Page 52 of Faith Among Monsters

“They had it coming,” he says.

“That… doesn’t answer my question.”

We reach the stairwell. He pushes the door open like he already knows I’m going to follow.

I hesitate. Basement? Armory? The depths of hell?

I flick my eyes to him.

The guards called him a psycho.

He watches me, waiting. That smile still easy. That dimple still visible.

The kind of face that could lead you anywhere.

I glance down the stairs. Do I follow?

A sound rumbles through the stairwell, deep, familiar, grounding.

Dax.

He’s safe.

I forget Zachs entirely. I take the steps two at a time, then three, nearly stumbling in my rush to get to him.

Zachs’ laughter chases me from below, but I don’t care.

I shove through the door, and my brain registers gunmetal, racks, crates, the scent of oil and steel, but none of it matters.

The room is full, Wilkes, a few other guards, Trip, Grip, but I don’t see them.

I see Dax.

And then I’m moving, weightless, breathless.

His hands are on me before I can reach him, gripping, lifting, pulling me in. I wrap my legs around his waist, arms around his neck, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing in the world.

Because right now, he is.

He kisses me like he needs it. Like he hasn’t drawn a full breath since we were separated. His hands flex at my back, holding me tight, his lips fierce, unrelenting, real.

For a moment, there’s nothing else. No guards, no zombies, no fucking apocalypse.

Just Dax.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath hot and uneven. His grip on me doesn’t loosen.

“I told you to stay in solitary, woman,” he mutters, voice rough, accusing, but too damn relieved to sound angry.

My feet find the ground, but his hands linger.

“You’re not the boss of me,” I say, shoving lightly at his chest. Then, more serious, quieter, “Zachs is sketchy as hell.”

Laughter erupts around us, Wilkes, Grip, even Trip gives a knowing grunt.

Zachs strolls in behind me, dimple flashing, completely unbothered. “She shot him.”

Dax’s grip on me tightens. The look he gives me is like he wants to pin me against the nearest gun rack and lose his goddamn mind.

---