Page 66 of Faith Among Monsters

They’re right not to.

The inmates still outnumber the guards. For now. But if we start losing men, if the scales tip back in their favor, we’re fucked. They’re not stupid. They know it, too.

We split up.

As soon as it’s just us, my people, my circle, my problem children, Zachs gives me the full fucking rundown of what happened on the roof.

In detail.

“Threw Sampson off the edge,” Zachs says, grinning like it’s his favorite memory. “Figured he deserved to get chewed on slow. If he’s still shambling when we come back, I’ll finish the job.”

I exhale, slow and sharp. “I told you to keep her safe.”

Wilkes lets out a long, exhausted breath like he’s been holding it in.

Faith doesn’t even blink.

“She tossed Wilkes off her like he was a fuckin’ housefly,” Zachs continues, his smirk widening. “Didn’t need us. Lured thesniper in, slit his throat, real pretty. Messy, though. That’s why she’s covered in blood.”

I look at her. She’s watching me. Calm. Challenging.

She knows.

Knows what I’m thinking. Knows exactly how close I am to bending her over my knee and teaching her what reckless gets her.

Later.

She cocks her head like she knows that too. Like she doesn’t give a shit how angry I am.

And just like that, it fucking melts.

I’d never lay a hand on her. Not unless she begged me to.

We move, leaping from roof to roof, clearing our path, securing doors, taking shots when needed. Every movement is calculated. Every second counts.

Faith is at my side. Where she’s staying.

No more leaving her behind.

No more fucking close calls.

Chapter Twenty-One

Faith

Gravel crunches underfoot as we move from rooftop to rooftop, each step echoing the silence that’s fallen over us. No more joking from Zachs, no more sharp orders from Dax, just the distant crash of waves and the occasional muffled pop of a silencer as we clear the way. The weight of what we’re walking into settles deep in my bones.

I exhale slowly and squeeze the trigger. A zombie lurching along the ground below jerks back, its skull rupturing as it drops.

Dax is close. Too close. His heat presses against me, steady and unyielding, and I can’t decide if it soothes or unsettles me. The way he looked at me back there, like he wanted to shake some goddamn sense into me and kiss the hell out of me in the same breath, I felt that deep. My chest still aches from the moment I thought he might be gone, buried in that fucking building, lost in the madness.

Trip is glued to my other side, silent as ever. I don’t think I’ve heard him speak more than a handful of words since I met him. Maybe he just doesn’t waste breath on conversation when there are more important things to focus on, like clearing zombies with unnerving precision. He’s not just a good shot. He’s efficient. Clinical. There’s something unsettling about his calm, but hell, I’ll take cold calculation over reckless bravado any day.

Wilkes lingers at my back, quiet but there. I still don’t know exactly where I stand with him, but he didn’t hesitate to throw his body over mine like a damn bulletproof vest on the roof. Maybe it’s foolish, but I feel safer with him at my six.

The air shifts. The ever-present salt in the air thickens, turning sharp and wet. The ocean. We’re close.

Up ahead, the dock juts out into the churning water. From here, I can just barely make out the warden’s boat, still tethered in place. A handful of figures move near the vessel, their silhouettes jerky and restless. They’re not zombies. They’re alive.

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