Page 216 of I’m The Worst

“I love you too. So fucking much.”

I pull out and stroke myself fast, aiming at her stomach. Thick ropes of cum paint her soft skin, dripping down her belly and pooling in her navel.

I finally loosen my grip and slide my hand down to rest over her racing heart. For a long moment I just look at her—flushed, marked with my cum, dress bunched around her waist, legs still spread on the tailgate of my truck under the fading sunset.

Mine.

She reaches down slowly, fingers brushing the warm mess on her stomach like she’s about to wipe it away.

“Don’t.” I catch her wrist gently, pinning it beside her head. “Leave it. I want you wearing my cum for tonight.”

“What’s tonight?” she asks breathily.

I pull her dress back down, covering her, then lean in and kiss her slow and deep, tasting myself on her tongue. My hand stays on her wrist, thumb stroking the pulse point there. When I pull back, I rest my forehead against hers, breathing her in.

“Your present,” I murmur against her lips.

The house is silent when I wake on Wolff’s bed.

Moonlight spills through the wall of glass overlooking the back of his property, turning the room into shades of silver and black. Beyond the windows, acres of open land stretch into the darkness, the same fields I’d wandered more than once while he hid inside pretending he wasn’t keeping an eye on me.

He got back from a mission yesterday afternoon. He disappeared for nearly two weeks, returning with fresh bruises, a split knuckle, and answers that never came. When I asked him questions, he told me not to worry about it.

Instead, he tossed my overnight bag in the truck and drove until the city disappeared behind us. We watched the sun melt into the horizon.

His house sits exactly like him—isolated, practical, and bigger than one man could ever need. The living room opens into a loft above, where his bedroom overlooks both the house and the windows stretching two stories high.

“Wolff?”

A heavy thud echoes from somewhere beneath me. Then another.

“Wolff?”

The sound comes again, followed by a muffled groan. I follow it down the stairs and through the hallway, toward a door I’ve somehow never had a reason to open before. Cold air leaks from the crack at the bottom. My bare feet are freezing on the wood.

I open it.

Narrow stone stairs descend into darkness. The air smells damp and metallic. My pulse gallops in my ears as I start down.

Another thud. Voices. Scuffling. I almost turn back and run. Then Graves peeks his head from around the corner at the bottom, blood smeared across one cheek.

“Ohhh, she’s here,” he says with a grin. “Perfect fucking timing, princess. We saved the best part for you.”

Wolff steps out behind him, covered in blood. It’s streaked across his chest, soaked into his sleeves, drying dark on his hands and jaw.

My stomach drops through the floor. “What’s going on?”

He crosses to me without speaking and takes my hand. His palm is warm and sticky as he guides me forward into the room.

I stop dead.

Akim and David are strapped to heavy metal chairs bolted to the concrete floor.

Both of them are wrecked, their faces swollen and purple. Clothes torn to rags. Blood drips steadily from split lips and broken noses onto the floor. Akim’s left eye is swollen shut. David’s cheek is split open, showing teeth.

David?

I haven’t seen him since I left for rehab. Dad just said the wedding was off. To focus on healing. He never told me why…