filled with something I haven’t seen in months.

Hope.

“Hey there,” I whisper, crouching. “What are you doing out here all alone?”

Her tail wags weakly.

I step back inside and open a few cabinets, searching until I find a can of beans and a sleeve of crackers. I grab them, then pull one of the jackets from the hook and shrug it on. When I return, she’s still waiting.

“Hi.” I hold my hand out, kneeling, letting her sniff me. Her cold, wet nose brushes my fingers before she licks them.

I dump the beans onto the porch, along with some crackers. She eats fast. A rustling sound catches my ear. Then, from a hole in the ground near the steps, a litter of puppies tumbles out. With their tiny paws and little pink noses.

“Aww, hi there, babies.” Their yips and barks fill the air as they scramble toward their mom, their bodies thin and trembling.

I duck inside and rummage for more food. A can of stew, a can of tuna, more crackers. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. When I return, I pour the stew into a bowl, and the puppies practically dive into it.

Sinking onto the porch, I pull my knees up, watching them eat. One climbs into my lap, tugging on my jacket zipper. For the first time in months, I don’t feel completely alone.

The rumble of an engine cuts through the quiet as a black snowmobile pulls up near the cabin.

Wolff.

He parks, kills the engine, and climbs off. He’s bundled in a thick winter jacket and heavy boots, his dark brown hair wind tossed. A beard shadows his jaw now, fuller than before. Goggles hide his eyes.

His head tilts slightly in my direction. Just enough to let me know he’s seen me, but he doesn’t say a word as he walks inside the house.

Shame crawls up my neck anyway at the thought of him acknowledging me—knowing what he held in the shower…

The puppies and their mom eventually wander back to their den, but I don’t move. Not until the sound of snow crunching from the tree line catches my attention.

I freeze.

The hair on the back of my neck rises. A man emerges from the woods, a shotgun held over his shoulder. Fear slams into me so forcefully, I almost vomit. My body moves before my brain can catch up. I scramble to the front door, slipping on the ice, my throat raw as I scream his name.

“WOLFF!”

My fingers barely brush the handle before the door flies open. I crash into him, my arms locking around him. I bury my face in his chest, gripping his waist.

His hands roughly grip my shoulders, yanking me off.

“AJ?! What the fuck⁠—”

“There’s… There’s a man out there.” I manage to point toward the trees. “With a gun.”

I barely have time to suck in another breath before he’s gone, the door slamming behind him. Stumbling back, I grip my jacket tightly. A few minutes later, the door swings open again, and Wolff strides inside, followed by the man. I recoil, taking more steps back.

He’s huge, but not as big as Wolff. Still intimidating, though. The lower half of his face is hidden behind a mask, and something about his posture, his presence, makes my stomach twist.

The stranger yanks the mask down. “Hey, now. No reason to be scared,” he grits out with a thick Russian accent. He tips his head toward me as he pulls off his beanie, revealing a buzzed head. “The name’s Savva. I’m an old contact of K9.”