Page 12 of Faith Among Monsters

“I got time,” I say. “I’ll eat with you after.” Maybe public will be better. Our first date. Drive away any doubts about whose she is.

She turns her back on me and starts digging in her bag, pulling out a notepad. Her gaze flicks to the plastic chair, andshe frowns. Then she looks at the bed. “I’m afraid I don’t have a very inviting room. The warden said there were meeting rooms I could use.”

Not inviting. Shit. She’s got no idea. I exhale hard through my nose, fighting the tension coiling in my chest. This room is too small. Too close. I need to get us the hell out before I do something stupid.

I step back and open the door.

Before I can say anything, Grip comes barreling down the hall, loud enough to rattle the damn walls. “Dax! It’s that fuckwit Pauly.”

I close my eyes, grinding my teeth. “What’s he done?”

“Sick as shit,” Grip says, throwing his hands up. “Don’t know what he got in, but it’s bad. Chucked all over the table. Started a brawl in chow.”

“Brawl?” I bark, already moving. My fists clench as the familiar frustration and rage rise up.

But as I glance back at her, it hits me like a brick. I can’t leave her here. Not with Quince. Not anywhere. She’s not safe in this room. She’s not safe anywhere.

Her eyes meet mine, and I see it. She knows. She understands.

“I’ll come with you,” she says, her voice calm. “Observe. This is why I’m here. I’ll stay back.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

“You’ll stay the hell back, but not out of my sight. Clear?” My voice comes out harsher than I mean, but I don’t care. I turn to Grip. “She’s mine. Got it?”

Grip raises his hands, his grin fading. “Got it.”

Her lips press together, but she doesn’t argue. Just nods.

I exhale sharply and step into the hall, already bracing for whatever fresh hell Pauly’s gotten himself into.

Chapter Six

Faith

I grab only my notebook and pull the door shut, hurrying to keep pace with Dax and Grip as they barrel down the hall.

Quince is still at the door when we pass, leaning against the frame like he hasn’t got a single responsibility in the world. He snorts when he sees us. “Hope it’s a good show!” he calls after us, his laugh echoing down the corridor.

I grit my teeth. A brawl, and he’s amused. Why the hell are inmates rushing to break it up while guards lean back and watch?

As we weave through the halls, I try to take in the layout, though everything blurs with the urgency of Dax’s long strides and Grip’s muttering about ‘goddamn Pauly.’ The corridor widens as we approach the chow hall, the stink of sweat and old food hitting me like a wall. A few guards stand off to the side, arms crossed, grinning like they’re watching a schoolyard scuffle.

I can’t process it, how they just stand there. There’s no urgency, no authority. None of the professionalism I’ve seen in every other facility I’ve evaluated. They’re useless.

The noise is deafening as we reach the chow hall.

Dax doesn’t hesitate. He storms inside, shoving past a group of inmates huddled near the door, and throws himself into the chaos without a single look back at me.

I stop just inside the threshold, my chest tightening as the scene unfolds in front of me. The place is carnage. Tables are flipped, their legs splintered and sticking out like jagged bones. Food smears the floor, mixed with puddles of something darker,blood, I realize, as my stomach turns. The air is thick with the scent of sweat, metal, and whatever they were serving for dinner.

The shouting is a wall of sound, voices crashing into each other, curses flying as fists do. Every man in the room is fighting, save for the guard leaning lazily against the wall next to me. He doesn’t so much as flinch, arms crossed as he watches with casual indifference. Certainly not worried about my evaluation of his reaction to the situation.

The inmates are brutal. A man goes down near the center of the room, clutching his stomach as another kicks him hard in the ribs. A tray flies across the room and crashes into the wall, the sound sharp enough to make me jump.

And then I see Grip.

He’s not hesitating either, his bulk moving fast as he grabs one of the men by the shoulder and swings him around. His fist cracks against the inmate’s jaw, hard enough that the man’s head snaps back, and I almost hear the thud over the noise as his body hits the floor.

---