Page 59 of Worshiping Faith

“You should close the door,” she says, voice light. Too light.

I glance back, kick it shut. We don’t have time for this.

But I also don’t have time not for this.

“What happened?” I ask. “I heard a gunshot.”

“Oh, that.” She smiles.

Sweet. A little unhinged.

Fuck.

“He was such a prick,” she says, waving a dismissive hand toward the cells.

I turn.

Quince.

Or what’s left of him.

His brains are decorating the back wall, his body a slumped heap of nothing.

Well. At least it’s not Jinx.

I exhale slow, turn back to her. She’s still standing there. Like this is just another errand on her list.

I don’t know if I should wrap her in a blanket or hand her another magazine.

Or maybe that’s the fucking point. Maybe that’s why Dax wants all of us to be something to her.

“Good job, sweetie,” I say, watching her close. “You hungry? Cold?”

She laughs. Not nervous. Not breaking. Just, laughs.

“Jinx needs it,” she says, shifting the snacks in her arms like that’s all that matters. “I got the bite cleaned up. Did you kill the boat people?”

“Not yet,” I say.

What the fuck do I do now?

“You good, or you need a minute?” I ask.

She looks at me like she’s really considering it. Like maybe she wants to say no. But then she says, “I’m good. Go. We’ll talk later. I’ll save you a candy bar.”

Fucking candy bar.

“Right. And if we get through this, I owe you some whiskey.”

“Go, Wilkes. I’m fine. Really.”

It’s bullshit, but she’ll be okay.

I go.

Outside, the quiet is unnerving. It’s too still. Too damn calm for a yard full of cornered killers.

“Zachs?” Dax’s voice crackles over the walkie, his tone clipped.

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