Page 3 of Worshiping Faith

“I’m getting some files,” I say, my tone sharp. “This is an off-limits, safe building. I’m fine.”

“Ouch. Who pissed in your Cheerios?” he asks.

I whirl on him.

His green eyes sparkle with something wicked as he grins at me. That dimple. Christ almighty.

Thanks a lot, Dax. Now I’m thinking about Zachs as a man.

That’s wrong on too many levels.

He’s a guard. I don’t trust guards. And I sure as hell don’t know how he ever convinced anyone he was responsible enough to guard anything before the world fell apart.

“I’m not in the mood for you,” I say.

The words feel loaded as soon as they leave my mouth. Shit. Heat creeps up my neck, and I hate that I know exactly why.

His grin deepens, eyes flicking over me like he knows too. “Me?” He clutches his chest like I just wounded him. “What the hell did I do?”

“I know.” My voice is flat, accusing. “Dax told me.”

His eyebrows lift. “Gonna have to be more specific, Doc.”

“It’s sick.”

Zachs’ smirk never fades, but something in his posture shifts, just the slightest lean, like a predator catching a new scent. “You wanna fill me in on what Dax told you,” he asks, voice light, teasing. “Before I go admitting shit I don’t have to?” He steps closer, easy and casual, like he’s always belonged in my space. “Where we going, anyway?”

“I’m getting some files,” I mutter, striding forward.

“Not mine, I hope.” He nudges me with his shoulder, solid and warm. Too warm.

As if guards have more than employee records. His might be interesting, though, if only to see how many times he got written up. Or to find out why some of the brass hated him.

I keep my focus ahead. “It’s not up to you. Or Dax. I decide who I sleep with.” I turn a corner, not caring if I lose him.

He whistles low. “Damn… Dax was serious?” A laugh rumbles in his throat, amused, surprised. “I thought he was full of shit. Just looking for a fight.”

I stop walking. Turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say no, doll,” he says smoothly, his gaze dropping, briefly, to my mouth before sliding back up. “Serious, though. What’d he say?” His tone is light. Too light.

Like this is just another game to him.

My stomach twists, and I don’t know if it’s frustration or something worse. “I’m a joke to you?” I snap.

For half a second, I think his smile falters. It’s so fast I can’t be sure. But when it comes back, it’s a fraction smaller. Then his tone drops. Lower. Quieter.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Did you really want to talk about it?”

Something in his voice makes my pulse skip.

“It?” My throat is tight. “There’s nothing to talk about. Dax is enough for me. More than enough. What did he say to you?”

Zachs exhales, running a hand through his hair. It’s the first thing he’s done that feels unrehearsed. “It’s not about being enough,” he says. “It’s about you. This nightmare world. What it’s gonna make you settle for.”

Something slips in his voice, just for a second. Not teasing. Not cocky. Just something else.

“We’re shit options,” he continues, gaze unreadable. “All of us.” A half-smirk tugs at his mouth, like he’s already accepted that fact. “Hell, maybe he’s right. Maybe together we’d make something worth a damn.”

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