Page 167 of I’m The Worst

Eyes wide, I stare down at him, something painful twisting in my chest.

“Who is this from?” I ask as my heart races.

“Don’t know. Didn’t give us a name.”

He hands me a thick folder while bags of supplies are unloaded behind him.

The puppy wiggles free the second Sienna unlatches the crate. His oversized paws slide across the hardwood as he barrels straight into my legs.

Sienna immediately drops onto the floor. “He’s so cute. Look at his ears!”

The puppy sneezes and promptly trips over his own feet. I laugh and crouch beside him and flip through the folder:

German Shepherd mix.

Almost four months old.

Vaccinations complete.

Microchipped.

Adopted from a shelter outside Chicago.

Tucked inside are a few receipts. I scan the items listed: Large kennel, leash, food, treats, veterinary package. Then my eyes catch on the final one: Tactical Training Package—Paid in Full.

My breath catches. I know exactly one person insane enough to buy a puppy tactical training. I sit back on my heels as the puppy climbs into my lap, licking enthusiastically at my chin. The little puppy I wanted so badly to bring home from Russia flashes through my mind.

Sienna settles beside me. “You’re keeping him, right? Tell me you’re keeping him.”

I run my fingers through the puppy’s thick fur while he attacks my hand with clumsy little puppy teeth.

“Of course you’re keeping him.” She grins. “You’ve always wanted a dog.”

I swallow hard and nod. “Yeah.”

The puppy yips and wiggles harder in my lap. I can’t stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Jackal.”

“What?”

I look down at him. “His name is Jackal.”

Sienna laughs and reaches over to ruffle his ears. “Jackal, it is.”

For the first time in a very long time, I feel okay.

His elbow gives first.

The joint folds the wrong way beneath my boot with a wet crunch that echoes through the empty warehouse. Blood pours into my eyes from the gash above my brow as the man screams. I grab a fistful of his greasy hair and wrench his head back, forcing him to look at me while he thrashes beneath my weight.

His body bucks wildly, panic setting in as he realizes begging won’t save him.

Nothing will.

I twist harder until the vertebrae grind and pop. Another strangled, gurgling gasp tears from his throat. The final snap is loud and satisfying. His body goes limp, eyes wide and empty. For a long second, I stay crouched over him, staring down at the corpse while hot blood drips steadily from my split knuckles onto the concrete.

The warehouse falls silent.

My pulse doesn’t.