Page 30 of I’m The Worst

“Why did the Sovereign really send you on this mission? Surely, they have assassins less⁠—”

“Less what?” I lift the glass and glare at him over the rim.

“Less you.”

I take a slow drink, swallowing the urge to crush the glass in my fist and open his throat with the shards.

“I was in the area.”

“Bullshit. You’re never just in the area. Not in this frozen shithole. So why the fuck would they send you on a rescue?”

“None of your fucking business.” Tension grips my shoulders as I set the glass down. “Christ, Savva. Do you ever shut the fuck up?”

“I’ve known you ten years, da.” His accent thickens. “That should earn me something.”

“You don’t know shit.”

“I know you’re a cold motherfucker, K9.” He snorts. “I know your brain is fucked. Not normal.”

Knife block. Eight inches to my right.

“Even now,” he says, nodding at my hand, “you’re standing there figuring out how fast you could put me down if I keep pissing you off.”

His Glock is tucked under that hoodie at an awkward angle. He’d need a second that he doesn’t have to clear the fabric. If he lunges, I’ll take the inside of his arm first. Sever the artery. Watch him bleed out on the floor while I step over him.

Six seconds. Maybe five if I’m mad enough.

“You’re always three steps ahead. Always hunting. That’s why rich bastards paid good money for you before the Sovereign got you.”

Down the hall, a floorboard creaks. My head snaps toward it before I can stop myself.

His eyes cut back to me.

Perfect. Exactly the reaction I didn’t want to give him.

My nerves are fucking shot. My mind is running through too many things at once—distance, weak points, weather shifts, fuel levels, the truck’s clearance in snow, Savva’s men I don’t fucking trust, how many hours of daylight we have left, how many bullets I have loaded.

A sound down the hall shouldn’t pull my focus more than a weapon in the room. And that pisses me off more than any of the dumb shit coming out of his mouth.

Savva shakes his head. “I just hope you know what the fuck you’re doing. Because you? You’re not built for saving.” He reaches for a cigarette.

“Get the truck. We leave tonight. Have your guys watch the perimeter. Anyone lingering longer than five minutes gets a bullet in the fucking skull.”

His smirk fades a fraction. “See? Fucked.”

“Do your goddamn job.”

He mutters in Russian as he walks to the door, yanking on his coat and disappearing outside. The cold sweeps into the cabin, the fire doing little to fight it. Snow has started falling again. We need to leave soon if we want to beat the next storm.

I turn when I hear her in the hall.

She stops in the doorway, barefoot, arms crossed tight over her small chest. One eye is already darkening, purple spreading beneath the skin. Dried blood colors the corner of her mouth.

Her hair is uneven where she hacked at it, jagged and too black for her skin tone. It drains what little color she has left, making her look closer to death than she already is.

“You’re a fucking prick,” she spits.

I take another sip of water.