Page 14

Faith

Fine? I don’t question him out loud, but the word echoes in my head. None of this is fine, and we both know it.

“Should we be separating from the others?” I ask once we’re alone, keeping my voice low as we move through the halls.

Dax’s hand stays firmly on me, his touch grounding, protective. His eyes dart to every open door, every shadowed corner, scanning with the sharp efficiency of someone who’s survived too much. “We don’t have time to move everyone as a group,” he says, his tone clipped but calm.

He’s not telling me everything.

Before I can press him, movement flashes ahead. Someone, or something, steps into the hall.

Dax reacts instantly, pulling his knife with a swift, practiced motion. He races forward, stabbing it in the head with brutal precision. The sound of the blade cracking through bone sends a shiver down my spine.

He wipes the blade on his jeans as he strides back to me, barely missing a beat. I can’t tell if he doesn’t want to waste bullets or if he’s just trying to keep the noise down. Probably both.

“Stay close,” he says, his voice low as he takes my hand and urges me forward.

It feels like an eternity before we reach the block. Dax pulls out the key, the faint jingle of metal echoing through the empty halls. He unlocks the door and guides me inside, one hand still on me as his eyes sweep the space.

It’s empty, just like Wilkes said. Dark too. The fluorescent lights overhead flicker once, then hold steady, casting the room in a harsh, sterile glow.

Even empty, the place feels suffocating.

The cells loom like shadows, their thick metal bars gleaming dully in the dim light. They’re cages, cages for humans.

I hate them.

“You can’t just leave me here,” I start, the words rushing out before I can stop them.

Dax doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leans in and kisses me, hard and fast. There’s something raw in the way his lips crush against mine, something desperate in the way his hands cup my face like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.

When he pulls back, his gaze is so exposed it takes my breath away.

“I’d lock you in one of these cells if it’s what it took to keep you safe,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Dax,” My voice wavers, and I hate the way it sounds, but I can’t stop. “What do you expect me to do? Just sit here on my hands and imagine you out there getting chewed on?”

He exhales sharply, his forehead pressing against mine.

His hands stay on my face, firm but gentle, as if holding me in place.

“Sweetheart, I know this isn’t what you want.

But that madman injected half the inmates with this shit.

Half. We’re about to be in for a long fight to take this island back, and I can’t do what I need to do if I’m always looking over my shoulder for you. ”

His words hit me hard, but I push back anyway. “I fought with Wilkes. Held my own. I’m not useless with a gun.”

He shakes his head, his thumb brushing against my cheek. “I know you’re not useless. You two held off a spattering, same as I did. But this isn’t a fair fight. Those things outnumber us, and it’s getting worse with every bite, every kill.”

The weight of his words settles over me, heavy and suffocating.

“I’m not running out there like a fuckwit with a death wish,” he continues, his voice steady but firm. “We’re going to get weapons, find more hands, and do this sensibly. From the catwalks. The towers.”

I nod reluctantly, swallowing the knot in my throat. “What can we do now, while we wait for Wilkes?”

His answer isn’t what I expect.

He backs me into the wall, his hands bracketing my face, his body pressing against mine in one fluid motion. The breath leaves my lungs as his lips brush against my ear.

“You make me reckless,” he murmurs, his voice rough and thick with restraint.

The heat of his breath on my skin sends a shiver racing down my spine. His teeth graze my earlobe, a teasing nip that sets my nerves alight.

“Dax,” I breathe, my hands sliding up his chest. Solid muscle shifts under my palms, the heat of him burning through his shirt.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he growls, his mouth moving to the curve of my neck. His teeth scrape lightly against my skin, followed by the heat of his tongue.

My body responds before my brain can catch up, arching into him as my fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. The adrenaline pumping through me blurs the lines between fear, need, and something far more dangerous.

I tilt my head, giving him better access as his mouth continues its slow, devastating assault on my neck.

“Dax, when this is over…” I start, my voice trembling.

He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes. His gaze burns into me, a mix of intensity and something deeper, something raw.

“When this is over, you’re mine,” he says, the words more a declaration than a promise.

My heart skips a beat, the weight of his words hitting me harder than I expect.

And the truth is, I don’t even know what “over” looks like anymore.

“I am… yours,” I say, the words spilling out, heated and desperate. My hands cling to him, my nails digging into his shoulders. “Every time you step away from me, it could be the last.”

The truth slips out, raw and undeniable, and the heavy sigh he lets out seems to echo it.

Wilkes will be here any second to take him away. Back into danger.

“Outside, zombies are eating inmates, making more zombies.” My voice trembles, but my resolve doesn’t.

My whole body is vibrating, adrenaline mixing with something darker, hotter, desperate.

“Here, now, is all we have.” I swallow hard, my pulse pounding.

“Now. Fast,” I beg, the words ripping out of me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind.

But if I’m insane, then so is he.

Because he doesn’t hesitate.

Dax’s hands move fast, rough, unrelenting, as he rips his zipper down. The sharp, electric sound of it echoes between us.

I don’t wait. I can’t. My fingers fumble at the waistband of my pants, yanking them down so fast my boots tangle in the fabric. I curse, stumbling, but he’s already on me.

His jeans slide down his thighs, not all the way. Just enough.

It’s all we need.

His hands grip my thighs, tight, bruising, and then I’m airborne. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, his strength effortless, the raw power of him making my breath catch.

My back slams against the wall, the cold concrete biting into my skin, grounding me in the chaos.

Then he’s inside me.

Hard. Deep. No teasing. No patience. Just raw, brutal need.

A sharp gasp leaves my lips, but it’s swallowed by his mouth as he devours me. His stubble scrapes my jaw, his teeth graze my throat, and fuck, he’s everywhere.

My nails dig into his back, dragging, holding on for dear life.

Each thrust is a command, a claim, driven by something fierce and possessive. The heat of him, the power behind him, makes my mind go blank.

He growls my name, low and dangerous, sending a shiver straight down my spine. His hands tighten on my hips, fingers digging in so hard it’ll leave bruises, evidence.

Proof I was his before the whole fucking world collapsed.

I grind against him, chasing the friction, pushing myself over the edge, fast and reckless. I shatter, my cry swallowed by his mouth as I come hard, body clenching tight around him.

The sound he makes is primal. A rough, guttural groan as he drives into me one last time and follows me over the edge.

For a second, we don’t move.

Just panting, wrecked, still tangled together in the dark.

The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers twitch against my skin, he’s still there, still hard, still ready to keep going if I wanted it.

But we can’t.

We don’t have time to fall apart.

The urgency slams back into us.

He lowers me to the ground, slow, hands lingering on my waist like he’s reluctant to let go. I wobble on shaky legs, my hands fumbling with my pants, and he steadies me.

His grip is firm. Grounding.

Dax’s eyes burn into me, wild and possessive, his chest still heaving. “You are so fucking perfect,” he growls, voice wrecked, rough, hungry.

I tug my shirt back into place, heart still slamming against my ribs. “You come back to me.” My voice trembles, not from fear, but from something deeper.

Something unbreakable.

His lips twitch, but his eyes are serious as sin as he zips his jeans. “Always.”

The vow isn’t soft. It’s not whispered.

It’s steel. It’s unyielding. It’s Dax.

The knock comes almost immediately. “Dax!” Wilkes’ voice is sharp and impatient.

Dax doesn’t move. He looks at me. Sees me. Gives me one last, slow once-over, like he’s memorizing me, locking me in before stepping away.

Then he turns to unlock the door.

Wilkes pushes inside, closing the door behind him with a sharp shove.

His chest rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths, and his face is pale under the blood streaks on his skin.

“They’re in every fucking shadow,” he says, shaking his head like he’s trying to dislodge the memory.

“Found a group of about twenty huddled in the game room. Got ‘em all safe with Zachs. Figure we’re all of thirty-ish strong now. Ten guards.”

He pauses, his lips pulling into a grim line. “Grip was with the game group.”

I glance at Dax, watching as he processes the information. His jaw tightens, his shoulders tensing like they’re bracing for the weight of a hundred decisions.

Wilkes glances at me briefly, and I suddenly become hyperaware of myself, the heat in my cheeks, the way my shirt clings to my skin. I should blush. I should be embarrassed. The room must smell like a damn sex shop, and Wilkes has been out dodging zombies while I’ve been in here fucking Dax.

I swallow hard and straighten my shoulders. There’s no time for that now.

“Seen Sinclair?” Dax asks, his tone cold and sharp.

Wilkes snorts. “Didn’t go by the brass’s wing. Figure they started this shit, they can fuck right off.”

The words hit me like a punch. A guard, a guard , choosing inmates over his own leadership?

Dax doesn’t look surprised. If anything, there’s the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes. “Much as we need hands, I agree. Fuck ‘em.” His voice is low and rough, but then he pauses, glancing toward the door like he’s already planning the next move. “But we need to get to the armory.”

“Right under the vipers’ nest,” Wilkes says. He pulls out his key ring and jingles it faintly. “I got keys if you got balls. The ten guards we got have your back.”

The casual way he says it makes my stomach drop.

I grab Dax’s arm, turning him toward me. “Wait,” I say firmly. “It’s one thing to pick off mindless zombies from a catwalk, but you’re talking about taking on armed guards. Not only is that murder, but it’s also a coup. It’s suicide. And you promised me you’d be back here with me.”

Dax looks at me, his face a mask of stone, but his silence cuts deeper than any words.

I flick my gaze to Wilkes, my mind racing. “How many are in the building over the armory?” I demand.

Wilkes shrugs, his lips twisting wryly. “Assuming they haven’t been eaten by their own monsters?”

“Yeah, assume a full staff,” I say.

“Maybe ten,” Wilkes guesses.

“Bullshit,” Dax cuts in. “Fifteen easy.”

“With the chaos, the last thing they’ll expect is us,” Wilkes says, his voice calm and steady, like this is all just another shitty day on the job.

I shake my head, holding up a hand. “If the chaos has even reached them,” I counter.

“No. Zombies first. Coup if we survive. Use the bastards to help us.” I step closer to Dax, holding his gaze.

“Think about it. They’re extra men on the catwalks.

Extra eyes in the shadows. They can help us clear this island. Self-preservation.”

Dax’s jaw clenches, the muscle ticking as he stares down at me.

“She makes a point,” Wilkes says, his voice careful, almost tentative. “I could go in solo. Play frantic. No one heard us talking about leaving them for dead but us three.”

Dax doesn’t take his eyes off me.

I reach for his hands, pulling him closer. The heat of his skin steadies me even as my heart pounds. “Dax,” I say softly. “It makes sense. I know these men hurt you. And I promise you, I want them to pay for that. I wanted it before I even laid eyes on you. It’s why I’m here.”

His hands tighten around mine, the tension radiating off him like a storm about to break.

“You have to survive to help me punish them,” I whisper. “Please.”

For a moment, he doesn’t move. His breathing is steady but deep, his grip firm, his gaze locked on mine like he’s searching for something.

Finally, he nods, just once.

“Wilkes,” he says, his voice sharp and controlled. “Take her with you to solitary. Lock her in with the group. Then go to Sinclair’s wing and play it cool. See if you can pull any of those bastards onto the catwalks. Don’t trust a damn word they say, but if they’ll fight, let ‘em fight.”

Wilkes nods. “You?”

Dax’s eyes flick to the door. “I’ll meet you in here after I check the towers. I want to see if any of the guards up there are still breathing. Then we regroup in private, plan the next steps.”

I tighten my grip on his hands. “You come back to me,” I say, my voice trembling despite my best effort to stay calm.

His gaze softens, just barely, and his thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Always,” he says.

The vow wraps around me like armor, even as the chaos outside presses closer.