Page 92 of I’m The Worst

Barely spoke.

But I still feel it.

The heat of his arms. The roughness in his voice. The genuine things he said to soothe me. The way his hand moved over my skin like he wanted to touch me…and didn’t know what to do once he did.

After everything I’ve been through, how can I even think about him like this? He’s a killer. Unhinged. Impossible to read. A complete asshole.

And still, my body reacts every time he looks at me for a second too long. Every time his fingers brush mine. Every time he mutters something under his breath and calls me “brat” in Russian.

Which should piss me off.

“Hey,” I say, shifting in my seat. “How long until we reach the next stop?”

His eyes flick to the rear-view.

I hesitate, then push anyway. “So…before all this”—I gesture vaguely around us—“what did you do? Just walk up to people and say, ‘Hi, I’m a mercenary. Hire me’?”

Fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter, he turns his head slowly toward me.

“The first job I took was killing a cheating husband. Walked into his house. Shot him while he was sleeping. Walked out. I was fourteen.”

I stare at him, eyes wide. “You never fucking talk and that’s the story you go with? Jesus Christ, Wolff.”

“You asked.”

I blink, then shake my head. “I don’t know, maybe open with something a little less…horrifying? Fourteen? How does that even happen?”

“I’ve always been good at killing. Never had to try.”

That…doesn’t help.

I swallow, not loving this conversation, but he’s talking, and I don’t want him to stop.

“And the Sovereign? How’d that happen?”

“I knew people. They knew what I could do. They made an offer.”

“Did you want to join?”

Nothing.

Not even a glance.

I study him, the hard lines of his face, the tension that never really leaves his body.

“I didn’t want to be a Servant. When it was time to take my vow, I refused to walk down the aisle with the others.” A small, humorless laugh slips out. “My dad had to arrange a private ceremony just so he could physically drag me down it.” I shake my head. “Which, by the way, completely breaks the rules. You’re supposed to take the vow willingly.” I huff. “But I guess rules don’t really apply to Commanders.”

When he doesn’t respond, I glance at him again. “So what was your⁠—”

He yanks the wheel, pulling into a narrow alley so fast my shoulder slams against the door. Buildings blur past—rusted metal warehouses, cracked brick buildings, graffiti layered over itself.

The truck skids to a stop behind a small garage.

The engine dies. “We’re here.”

He’s already out of the truck as I scramble after him, the cold biting instantly as snow catches in my hair. I plow into his back as he stops dead.

“What the hell⁠—”