Page 33 of I’m The Worst

I stand there, my hands shaking, my body buzzing with rage and hurt. My vision blurs, hot tears spilling down my cheeks before I can stop them.

I storm down the hall, slamming the door behind me.

Sliding to the floor, I press my back against the wall, burying my face in my hands. The puppy’s cries grow faint as the front door is opened and closed.

The door swings open with a crash, jolting me upright. My heart spikes before my eyes even focus. I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep. Blinking against the dim hallway light, I push myself up, disoriented. Wolff’s silhouette fills the doorway.

“Let’s go.”

I scramble to my feet. My legs shake, weak and unreliable, but I force myself into motion. I’m barely keeping up as he walks out into the cold night air without waiting. A large black SUV idles in front of the house, its headlights slicing the dark.

My gaze drifts toward the puppies’ den, and my chest tightens painfully. I shove it down. I don’t have the energy to care—not about them, not about myself, not about whatever mess of a life waits for me outside this place. If there even is one.

Wolff heads toward Savva, who stands near the hood, his cigarette ember glowing. Two men are beside him, speaking Russian.

I freeze.

More men.

A chill shoots down my spine, my lungs squeezing until I can’t get a full breath.

Wolff speaks in Russian to Savva, who nods in return. The unknown men glance my way, and my stomach drops.

“Wait by the back,” Wolff says without looking at me.

I swallow hard and force myself to move, circling to the rear of the truck on unsteady legs. The back door swings open. A large hand clamps onto my shoulder and yanks⁠—

My body detonates.

A scream rips out of me as I twist, shove, claw—anything to get away. The grip tightens. Then suddenly⁠—

It’s gone.

One second, the stranger is standing in the truck.

The next, he’s on his back in the snow, wheezing.

A blade flashes in Wolff’s hand. “I told you, no one fucking touches her!”

The knife comes down.

The man’s scream splits the dark as blood sprays across the snow. He grabs the stump where his hand used to be.

Savva shouts something in Russian and rushes forward, slamming into Wolff’s side. It barely stops him. More men surge in, all shouting, hands up. Two of them grab the wounded man and drag him away as he screams. The snow beneath them is soaking red.

Wolff lunges forward again.

Savva grabs him.

Wolff snaps, “Try touching me again.” The tip of the bloody knife presses against Savva’s throat. They start shouting at each other in Russian.

I’ve never heard Wolff talk this much. Or this loud.

Savva shouts back, just as angry.

The wounded man is shoved into a car, and it peels into the dark, tires spinning across the ice.

Wolff turns around, his gaze cutting across the rest of the men. Every one of them freezes. His hand tightens around the knife. Blood drips from the blade into the snow as he steps forward, shouting more Russian.