Page 65 of Worshiping Faith

Following.

Docking.

My stomach drops.

I scan the wall. The men are standing there, rifles still raised but not firing.

Why aren’t they shooting?

What the fuck is happening?!

I spring to my feet, racing for the roof exit.

Inside. I can’t think. I don’t need to. My body knows where to go.

I fly past our rooms, our life.

Where Dax holds me at night, keeping the nightmares at bay.

Where Zachs made love to me like I was something fragile and irreplaceable.

Where Wilkes and Trip… Shit. Did I reject them? No.

I shove it away. Not now.

I run.

Gun at my waist. Full magazine.

I’m getting my men off that boat.

If these assholes turned on us, I’ll kill them all.

The exit door rushes up too fast. I skid to a stop, my heart a fist in my throat.

Something doesn’t fit.

Zachs. Zachs would never abandon them.

My hand hovers over the door handle.

I yank my walkie up, voice sharp, breathless. “Zachs, fucking talk to me.”

Static. A beat of silence.

Then, his voice, smooth as ever. Too smooth. Too light. “What’s up, Doc?”

I grit my teeth. “You tell me, damn it.” My fingers clench the radio.

“We’re on the way. Hang tight.” There’s a smirk in his voice. Too calm. Too controlled. “I missed you too,” he adds.

I force my breathing steady as I make my way back to the block.

Each step, I remind myself, we.

Zachs said we.

It’s a lifeline I hold onto with everything I have.

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