Page 51 of Worshiping Faith

Damn woman. “You can’t let him out, he’s a…”

“A sick man,” she cuts in, her voice sharp. “I’m a doctor.”

She nods at me like I’m five, waiting for me to fall in line.

If we had time to unpack whatever the hell this is between us, she’d be in trouble.

I pull out the cuffs and turn to Jinx. “I’m cuffing him.”

“Do what you need and get the hell out of here before we have more problems than we already do,” she says.

Doesn’t argue. Doesn’t fight me on it.

She doesn’t need me.

The fucking con-whisperer.

I open the cell, lock the cuffs around Jinx’s wrists, and step out, my mind still circling on her.

She got Jinx to spill shit he’s been sitting on for years.

Tamed Dax and Zachs.

Now she’s got Jinx under her wing, too.

Yeah.

She’ll be fine.

I leave. The yard isn’t in chaos. That should be a good thing. It isn’t.

My gut tightens. Why the hell hasn’t someone radioed an update?

“Where you at, Dax?” I ask.

“Dock.” He doesn’t sound breathless. No gunfire in the background.

Good.

That means the boat is still offshore. Probably waiting for backup.

Not much time before all hell breaks loose.

“We need a regroup,” I say.

Dax knows what that means.

Something changed. Something’s gone sideways. Not even been kissed first.

“I’ll go ground,” Trip says over the walkie.

That leaves Zachs as our only set of eyes up high. Not ideal.

An army of convicts versus the fucking military?

We’re not winning this fight.

“Zachs, keep your eyes on a swivel,” I say, already scanning for other options.

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