Page 20 of Worshiping Faith

I keep my pace even, my posture straight. Dax made it clear I was his, and most of them respect that.

Most.

A few voices murmur as I pass. I can’t make out the words, but I don’t have to.

I know what they’re saying.

The eyes tell me everything.

Dax is right. He can’t be with me all the time. And I shouldn’t be alone.

Trip will have already radioed ahead, letting whoever’s closest know which way I went. They’re relentless about keeping me within their line of sight.

Devoted.

I pause at the chow hall doorway, scanning the tables inside. Not here.

Damn.

I turn sharply, taking two steps, and collide hard with someone.

The impact sends a jolt through me, knocking me back half a step. A wall of sweat, alcohol, and bad decisions fills my nose before I even register the voice.

“Lost?” The guard steps into me again, his bulk deliberate, shifting me without even using his hands.

Too close.

He smells like booze and regret, like someone who shouldn’t still have access to either.

Dax rounded up all the alcohol. Or at least, he was supposed to.

I square my shoulders, forcing myself to hold my ground. Don’t step back. Don’t flinch. Predators read that like blood in the water. “No,” I say, firm.

He nudges forward again, subtle, but clear. Another step stolen from me.

“Enough,” I warn.

He doesn’t stop. “You’ll want to be a little nicer, sweetheart.” The way he says it isn’t a joke. Not exactly. “Any one of us could fuck and kill you before Dax even knew what the hell happened.”

Cold floods my veins. For a second, my brain empties.

Not here. Not this close to the chow hall.

Not within shouting distance of fifty men who wouldn’t save me, but would help him. Take a turn.

My fingers twitch toward my waistband. The gun. The knife.

I have options. I just need to pick one fast.

The knife is in my hand before I register drawing it, the cool handle grounding me. I press it to the guard’s throat, my voice steady, even. “You’ll want to be a lot nicer to me, sweetheart.”

His body stiffens, his breath sharp, then suddenly, he’s gone. Ripped away so fast I don’t even process what’s happening.

And then I do.

Zachs.

He’s here, behind him, in control, his fingers twisted in the guard’s hair, dragging him back like a misbehaving dog.