Page 41 of Worshiping Faith

But this? This isn’t over.

I glance back at the cells.

They’ll hold. No one is getting in or out of this block until I have answers.

I storm out, Quince’s laughter grating on my nerves with every step until I slam the door shut behind me and lock it.

I haul ass to the dock, my mind fucking whirring. Did what to Jinx? Take him? Who the fuck wants Jinx?

I pull my walkie. “En route. Who’s where?”

“Dock,” Trip says, irritation crackling through the static.

“Nearing dock,” Wilkes adds.

“I see Wilkes’ pretty ass,” Zachs says.

I grit my teeth. The three of them. That means… “Faith?”

Her voice cuts through immediately, sharp and furious. “Zachs locked me in.”

Good. I don’t say it, though, better to let her rage stay aimed at Zachs instead of me.

“So I’m still ten minutes out,” she adds.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Zachs, double back and get her,” I say. He’s closer.

“On it,” Zachs says.

“No,” Trip cuts in, hard and fast. “I need Zachs.”

Shit.

“I see Zachs,” Faith reports.

I exhale, forcing my focus forward. Each step is killing me. My shoulder is fire, my ribs feel like they’re grinding together, and my nerves are fucking frayed.

I beat Wilkes to the dock.

Trip is there, staring through night vision binoculars. His stance is rigid, his jaw tight as hell. “We got company,” he mutters, lowering the binoculars. “Zachs is the best sniper we got.”

He hands them off, and I lift them to my eyes.

What I see makes my stomach fucking drop. “It’s military?”

“Looks that way,” Trip says.

Wilkes pulls up, stepping beside me. “The stash was shit. Some booze, some crank, a couple of walkies. And a long-range satellite phone.”

I lower the binoculars.

Phone. Not working alone, dipshit. Quince knew. Knew exactly what was coming our way.

And for the first time in a long time, I consider the possibility that we might actually be fucked.

Zachs and Faith stomp toward us.