Page 84 of Worshiping Faith

The loss is brutal.

His eyes burn into mine, dark and decisive. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

Chapter Nineteen

Zachs

Fucking Irish?

And Mason too, just to boot?

Dax has lost his ever-loving mind.

Probably delirious from pain.

Another crate slams onto the dock, shaking from the force of it.

I get it. I fucking get it.

Numbers game.

We need more bodies. More control.

And, yeah, Irish’s crew? They’re beasts. Six of them. Feral as hell. Built like war dogs.

But trusting them?

With us?

With her?

Not fucking happening.

I grab another crate, hurling it to the dock.

One of Irish’s men, thick neck, broken nose, probably named something stupid, grabs it without a word.

Good. He keeps his fucking mouth shut, we won’t have a problem.

Because the first one of them that makes Faith even slightly uncomfortable?

I’ll skin him.

Another crate. Another slam.

I can still taste her. Feel her thighs trembling against my face, the way she drowned in me.

So fucking perfect.

I set her bags down beside me, the only shit I won’t let these assholes touch.

Because she’s mine.

Mine to make laugh.

Mine to make scream.

Mine to…

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