Page 11 of Faith Among Monsters

“What are you bringing me, Stryker?” he drawls, his gaze dragging over her in a way that makes my blood boil. Not her face. He doesn’t even pretend to start there.

“She’s not for you,” I say, stepping closer to her. My hand goes to her back, steadying her before she has a chance to move.

Her fingers tighten on the folders in her arms, but she doesn’t step away. That scent of hers, soft, sweet, and completely out of place here, is going to drive me insane.

Quince snorts, the sound sharp and grating. “Just don’t knock it out of shape,” he says, his grin widening into something nastier. “I’ll take a hit on it later.”

Fucking hell. It’s all I can do not to snap his neck right here. My hand flexes against her back, and for a second, I swear I feel her shift closer to me.

“She isn’t for you,” I repeat, my voice colder this time.

Quince raises a brow, pushing himself off the doorframe like he’s considering testing me. I step forward just enough to make it clear he shouldn’t.

His grin falters slightly, but he covers it with a shrug. “Relax, Stryker. Just joking.”

Bullshit. Quince doesn’t joke. He says what he means and hides it behind that greasy grin of his.

I guide her through the entrance, keeping my hand on her back as the door swings shut behind us.

The wing is quiet, too quiet. The hall smells faintly of damp concrete and cleaning chemicals, but the silence presses in, heavy and unnatural. Most of the lights overhead are flickering, buzzing faintly, casting uneven patches of yellow-white light down the corridor.

“How am I supposed to drop you off with Quince at the door?” I mutter, more to myself than to her.

She glances up at me, those sharp blue eyes studying me like she’s trying to figure me out. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I say, brushing it off. No point in making her more nervous than she already is.

As we walk, I point out the rooms she might need. “That’s chow, though you’d do better to eat with us.”

She nods, her gaze steady on me, and something about the way she holds me there almost undoes me. Trust. Is that what it is? I hope not. She can’t trust me. She can’t trust any of us.

“Have I missed dinner?” she asks.

“I’ll see you haven’t,” I say, my voice coming out rougher than I intend. I nod toward another door. “Showers are there. This is an all-male facility.” I hesitate, jaw tightening before I add, “I’ll stand guard.”

“I appreciate that,” she says, glancing over her shoulder.

Probably remembering Quince. Precisely why I’ll stand guard every damn time she needs a shower. I just hope I’m not the bastard she ends up needing protection from.

After one more turn, we reach the hall with the rooms. I stop outside hers, nudging the door open with my shoulder. It’s nothing fancy. None of them are. A twin bed, a cheap wooden dresser, a plastic chair at a table that doubles as a desk. No window. That last part was deliberate. My choice.

She steps inside and sets her files down on the table, then turns back to me. Her eyes sweep over me again, calm and unflinching. She’s not afraid. Alone with me, the last guard we passed several turns ago. She should be.

Foolish, foolish woman.

I step inside. I need to linger. Quince needs to see this and get it through his thick skull that she’s off limits. Mine.

“You got questions for me?” I ask, keeping my tone flat. “For your evaluation.” I reach back and pull the door closed, just in case Quince is strolling by.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t move to open it. Doesn’t look the least bit nervous.

What the hell is wrong with her?

I scan the room, then glance back at her.I’m going to have to stay on top of her.There isn’t a single man here, inmate or otherwise, who wouldn’t have tossed her onto that bed already. If they were even that kind about it.

“I do. A lot of questions,” she says, her tone steady. “We can do it later, if you still need to eat as well.”

So considerate. Like she thinks I’m still human.

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