Page 10 of Faith Among Monsters

Chapter Five

Dax

That son of a bitch sent her out alone.

If I had any doubt Sinclair wanted her hurt, or worse, it’s gone now. He didn’t even try to pretend. He might as well have slapped a target on her back.

“Thank you,” she says softly, looking up at me.

There’s no suspicion in her eyes, no fear or loathing. Just something quiet and genuine. Jesus, that’s new.

“Listen,” I say as we move toward the staff wing, my voice lower than I intend. “There are a few more things you need to understand about how things work around here.”

She looks ahead, her gaze sweeping the grounds, and I’m glad for it. She needs to stay aware, though it won’t do much good if someone’s decided to make her a problem.

“What do I need to know?” she asks, her tone calm. No panic, no hesitation. That’s good. Better than I expected. “I gather you’re someone they look up to.”

I snort softly, shaking my head.Look up toisn’t the right phrase. “Yeah,” I say. “If they believe I’ve decided you belong here, that’ll help.”

“Help?” She turns her eyes on me again, those piercing blues catching the faint glow of the overhead lights as we pass beneath them.

I hesitate, knowing the next words out of my mouth are going to sound worse than I mean them. But she needs to understand. “It’ll help more if they think I’m claiming first dibs.”

Her step falters slightly, and I bite back a curse. It sounds as shitty as I thought it would.

But it’s the truth. She’s not just a new face. She’s awoman. There’s no chance the rest of them are just going to ignore her.

A soft blush creeps across her cheeks, and she looks away. “What sort of staff are in the staff wing?” she asks, her brows pulling together in thought. “I was under the impression the inmates were the staff. Guards aside, I mean.”

I let her steer the conversation. I don’t blame her for wanting to move past the idea of being claimed by anyone. That kind of talk would put her off. She’s a world away from us. Hell, even before I was convicted, she would’ve been out of reach.

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice neutral. “The staff wing’s mostly empty except for the guards and whatever contractors Sinclair cycles through. Civilians don’t stick around long. Anyone else working here? That’s us.”

We pass a group of inmates lingering by the fence near the yard. One of them glances our way, mutters something I don’t catch, and another snickers. I shoot them a sharp look, and the laughter dies instantly.

Faith doesn’t seem to notice, or maybe she does, and she’s just smart enough not to react. Her shoulders stay squared, her head held high, and something about the way she keeps her pace steady makes my chest tighten. She’s got grit. I’ll give her that.

“Look,” I say as we near the staff wing, slowing my pace so she’s forced to look at me. “You need to know this place runs on one thing, power. You don’t have to swing a fist to show it, but you damn well better be ready to back yourself up.”

Her gaze flicks up to mine, steady and sharp. “I can handle myself.”

A muscle ticks in my jaw, but I let it go. Maybe she believes that. Hell, maybe it’s even true in most places. But not here. Not where survival depends on knowing the rules they don’t put in the damn handbook. She hasn’t been here long enough to understand what “handling yourself” really means.

“I’ve left your bags in the safest room,” I say.

Her breath catches slightly, just enough for me to know she hears the weight in that word. Safest. Not safe.

“Will you show me around the building?” she asks, her voice careful.

Shit. I would’ve offered if she hadn’t asked. “Yeah.”

We head through the building toward the staff wing entrance, the hallway dimly lit and smelling faintly of bleach and stale air. The floors are scuffed to hell, worn from boots and dragged chairs, and the occasional muffled shout filters through the walls, reminding me we’re never more than a few steps away from trouble.

And of course, trouble is exactly what’s waiting at the door.

Quince.

That smug bastard leans against the frame like he owns the place, his uniform wrinkled, his boots scuffed, and his belt hanging loose like he can’t even be bothered to tighten it. His eyes light up when he sees us, but they don’t land on me.

---