Page 34 of I’m The Worst

He points the knife at each of them.

They drop their eyes instantly.

No one moves.

Then he shifts toward me.

My chest locks. Every instinct I have screams for me to run.

He strides to me, boots crunching through the snow. My eyes drop to the blade, watching the blood still sliding down onto his hand, before rising to his face again. His jaw muscles clench before he pushes the knife back into the sheath at his hip.

“Did he hurt you?”

I shake my head, heart racing, but I’m barely breathing.

His fists clench at his sides.

“Get in the truck.”

His voice is rough. But after the shouting, the blood, the knife—it’s the closest thing to concern I’ve heard from him.

I move on autopilot, climbing into the truck, even though my legs barely hold me. My hands fumble with the seatbelt, shaking too hard to thread it. The door slams behind me, and I jump.

Savva starts the engine.

Wolff and three other men pile in.

“No touching,” Savva mutters without turning around. “And I’m not talking about her. I’m talking about K9. Crazy bastard hates being touched.”

My whole body goes rigid.

I didn’t realize how close I was sitting next to Wolff until that moment. I shift immediately, inching away.

He hates being touched?

Heat hits my face as images slam into me—me on my knees, my mouth on him while he slept. I swallow hard, nausea and humiliation tangling in my stomach. It makes sense now. His violent reaction. His distance. If he hates being touched, then what I did to him… My throat tightens painfully.

I stare out the window, the glass foggy with cold and breath, trying not to think about the way he tensed and reacted every time I reached toward him in the cabin.

Trying not to think at all.

The truck rattles over the frozen road, every bump jostling the passengers. AJ’s head keeps dropping against my shoulder.

I shove her off. Once.

Twice.

The third time, she slumps against me anyway, half-conscious, her fingers sliding under the hem of my shirt.

“Jesus.” I inhale sharply as her cold-ass fingers brush along my lower abs. I push her back again. Fucking hell.

Savva catches my eye in the rear-view mirror. I glare until he looks away.

“Not much longer,” he mutters. “About an hour.”

I don’t answer.

I don’t trust the men he brought. Two are mercenaries who’d sell their own mothers for the right payout. The other two stare for too long, move too slow, breathe too loud.