Page 14 of Faith Among Monsters

I step forward instinctively, wanting to stay, to observe, but Dax’s hand brushes my arm, firm, steady, and the way he guides me out of the room leaves me no choice.

Once we’re far enough down the hall, I stop abruptly, turning to face him. “What the hell was that all about? Which program did you want him tozip itabout?”

Dax exhales sharply, raking his hand through his hair. “Not here,” he says, his voice low but loaded. His gaze darts to the hallway, scanning for anyone within earshot. “It’s already dangerous enough for you as it is.”

This is it, whatever Sinclair is hiding.

Before I can push further, Dax shifts, his tone softening just slightly. “Let’s get some damn food and chat under the stars.”

I blink at him, caught off guard by the shift. There’s something almostcharmingabout the way he says it, like the chaos of the evening hasn’t even fazed him. Like this was just another night in the Warden’s Graveyard and I was his best girl.

The thought rattles me, but not in the way I expect.

Something tells me I’m not going to get much reading done tonight, and for the first time since arriving, I don’t mind. I have the feeling Dax will tell me more over dinner than anything I’ll find in those files.

Chapter Seven

Dax

I set the tray between us, a barrier, for her or me, I’m not sure which. Maybe both.

The food on it is about as appealing as the tray itself. Overcooked rice clumps together next to something grayish that might have been chicken once, covered in congealing gravy. A few limp green beans round out the masterpiece. She takes a bite without hesitation, though, chewing thoughtfully like it’s filet mignon.

I watch her, waiting for the inevitable grimace, but it doesn’t come. She doesn’t wrinkle her nose or shove it aside. She just eats. She hasn’t looked down on any of us since she stepped off that ferry. Not yet, anyway. The only people she seems to hold in contempt are the guards.

When she turns to me, there’s a smile on her face, small but real. It’s beautiful, and it knocks me back for half a second.

“What will I find in Dax Stryker’s file?” she asks.

Shit.

I keep my face neutral and blow out a slow breath, taking a bite of the gray chicken. The taste is as bad as it looks, but I chew anyway, letting the question hang. She doesn’t push, just waits, and every second stretches longer as my thoughts claw their way to the surface.

All my sins. All the bodies.

I’ve killed more people than I can count. Every single one of them deserved it. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. What does that make me?

“Dax?” Her voice is calm, soft, but it cuts through my thoughts like a blade. She’s watching me like I’m some kind of puzzle, turning the pieces over in her head, trying to fit them together.

It should piss me off, most people don’t bother looking past the surface. They see what I want them to see. But there’s something about the way she looks at me that makes me want to say more than I should.

“Why are you asking about me?” I say finally, keeping my tone neutral. “Aren’t you here to evaluate the program?”

She leans forward slightly, her fingers curling around the edge of the table. “Maybe learning about you is part of that.”

Her answer isn’t sharp, sarcastic, or baiting. It’s honest, and it catches me off guard. For the first time in a long while, I feel like someone’s actually seeing me. Not the enforcer. Not the monster. Just me.

It’s unsettling as hell.

“You’ll see several murder convictions,” I say finally. No point in sugarcoating it. She’s going to read it all anyway.

Her smile doesn’t waver.

“You’ll see I rode with the Ravens,” I add, testing her. “As their enforcer.”

Her expression doesn’t change. Not a flicker of judgment, no tightening of her lips or raising of her brows.Nothing.The woman has no sense of self-preservation.

I try to picture her on the back of my bike, her legs wrapped around me, her arms tight against my chest. Her hair would catch the wind, and I’d smell that soft, sweet scent of hers. Something warm and clean and totally out of place here.Damn it.She doesn’t belong on a bike. Not with me. Not with the man I am.

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