Page 33 of Worshiping Faith

Then he starts punching.

His fists fly too fast to track, bone on bone, knuckles splitting under the force.

Fredricks barely fights back.

Maybe he can’t. Maybe he knows it’s over.

Wet smacks. A dull, sickening crunch.

Fredricks stops moving.

Zachs doesn’t.

Blood splashes onto the walls. Onto the cot, the bars, the floor.

Jinx lets out a strangled sob, a sound like a wounded animal, curling into himself as his high shatters. “Oh god, oh god, he’s dead.”

I can’t move. I can’t breathe.

I’ve never seen someone beaten to death with bare hands.

This isn’t a fight. This is pure rage.

And all I can think about…

The gentlest kiss I’ve ever had.

The way his lips brushed against mine, careful, savoring, sweet.

And now…

His hands, the ones that touched me like I was something precious, dripping in blood.

Zachs stands. He drags a bloody hand through his hair, smearing red into blond.

There’s blood on his face, a streak along his cheek, caught in the curve of his dimple.

He looks at me.

Only at me.

Like he’s waiting.

Like what I do next will decide everything.

I can’t move. I can’t look away.

Dax’s hand settles warm and steady against my back. A grounding touch. “If you’re good here, I’ll go get Quince.”

Not do you need me to stay. Not should I take you with me. Just if you’re good here.

Because he knows.

He understands exactly what’s happening in this room, between me and Zachs, between me and myself.

If I tell him I’m fine, I’m answering both men’s questions at once.

I hesitate. Not because I’m afraid. But because once I say yes, I can’t take it back.