Page 22 of Worshiping Faith

Zachs tilts his head, eyes narrowing.

And for a second, a split second, he looks disappointed.

Like he wanted more. But then, just as quickly, he snaps back.

“I was looking for you,” I say, keeping my tone even, and my focus on him.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face. “Well, hell,” he drawls, shoving the guard toward the crowd like he’s an afterthought. “Why didn’t you say that?”

He spins, spreading his arms wide toward the men gathered, like he’s about to make an announcement. “Next one who touches her? Loses their fucking hand.”

The way he says it, not shouted, not screamed, just stated, calm as a promise, carries more weight than if he had.

Because he means it. And they know he means it.

The crowd scatters without another word, leaving the guard bleeding on the floor.

Zachs turns back to me, grinning like he just did me a favor. “Damn, Doc. You smell good when you’re scared.”

Zachs’ hand presses against my lower back, light but undeniable, guiding me down the corridor.

I let him.

Do I want to be Zachs’? The thought slithers in uninvited.

Would anyone survive that? How many wrong looks, lewd comments, casual threats do I get in a day? Would there even be enough men left standing if Zachs claimed me?

“I had that handled,” I say, my voice steady. “My knife was at his throat.”

Zachs tsks, slow and teasing. “You hesitated,” he says. “I’ve seen what you do when you have it handled. Don’t hesitate with these men.”

“I’m not stabbing someone for being an asshole.”

“That’s why you need me.” His voice is pure delight, like he’s enjoying this way too much. “I’ll stab ‘em for much less.”

Of course he will.

“What did you need me for?” he asks, almost as an afterthought. “Dax okay?”

I exhale, too tired to lie. “No, he’s not. But he wants me to think he is.”

Zachs doesn’t react much, just a slow blink, like that’s expected.

I swallow. “He still wants this. Us. To talk.”

“Talk?” Zachs makes a face, like the word itself offends him. “That sounds like a shit idea.”

Then the dimple is back, and it’s so unfair, no one has any right to look so innocent and, screw it, sexy, not after beating a man half to death without breaking a sweat.

“You read my file,” he says, like that’s all there is to him.

And my heart pinches a little. Like that’s all he thinks I’ll ever see.

“That file doesn’t tell me who you are,” I say softly. “You’ve been kind. Loyal. And…”

Shit.

Zachs turns to me, and I see the exact second that word registers.