Page 7 of Worshiping Faith

She raises her chin, all fire and challenge. I flash back to the moment she pilfered Warden Sinclair’s dead body, after she’d blown his brains out. Like she’d done it a thousand times.

Savage.

And the sniper. Slashed his throat. Bloody brutal.

I’d kill every man in this place to keep her looking at me like she is right now.

“Well?” I prod. “Am I full of shit? Are you confident enough that I’m too… what? Civilized?” I dial up the charm, letting my smirk tug just enough. “You wanna search me for tattoos? I’ll let you.”

She laughs.

And fuck, it’s magical. Light and sharp, something delicate in all this brutality.

“Fine,” she says, rolling her eyes. “If that’s really a file with your criminal convictions, we’ll have lunch after we pull the rest of the files and talk about it.

A blush rises in her cheeks, just the faintest pink.

Gorgeous.

And she’s got a thing for cons.

Well. Lucky for her, that’s my specialty.

I hand her the file.

For the first time in my entire goddamn life, I feel nervous.

Like I actually give a shit what she’s going to think of what’s inside.

“Wait,” I say.

Her eyes flick to the label.

“Bradley Zachs?” she reads, eyebrows lifting.

I hate that name.

“Zachs will do,” I mutter. “I’m not really a Bradley type.”

She tilts her head again, considering. “I agree. You’re Zachs all the way,” she murmurs, still staring at the label.

Not at me.

Like she’s afraid to open it.

This is getting too heavy.

“You ever seen one so big? Tell me, Doc, am I the biggest?” I ask, smirking.

Her head snaps up, and she glares at me. “Zachs, really? You went there?”

“What, too soon?” I flash a grin.

She sighs, shaking her head. But she’s still smiling, barely. “Is it bad?” she asks, quieter now.

Our eyes meet.

And shit.

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