Page 60 of Faith Among Monsters

I almost stumble, my body jolting at the sheer venom in the tone, but I catch myself, using the slip to make my act more convincing. Wilkes? He’s helping cover my reckless ass the best way he can, playing into my act.

“Please!” I cry, voice high and desperate. “Zachs is insane!”

I know the other guards think that. Hell, they’ve said it enough times. It’s my best bet. Let them believe I’m a terrified woman, running straight into the arms of someone safer, someone like them.

I step onto the catwalk without slowing, ignoring the groan of rusted metal beneath my boots. The sniper is there, crouched just beyond the door, rifle tucked close to his chest. His position is strong, cover, high ground, but he’s alone.

I slow now, inching forward. Hands raised. Open. Weak.

“Please,” I beg, voice shaking. “Don’t hurt me. They’re savages.”

“Faith!” Zachs’ voice cuts through the air. “When I get my hands on you—”

I shudder, playing right into it. “Please,” I whisper. “They’ll do worse than kill me.”

The sniper watches me. His gaze flickers with something, not sympathy, but calculation.

He buys it.

“Quick, back here with me.” He jerks his head toward the doorway, motioning me closer.

I hear muffled shots behind me. Someone’s still fighting. Good.

I hurry forward. He’s cleaner than most, well-groomed, uniform crisp. One of Sinclair’s men, no doubt. He reeks of power, of a man used to being in control.

I hate him instantly.

But I keep my mask in place, eyes wide with gratitude. “Thank God you were here.”

He grabs my arm, steadying me, and inhales deeply.

Hesmellsme.

Fucking smells me.

The revulsion that rises is instant, white-hot, but I let it twist into something else, submission. My shoulders drop. I let himpull me further inside, let him shift me to the side as he peeks out.

That’s his mistake.

I don’t hesitate.

My knife is in my hand before he even registers the movement. The blade slices across his throat, deep, sharp.

He jerks, eyes flaring wide, hands flying to his neck as wet, bubbling gasps burst from his lips. His body convulses, thick, dark blood spilling through his fingers, splattering across his pristine uniform. The scent of iron floods my nose, hot and sickly.

I don’t let go.

I drive the blade deeper, twisting, feeling the cartilage give way, feeling his pulse shudder beneath my grip.

He tries to speak.

Nothing comes out but a choked, gurgling rattle.

His knees buckle, dragging both of us down. I wrench my knife free and shove him off me. He hits the ground hard, body twitching, blood pooling fast.

I stare down at him.

That’s one less asshole.

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