Page 13 of Faith Among Monsters

But it’s Dax who grabs my attention and doesn’t let it go.

He’s not savage or thoughtless. Every move is deliberate, his focus unnervingly sharp as he grabs one man by the throat and lifts him clean off the ground. The inmate claws at Dax’s arm, gasping, until Dax shoves him back and tosses him aside like a rag doll.

Another man comes at him from the side, but Dax is faster. He pulls the guy off his feet with one arm and flings him into the overturned table, the wood groaning under the impact.

He’s pulling a third man away from a pile on the floor when his voice cuts through the room like a whip.

“Enough!”

It’s not just a shout, it’s a command. A warning. And it works.

The noise dies almost instantly, like someone hit a switch. The chaos freezes, every man in the room pausing mid-motion, fists clenched and breathing hard. All eyes turn to Dax, who stands in the center of the carnage, his shoulders heaving, a bloodied man dangling from his grip.

“Where’s the fucking doc?” Dax demands, his voice sharp enough to make even the guard stiffen.

“Med hall, I’d reckon,” the guard beside me drawls, still leaning against the wall like nothing’s happened.

Dax’s jaw tightens, and his gaze cuts to Grip. “This better be cleaned up by the time I get back,” he growls, jerking the bloodied man upright and dragging him toward the door.

I swallow hard, realizing I haven’t taken a single note. And even if I had, I wouldn’t know where to start. They didn’t give me a chance to get to know their names before they tried to kill each other.Recidivism rates?My head swims.

As I follow Dax and Pauly toward the exit, I flick my gaze to the guard’s uniform, catching his name.Hogan.

Useless. Every single one of them. Not a single guard here is worth the uniform they wear.

“What’d you take?” Dax demands, his tone sharp as he drags Pauly down the hall.

Pauly stumbles, his breathing uneven. “I didn’t. The program. This morning.” He coughs, and dark red specks hit the floor.

“Right, zip it,” Dax growls, cutting him off.

I make a mental note of that.The program.

The air shifts as we enter what I assume is the med wing. The smell here is different. Not as stale as the rest of the prison, but not quite clean either. There’s a faint chemical tang beneath the surface, like disinfectant that’s fighting a losing battle.

The floors aren’t any better than the other wings, scuffed linoleum worn to a dull sheen, marked by years of heavy bootsand neglect. The lighting overhead buzzes faintly, casting a dim yellow glow that falls short of the sterile brightness you’d expect in a medical facility.

“Doc?” Dax calls, his voice echoing down the hall.

A man steps out of a room at the far end, his casual attire at odds with the supposed purpose of this wing. His buzz cut is the same severe, military style as Sinclair’s, and his sharp eyes scan us quickly, his expression hard and unreadable.

“Pauly. Stryker,” the doctor acknowledges, his tone flat.

Dax shifts slightly, glancing at me, and the look he gives feels like a silent order for me to vanish. I’m not going anywhere.

The doctor’s gaze slides to me, his frown deepening before he waves toward a door halfway down the hall. “Room 3.”

I follow Dax inside.

Room 3 is as uninspired as the rest of the med wing. A standard exam table sits in the center, its thin, worn padding cracked along the edges. A counter to the side holds a tray of supplies, gauze, alcohol pads, syringes, and a blood pressure cuff hangs on the wall. Everything looks decades out of date, functional but far from welcoming.

Dax helps Pauly onto the table, keeping his hand on the man’s shoulder until he’s settled. Then he moves to stand next to me, his tension radiating like a storm about to break.

“I been feeling sick since that shot this morning, Doc,” Pauly mutters, his voice weak.

“You got this?” Dax asks, his tone clipped, his eyes locked on the doctor.

The doctor waves him off dismissively. “I’ll handle it.”

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