Page 44 of Worshiping Faith

I hold his gaze. “I made Jinx talk before. Lock me in the block. It’s safe.”

His head tilts slightly, like he’s weighing something. “Hmmm. Interesting.”

It’s not a no.

I push forward. “Let me help. Please, Wilkes. Don’t pin me somewhere I absolutely can’t do anything. Pin me where I’m useful.”

I hate the sound of my own voice, pleading, but not desperate.

Wilkes exhales through his nose, rubbing his thumb over the stock of his rifle. “Jinx might be tweaked out, but he’s not here on drug charges, sweetie,” he says, his voice low and even. “None of them are. You know that. All killers.”

I lift my chin. “And he’s in a cell, sweetie,” I shoot back, mirroring his tone. “He’s not getting out of those bars.”

Something flickers in his eyes, amusement, maybe.

But I see it. The shift.

I’m not just Dax’s woman or some liability he’s forced to babysit.

I’m one of them.

And whether Wilkes likes it or not, he’s starting to see it too.

Wilkes strolls over to one of his men, leans in, and murmurs something low enough that I can’t hear. Whatever it is, it’s short. A simple instruction. The guy nods once.

Wilkes turns back to me. “You need anything from your room? This could be a long night.”

Do I?

I run through a mental checklist, but I already know the answer. “No. There are blankets and pillows in the guard quarters. If I get tired, I’ll curl up there.”

He gives a small nod. “Come on.”

He starts walking, not waiting to see if I follow.

I pick up my pace, closing the space between us. “Thank you.”

Wilkes doesn’t glance over, but I catch the edge of a smirk. “You get Jinx to spill what’s heading our way, I’ll give you a nip of the whiskey.”

“If we survive this, I’ll take a whole shot,” I say, trying to mimic the exact tone he used when he made the same offer to Dax.

That gets a low chuckle from him, just a breath of sound.

At the block, he unlocks the door and walks me inside.

Before he leaves, he strides over to Quince’s cell. The bastard is sitting on his cot, arms resting on his knees, looking way too comfortable for a man in his position.

Wilkes raps his knuckles once on the bars. “You got company, scumbag. Let me find out you were rude.” His tone is pure fuck-around-and-find-out, and it makes my stomach tighten.

Quince doesn’t say a damn word.

Wilkes turns back to me. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Not a chance.” Maybe a lie.

I keep my face steady as he walks away. When his footsteps fade, I glance toward the guard quarters.

Pillows. Blankets.