Page 8 of Worshiping Faith

No hate. No disgust. Just… curiosity.

“Might be,” I say, watching her carefully. “Depends on what you consider bad, exactly.”

And then, fuck. She bites her lip.

Just for a second. Just a little.

That’s sexy as hell.

“You’ve seen a lot, working as an advocate, right?” I ask, voice lower now.

“Everyone on this island is a violent offender,” she says, tone careful.

Violent Offender. That’s the clinical term. That’s what the system calls men like me.

Yeah. That’s me.

“Some worse than others,” I say, watching her closely. “I have a temper.” I laugh a little. Temper. Yeah.

Her fingers tighten slightly on the file. “They wouldn’t have promoted you if you were the worst man here,” she says, like it’s a fact.

I tilt my head. “You know who Warden Sinclair was,” I say before I can stop myself.

Regret slams into me immediately.

Her shoulders stiffen.

Fuck.

The bastard tried to rape her. She killed him for it.

I would’ve killed him for her if she hadn’t already done it.

For a second, I see red.

Then, softness.

“Zachs?” She steps closer, slow but steady.

And then her hand, her warm, gentle fucking hand, presses against my arm.

“What did he do to you?” Her voice is different now.

No sarcasm. No teasing. Just gentleness.

I don’t know what to do with that.

Her touch is so light. So fucking soft.

I could break her fingers without even trying. Could end a life with half the effort it takes her to care.

And yet, her touch is the thing that fucking ruins me.

Chapter Three

Faith

I can’t stop staring at the file in front of me. And I can’t seem to open it.