Page 68 of Faith Among Monsters

“He’s a damn good shot,” Dax murmurs.

Another shot cracks through the air, not from Zachs. From the ground.

They’re firing back.

I tense, but I don’t hear Zachs move. Instead, I hear him laugh. Laugh.

And then, low and taunting, his voice carries just enough for us to hear. “Coward.”

Another shot.

More laughter, then the crunch of gravel as Zachs crawls toward us. His dimple is on full display, like he’s just come back from a fucking vacation, not from picking off men like a sniper in a damn horror movie.

I want to smack his crazy ass.

“Nailed Klaus between his beady little eyes,” Zachs announces, sounding like he just won a round of cards, not executed a man. “Coward-ass Preston used an inmate as a shield. We’re down to three. Preston, a lapdog, and some poor bastard too stupid to know who the real monsters are.”

Dax doesn’t get a chance to respond before a shout cuts through the air.

Wilkes exhales sharply. “Morons are calling to us?”

“They’re gonna attract every damn thing we didn’t kill,” I mutter. It’s obvious. Too obvious.

Dax doesn’t even blink. “Let ‘em.” His voice is cold. “They can’t fight them off if it’s just three of them.”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Wilkes tilts his head toward Zachs. “I can’t believe you missed Preston.”

Zachs snorts. “Yeah, well, Klaus was the better shot. Most likely to put a bullet in one of us.”

“Not you,” Trip says.

The words come out of nowhere. Everyone turns. Trip doesn’t talk unless it matters.

Zachs flicks his gaze to him, something unreadable behind that damn grin of his. Trip just called out what no one else had. Zachs didn’t prioritize his own survival. He took out the biggest threats to the group. Even if it meant leaving his worst enemy alive.

For a second, I think Zachs might actually acknowledge it. Might say something that’s not a joke.

Instead, he just shakes his head, slings the rifle over his back, and crawls away.

His laughter is low, rich, and completely unhinged.

When he comes back, his grin is feral. “Three. Signaling surrender from cover.”

“You buy it?” Wilkes asks.

“No fucking way,” Dax mutters. His jaw tightens. “But if they think we do, we can get closer.”

Wilkes shifts beside me.

Something in Dax’s expression changes. A flicker of something deeper. “They get that boat started, we’re fucked.”

Not just stranded. Fucked.

My gut knots. What isn’t Dax telling me?

I look at him, searching his face.

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