Page 24 of Faith Among Monsters

“Quince!” I shout, snapping him out of whatever daze he’s in. “Get your shit together and sweep the yard. Make sure none of these assholes are getting back up.”

He jerks a nod, his face pale, and moves toward Wilkes.

I don’t stick around to watch.

Faith.

She’s the only thought in my head as I move toward the staff wing. My boots are heavy against the concrete, my heart pounding harder than it has any right to. She has a knife. A knife against these animals. What was I thinking.

She’ll be fine, I tell myself.

Shebetterbe fine.

Chapter Ten

Faith

Gunfire rattles through the air outside, loud and unrelenting. My heart pounds with every shot.

What the hell is happening out there?

All I can think about is Dax, armed, in the middle of it, a perfect target. The guards wouldn’t hesitate to take him out. This could be a setup.

I tuck the knife into my waistband, the handle pressing hard against my hip as I move toward the door. My hand hovers over the knob, my breath catching in my throat.

I won’t just sit here while those monsters execute inmates.

My fingers touch the cool metal, and something slams into the door so hard it rattles the frame.

“Dax?” I ask, my voice small and tentative.

Another slam. The wood groans under the impact.

Then I hear it, a growl, low and guttural.

I freeze, my stomach twisting.

Maybe this wasn’t a setup. Could Quince have been serious?Feral inmates?

Another slam, harder this time, and the whole door shudders violently.

I step back, my pulse racing as I yank the knife free. My fingers tighten around the handle, slick with sweat.

The pounding grows more frantic, shaking the frame with each hit. The door isn’t going to hold.

I scan the room, my eyes darting over the small space. No windows. No other exit. My gaze snaps upward. A vent.

I’m light enough.

But the door groans again, the hinges creaking under the strain, and I know I need to buy time.

I grab the table, throwing my weight against it as I drag it across the floor. It screeches loudly in the confined space, the sound like nails on a chalkboard, but I keep pulling. My muscles burn as I wedge it against the door, pressing it into place.

The pounding doesn’t stop. If anything, it gets harder. Louder. Each blow sends a jolt through my chest, vibrating in my bones.

The vent. I need to move.

I shove the bed across the room, the legs scraping against the floor, leaving deep gouges in the cheap linoleum. The table rattles behind me as the thing outside slams into the door again and again.

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