My body lightly jostles to-and-fro as Negan speeds down the gravel road, bound for the factory. I clutch tightly to the leather seatbelt across my chest, thankful that Negan chose to drive a vehicle with the safety restraints, unlike the rust-bucket that he drove during our last voyage to the factory. God knows we need it; Negan is the epitome of a reckless driver – lead foot, taking turns too sharp, braking suddenly, etc. It's times like this when I'm glad that Negan requires the blindfold, freeing me of having to witness his driving first hand.

Through most of the trip, I've silently reflected on the past few weeks following the attack on Fat Joey. There has been an underlying tension hovering within the Sanctuary. Negan has spent a record amount of time downstairs on a daily basis, no doubt orchestrating the Saviors. From my spot at the bedroom window, I've watched him send out convoys of his men to undisclosed locations. I can only suspect that it has something to do with the attackers.

All the while, I've avoided confronting Negan on the issue. I minded my own business and went about the days as usual, speaking only when Negan spoke to me. I've silently prayed that the day would soon come and I would be able to have another meet-up with my father to get the answers that I needed. Who are these people? What are their intentions? Is Negan the sole target, or the entire Savior organization?

After weeks of anxious waiting, Negan made it known that my father had been doing a superb job of making his payments. Because of this, Negan was going to be generous enough to grant us a few hours of visitation.

Although I'm ecstatic for the long-awaited reunion with my father, there's a part of me that questions our safety on the road. We are traveling the exact route that Fat Joey traversed on the day he was attacked. To my knowledge, there has yet to be a second ambush from the enemy, but that doesn't mean they won't strike again. I suspect this is why Simon is accompanying us on our voyage today. Hearing the hum of his diesel engine following close behind us gives me one less thing to worry about.

I'm jolted from my thoughts when Negan suddenly slams on the brakes. I wince as the seatbelt locks up and painfully digs into my flesh. The engine idles for a few seconds before Negan flips the ignition off. I hear Simon pull up and park directly behind us.

"Let there be light," Negan jokes as he reaches behind my head and unties the blindfold. I can hear him then jump out and speak to Simon.

The rush of sunlight distorts the vision of my unadjusted eyes. I scrunch my face and throw my hands up to block out some of the intrusive brightness as my vision refocuses. Only when the blurriness has completely subsided do I unbuckle and hop out of the pickup.

I silently curse to myself as the movement causes my top to rise behind me, almost completely exposing my back. The shirt is a flowing, white off-the-shoulder top. Though it's cute, the damn thing will not stay in place! If I try to keep my cleavage covered, my stomach is exposed, but pulling down the material to cover my stomach leaves my cleavage practically popping out. Negan surprised me with the outfit and insisted that I wear it, which includes a pair of dark wash skinny jeans that leave little to the imagination. It's certainly outside my wheelhouse of graphic tees and jeans that don't cut off the circulation to my legs. The lone redeeming quality of wearing the outfit is that it offers a bit of relief from heat. With the Indian summer setting in, the would-be autumn coolness is put on hold until this last round of heat subsides.

I'm tugging on the hem of the garment when Negan approaches, freely swinging Lucille with each step taken. Despite the slightly uncomfortable heat, Negan remains in his leather jacket – though he's left it unzipped over his stark white tee.

"Ah, ah," he chastises, lightly smacking my hand off the fabric. "Leave it alone. It makes your tits look fine as fuck." Negan reaches forward and brushes my hair aside from where it had been partially concealing my bare shoulders and chest. He releases a deep sigh in approval, trailing the back of his knuckles down my shoulder in a barely-there touch.

I fight the urge to bristle at his contact. Him doing this in the safety of the bedroom is one thing, adding a spectator to the mix is something entirely different. My gaze uneasily wanders towards Simon's direction, already feeling his prying eyes on me. He immediately looks away when I catch him staring.

Negan follows my eyes and clicks his tongue in amusement. "Can't say I blame the bastard. I mean, all he's seen you wearing is fuckin' t-shirts and shit. He hasn't seen what I've seen…. My, oh my – I do know how to pick them, if I do say so myself." Negan intertwines his fingers in mine and raises my arm, slowly twirling me a full three-sixty to get the full view. His eyes turn a darker hue, almost primal in nature, as his heated gaze seems to peer straight through my clothing.

I can't help the fact that he has my stomach twisting into knots with just that one look. Sometimes it feels as if he's my own toxic blend of heroin; as harmful as I know he is, part of me just wants to say, 'fuck it' and ride that high once again.

This isn't one of those moments.

I shove my urges deep within the depths of my subconscious, realigning my focus to the task at hand – getting inside the factory to get answers from my dad.

"Negan, he's waiting," I remind him, nodding towards the weathered building.

"And his ass can continue to wait. Come on, baby… how about we give Simon a little show?" Negan takes a smooth step forward, pressing his hard body against mine as his calloused hands lightly tickle the smooth skin of my sides.

I raise up on my toes and drape an arm across the cool leather of his shoulder and neck, lowering him to my level. "Or, maybe I could give you a private show later. We could even take our sweet time," I softly whisper into his ear. My other hand reaches between us to lightly palm the front of his pants.

His entire body goes rigid as a mixture between a gasp and a moan flows from his lips. It's good that Negan can't see the smirk on my face. I truly have him in the palm of my hand. He's not the only one who knows which cards to play to get what they want.

Negan tilts his head back and peers down at me through hooded eyes. "How can I say 'no' to that shit?" he says, pressing his lips to mine. After a moment, he reluctantly pulls away and grabs my hand, leading me across the parking lot to the entrance of the factory.

Simon is stationed at the industrial door when we approach. I notice a handgun holstered to his belt, and silently pray that it will not have to be fired anytime soon. With a simple nod from Negan, Simon heaves open the door for us to pass through, before muscling it closed on its rusted tracks.

Dust clouds the air as we maneuver through the dimly lit factory floor. The sparsely placed windows allow enough light to keep us from running into any of the large machines, conveyer belts, or boxes overflowing with spare parts. Negan keeps a secure hold on my hand in case I misstep over any of the trash riddling the floors.

We're just outside the break room, a mere feet from where my father is waiting, when Negan suddenly stops and harshly pulls me against him.

"Don't forget the rules, especially who you fuckin' belong to. You won't like what happens if you do," he warns in a low whisper.

"Yes, sir," I swiftly answer, knowing him not to make empty threats.

Negan grins and releases me. I watch as he smooths down his hair one final time and shrugs his shoulders loose, resembling an athlete performing their pregame warmups. Wrapping an arm around my waist, he pulls me flush to his side.

"Showtime," he mumbles in glee and pushes open the door.

The instant we cross the threshold into the small break room, my eyes fall upon my father. He's seated at the rickety table in the middle of the room, the soles of his boots tapping restlessly against the concrete floor. Hearing us enter, he snaps to attention and unsteadily rises from the chair.

It's only been a month since the viscous beating he sustained at the hands of Negan, the night I made the decision to become Negan's wife. His pained stance is enough evidence to know that at least a few ribs are still bruised. Besides a hint of bruising lingering around his eye, the superficial wounds have appeared to have healed. However, I can't help but cringe at the sight of his still warped nose. The swelling has subsided, but the bridge protrudes slightly to the right.

Despite his injuries and obvious discomfort, his face beams at the sight of me.

"Hello there, old friend!" Negan joyously greets my father. "I would say that you're looking good, but you look shittier than shit itself. How's your face feeling?"

"It's fine." Though the answer was directed towards Negan, my father has yet to take his eyes off me. More specifically, how Negan's arm is rested comfortably around my waist, close to my ass.

Negan takes notice, his lip curling in sinister delight. "Wonderful! We've been doing fine-and-fuckin'-dandy too, by the way. I think the married life has been treating her quite well. Don't worry, I've been keeping her busy," Negan winks at my father, twisting the knife even further.

The color drains from my face at Negan's words. I sheepishly peer at my father. His fists are clenched with his knuckles white from the strain. He's doing all that he can to bite his tongue, but I'm not sure how much more he can take.

"Shit," Negan looks down at me. "Now that I think about it, today is our one-month anniversary! Damn – I should've brought us some fuckin' cake or something so we could celebrate. My bad, darlin'."

I flash Negan a small smile, even though his comment has me wanting to slap the arrogant smirk off his face.

"Well, I guess I've busted your balls enough for now." Negan pulls his cell phone out of his jacket pocket and checks the time. "Your two hours start… now!"

The instant Negan releases me, I jump into my father's waiting arms. Though he looks frail, his strength has not waivered any as he embraces me. I rest my head on his shoulder and cling to him as tightly as I can. He kisses my cheek and gently sways me in his arms.

Without warning, tears begin to fall from my eyes, soaking into his dirty blue flannel. It's so unexpected, even to myself. My mind has been so preoccupied in the matters at the Sanctuary that I haven't had time to truly miss my father, until now.

Since being taken from him, I've had no other choice but to turn to myself for comfort and reassurance. I couldn't afford to truly acknowledge the terror that has dwelled in me for the past few months; if I had, it would've crushed me. The weight of what's been on my shoulders now feels suffocating and all too real with him in front of me. It's as if the protective walls I built are made from paper, paper that is being drenched and disintegrated by my falling tears, and the only thing keeping me together is him.

"Shhh… I got you, honey. It's okay," my father soothes. He grimaces slightly as he maneuvers us both to where he is seated in the chair, and I'm curled into his arms. My face stays buried in his shirt as he gently rocks me back and forth while softly humming 'You are My Sunshine'.

It's a proven way to calm me; he's been doing it since my mama died. The first night that I had the nightmare of her accident, dad could hear me crying from the other side of the house. He rushed into my room, scooped me into his arms, and hummed that song until I had cried every tear that I had in me and had drifted back to sleep.

Just as he did back then, he hums the simple melody countless times, patiently waiting for me to settle. Only when my breathing calms does he speak up.

"Feeling a bit better, sweetie?"

I nod my head and glance up to meet his calm expression. That's when I notice the stains on his shirt from his own tears as well. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. It just kind of… hit me." I shrug my shoulders.

He leans down and kisses the top of my head. "No need to be sorry. You've been through a lot." He whispers the last part, cautious of Negan's presence.

Turning my head, I spot Negan seated against the wall on the opposite end of the room. His nose is in some motorcycle magazine, keeping him occupied for the time being.

I nestle my head against my father's shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent of Irish Spring soap, with an undertone of car exhaust. I can't help but smile; no matter how thoroughly he washes his clothes, after a long day in the shop, the smell seems to trap itself within the fibers. It doesn't bother me, though. If anything, I inhale deeper, trying to store the scent into my memories with not knowing when I'll get the opportunity to see him again.

"We need to talk," I whisper, nervously fidgeting with a loose string on his shirt. He doesn't react at first, making me wonder if he even heard me.

"I know…," he mutters under his breath. His eyes uneasily drift towards Negan.

I look up at him in confusion. How does he know?

Though Negan's attention seems elsewhere, it's too risky to try to talk to my father right now. I slide off his lap and into the other seat before striking up a conversation. The minutes tick away as I'm filled in on the small-town gossip from back home. It reminded me of the days when he would make the three-hour trip to TU to visit me. The time would be split in half – him catching me up on things at home, and me sharing details of how I had been surviving college. Only this time, he was doing all the sharing. There's not much that I can reveal with Negan present.

All the while, I prayed that Negan's phone would ring to give us a few minutes alone while he tended to the call. Not once did it make it sound. My father and I could sense our window closing, though we continued with our charade.

We're entranced in a lively discussion concerning college football when Negan loudly clears his throat to get our attention.

"Start wrapping things up, darlin'. Only fifteen more minutes," he says from behind his magazine.

Shit, that came way too soon.

Realizing that it's now or never, I stand. My father reaches out and grabs my wrist, his face scrunched in worry.

"Trust me," I mouth to him, shaking my wrist free.

Negan slowly lowers the magazine and uncrosses his slender legs when he hears me approaching. "You know you only got...," he slips his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen, "thirteen minutes left, right?"

"Can I have a few minutes alone with my dad? That's all I need – just a couple of minutes."

Negan leans against the back of the chair and folds his arms over his chest. "Is that so?" he slurs, cocking his head to the side.

"Please, Negan. You know that I won't try anything stupid; I know the consequences." My gaze shifts to his side, where Lucille is leaning against the wall. "Please...?"

He stares me down with distrust as his eyes searching mine for any hint of deceit. He's unwavering, seeming to think that the longer he presses me, the weaker my resolve will get. I fight to stand my ground, not once breaking eye contact, though I surely wish too.

Negan suddenly stands to his feet, causing me to shuffle back a step to give him room. A smirk presses in over his features.

"You're so fuckin' adorable when you beg," he croons, leaning in close. "Lucky for you, I'm still in a damn good mood from earlier. But you have to give me something in return for being so fuckin' generous." His gaze flickers to my father, before returning to me. "One kiss in exchange for the last ten minutes alone with daddy."

My face drops at Negan's proposal. Even he knows that it's more than just a kiss. That one kiss in front of my father is the public declaration that I fully belong to Negan. It's a cheap shot to a man that is already broken and battered. Better yet, it's a challenge thrown down to see just how loyal I am to him, as opposed to my father. The devastating thing is that if I expect to get information, I have no choice but to agree to it….

I numb my senses, focusing all my energy on Negan. My father, the factory, and every other source of stimuli fade into black. I visualize one of the many kisses shared between Negan and I in his bedroom, imagining this to be just as routine as those.

My hand tenderly cups his jaw, his thick scruff scratching my palm. Coaxing him forward, his lips press lightly against mine. A deep groan vibrates from the back of Negan's throat as my fingers intertwine in his raven locks, giving them a slight tug. He grabs a handful of my ass, kneading the soft flesh through the denim barrier. A moan catches in my throat before it could be heard, though it doesn't go without notice from Negan, who grins against my lips.

There's a flush tint to my cheeks when he pulls away. I could easily shrug it off as being from the embarrassment, but Negan and I are both aware of the affect that he has on me.

His lip curls in triumph, casting a final look over my head to my father. Negan straightens and grabs Lucille, lazily propping her on his shoulder.

"Good seeing ya again, Pete! If you keep doing what you're fuckin' doing, the wife and I just might swing by for another visit."

The weight on my chest is slowly lifted with every step that Negan takes away from the room. Only when his booming footsteps are reduced to barely audible taps do I release a long, slow breath. I rub my hand across the back of my neck, turning to face my father.

His body is rigid, fists clenching and unclenching on the tabletop, almost as if in rhythm with his rising pulse.

"He's just trying to push your buttons in any way he can," I try to explain, moving to sit across from him.

"I know," he grits through his teeth in a tight breath.

I stretch my arm across the table and drape my hand over his, caressing over the fine scars that riddle both hands from decades of mechanical work. They're worn and calloused, the skin cracked and marked in certain places. Each scar a reminder of the many late-night hours spent busting his ass to make sure that I was provided for after mama died.

My thumb passes over a raised scar on the top of his knuckle. It's still relatively fresh, only recently scarred over. A lump forms in my throat, knowing that he gained this scar working the hours of overtime to pay off Negan for my return.

"You've been working so hard," I say, my voice cracking slightly as tears are on the verge of flowing from my eyes.

"I'm doing whatever it takes to get you back home with me, where you're safe." He places his other hand on top of mine, squeezing gently. "I promise you – I'll get you out of this," he says with conviction.

I give him a weak smile, more out of politeness than agreement. I want to believe him, I really do, but our present circumstances with the attack causes me to be hesitant.

"I see that look," he says, pointing to me. "I know you're scared…. I know why, too. The ambush a few weeks ago?"

I lean forward in my chair, my eyes widening. "Wait, how? What else do you know? What is going on?" I ramble at top speed.

My father quickly shushes me and nervously looks towards the door, fully expecting Negan to barge in. After a moment, he continues. "Even though I'm not involved in that kind of shit anymore, I've learned to keep my ears open. A few days ago downtown, I overheard a couple of guys mention one of the Saviors getting blindsided the other week. I didn't want to believe it, but there was more talk and I knew it had to be true," he says in disbelief. "I never expected them to fire the first shot."

"Them? You mean the ones who did this?" I question, to which he replies with a single nod. "Who are they?"

"They call themselves the Whisperers," he says. "From what I know, they've been around for just as long as the Saviors. They essentially control the other half of the region that the Saviors don't have. The two have coexisted for decades with an unwritten law that one group will not cause conflict with the other. Kind of like a 'You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours' kind of deal."

His story perfectly lines up to what I heard Negan and his lieutenants discussing during their meeting.

"Why did they break the deal now? The Saviors haven't done anything to them – I mean, the Whisperers." I correct myself, getting used to this 'rogue group' having a name.

"There's been talk of a change in leadership within the group. A guy named Joe had been calling the shots for decades. In fact, him and Negan were the ones who originally set the terms and territory borders. Apparently, over the last few years, one of his own rose through the ranks, gaining the trust and respect of the entire organization, at Joe's expense. He tried to hold onto his throne, though after many questionable calls, the majority essentially overthrew him, placing his protégé into power."

"New leader, new rules," I think out loud.

"Exactly. I don't know much about the new leader, just she goes by the name of Alpha.

"She?"

"Yeah, and from what I've heard, she wants the Saviors wiped off the map. Alpha wants the Whisperers to be the sole player in the cartel game and she's not afraid to do whatever it takes to make that happen. No one is safe."

I put my head down in my hands, my body rigid. This all feels unreal, like a lucid dream that I can't seem to wake up from. I'm supposed to be midway through my fall semester at TU, not caught in the middle of what seems to be an impending war between two of the largest, most infamous organizations in the drug game on this side of the continental U.S.

"What do we do?" I say more to myself, than to my father.

More than anything, what do I do? In the grand scheme of things, I'm the one who is caught in the crossfire, due to being in Negan's possession. My father is hundreds of miles away from the center of the battle, while I'm standing in no man's land.

"We run," he says firmly, as if his mind is already made up.

I can't help but chuckle at his absurd recommendation, though it ceases quickly when his stoic expression remains unchanged.

"Wait, you can't be serious?" I narrow my eyes in skepticism.

"I'm not about to lose you in the middle of all of this," he says, his tone desperate. "We can go right now. I've scouted this building before Sam, I know there is an exit towards the rear of the building. Once outside, all we would have to do is work our way through the woods, find a vehicle, and –,"

"Whoa!" I throw up my hands, stopping him mid-sentence. "We are not running! There's nowhere that we can go that he wouldn't find us."

My father shakes his head. "That's the thing; we can use this mess with the Whisperers to our advantage. He's going to be so preoccupied with defending his livelihood that we will be the least of his worries."

"You don't get it," I scoff. "Whether he comes after us now, or years from now, he's not going to stop searching until he finds us. He spent twenty-five years looking for you; can you imagine the lengths that he will go to find both of us?"

My father's brow creases in frustration, a frown etched on his face. Though he may not like my answer, he can't say that I'm wrong.

"It may already be too late," I continue. "The Whisperers jumped Fat Joey after he met with you. They knew exactly where to find him, which means they know about you and your deal with Negan. A little more digging and they'll also know that I obviously mean something to Negan as well. I've seen plenty of mafia movies to know that innocent people can easily be used as collateral, when necessary. If we run, they could very well come after us to get to Negan, putting another target on our backs."

I fall silent for a moment. "As bad as Negan is, me staying with him is the safest choice…."

With a grunt, my father plants his feet on the floor and thrusts his chair back, the metal legs sharply scrapping against the concrete floor. He gets up and huddles in the corner of the room. Leaning his back against one of the rusted lockers, he crosses his arms over his chest.

"So, you think that he can protect you better than what I can?" he demands with a sharp glare.

"That's not what I meant." I attempt to diffuse the situation, though I'm frustrated that he would even think something like that. "Dad, look at the facts - Negan has the manpower, guns, and resources. Staying in his good graces-."

"Good graces?!" my father exclaims. "God's sake Sam, do you hear yourself?"

I struggle to find words but couldn't even open my mouth as he continued his tirade.

"I can't believe this... Do you even understand what the hell you are saying? The man had nearly beaten me to death and forced you to be his wife! He's made our lives a living hell from the moment he set foot on the damn porch. I've sold off basically everything we have and I know that he's taken you out of the university too. So don't you give me any shit about how he can 'protect you.'"

My jaw drops. How my dad knew about me being out of university was beyond me. I stand up and walk over to my dad, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

"Dad, I-I know that it's hard to accept but it's the truth. Negan can protect me and I will make sure that he protects you too."

My father looks at me hard, there's a small softness in his eyes that makes me have hope of some understanding.

"Sam, please be honest," he whispers, his voice low and barely audible. "Does Negan rape you?"

My hand shoots off my father's arm as if it had been burned. The sudden, straight-forward question takes me aback and I can only imagine my shocked expression. However, my dad doesn't let up.

"Sweetheart, please, I-I can't understand it... Bu-but I can help you, please Sam..."

I shake my head, I have to put a stop to this. I need to set my dad straight.

"Negan doesn't rape me, hell he doesn't even touch me without my permission."

My dad blinks at this in surprise.

"It's true. He is a bastard but Negan doesn't condone rape and he enforces it to his men too. He really doesn't tolerate that kind of stuff dad."

"You slept with him."

I purse my lips wishing with all my heart to say 'no', but it's impossible to lie to my father. Slowly I nod.

"Yes," I confirm. "I slept with him, but...but I said yes, it was all done with my consent."

"And you still sleep with him?" My father asks raising an eyebrow.

I sigh and nod.

"With your consent."

I immediately see where my dad is getting at. I slowly nod. I feel like I'm watching my father age greatly before me. The color draining from his face, his newly slouched position and the defeated, empty expression in his eyes. I reach out to him but he pulls his hand out of the way.

"I can't believe it," he whispers. He looks up at me and I see pent-up fury etched in his face. "He beats you, puts a collar on you and hauls you around on a chain like a dog. How can you be so blind Sam?!"

I flinch as if struck.

"Do you enjoy it?" my father sneers angrily. "Do you enjoy laying at his side, while I'm out there trying to make ends meet?"

"N-No," I manage through a choked voice.

"No? Then what the fuck is that?" he replies angrily pointing at my revealing outfit. Suddenly, the clothes are all too tight, all too showy. I quickly wrap my arms around myself as if that would make it all better.

"He...Negan gave it to me."

"As what? A reward for having sex with him? Is that why you have no collar on too? Are you that easily bought?"

My cheeks flush in embarrassment. This is too much for me to be having this conversation with my dad, no matter the person. I choke back my tears and take in a breath.

"He found the guitar!"

Silence.

I'm breathing so heavily that it's nearly deafening, however on my father's end, there was nothing – it seemed like he had stopped breathing all together.

"What?"

The single word snaps me out of my angered trance. My mind goes over what I had just said and I place my hand to my mouth in mute shock, however the damage is done. I see tears shine in my dad's eyes as he too reflects on what he had just heard.

"He... He fo-found it dad...," I whisper, my voice cracks slightly. I recall playing it during the troubling times to sooth my spirit. "Negan found mom's guitar and bought it for me."

"So that's it huh? You think that him getting Elizabeth's guitar back makes him a damn saint? A fucking angel of heaven?"

My heart tightens when my dad says my mom's name. I wipe my eyes as my breath clogs in my throat.

"Wake up Sam, he's not what you think. Sure he bandages you up only for him to abuse you again, he bought you your mom's guitar only to buy your adoration-."

"You think I don't know that!" I scream "I know fully well all the shit he's done and I know what he's trying to do. But with what's coming, we can't hold out on our own. With Negan and I, that's not ho-."

"How it is?" my father finishes cruelly. "Really Sam? Then enlighten me! Tell me how is living underneath a stable roof, have good food, a warm bed and a man to protect you?"

I stare at my father as tears fall freely as my father's words harass me into submission.

My dad snorts. "Yeah, he'll protect me alright... Protect me and fucks you. In the end it seems that you and him are the big winners in all this and I'm just the fool who fucked up."

Without a word, I jump up from the seat and leave.

XXXXXX

Outside, I was moving so fast that the stupid, flowing shirt whips around me revealing my sides and back. Normally I would try and tame it down but I don't care at the moment. Simon is the first to see me and he motions to his leader. Negan turns about to speak but I move past both of them without a second thought.

"Whoa, slow your roll there swee-."

"Let's go!" I say, my tone sharp.

Negan and Simon are clearly both taken aback. They look at each other but I don't wait for either to speak and head over to the truck. Suddenly, a hand wraps around my wrist and I'm pulled back.

"Hold up there."

I'm forced to spin, at this point I'm practically vibrating to hold everything together. I can't let Negan see me upset, not so much as a single tear could fall. I take in a breath feeling my welling eyes cease.

"What's wrong?" That voice...a promise of comfort and stability in a time like this.

I force myself to remain firm, to not get sucked into the pretenses of what Negan is.

"It's nothing," I manage with an even voice. I look up praying that my eyes aren't glassy with tears. "I'm fine Negan."

My 'loving husband' clearly doesn't believe me as he looks back at the factory. I wrench my wrist from his hand causing his attention to return to me.

"Let's go," I repeat. I rush past him and get into the truck. I buckle myself up, making sure that it's secure for the ride home before grabbing the blindfold from it's place in the center console and wrap it around my eyes. I can hear Simon and Negan whispering but can't make out the words. Doesn't matter anyway so long as they don't head back to the factory.

What little luck I have left seems to be still working as Negan gives a sigh and orders Simon to follow us home.

XXXXXX

The ride was quiet. Negan had once again persisted on knowing what was wrong but I remained tight lipped. With the blindfold on, my tears were free to fall and be absorbed by the fabric, thus not giving anything away. After a few moments, Negan gives a disgruntled grunt and turns on the radio.

The music blares around, and soon Negan is tapping his finger and whistling along with the song. I know it's a way of scraping at me in order to get me to speak but I'm too flustered and stunned at the conversation I had with my dad. How can he berate me? It's his fault Negan had come up to our doorstep in the first place! Yet, despite that I've been on his side, through and through, hell even stood up to Negan. But one thing and he throws me to the wolves.

He doesn't understand the glass that I'm currently walking on, that if there is so much as a crack then Negan would take everything away just as easily as he gave.

Now he believes that I'm actually in love with Negan. There could be no worse situation. My words didn't seem to have any effect and thus making whatever I had said seem like I was defending the bastard. My own father... How could he? I watched him be beaten repeatedly, humiliated and taunted with me sometimes being the reason. Rewards or not, it doesn't change what Negan had done and the effects it still has on my father. But my dad's not even on my side anymore.

I clench my fist against the arm rest as my mind races over the danger we are now in. How could my dad do away with that so quickly? Even though it hurts, doesn't he see that Negan really is our only option? But, despite all reasonings, he chooses to ignore it all. Negan has the artillery and the defences to go toe-to-toe with this group. These Whisperers know that my father is involved with Negan and if they're so hell bent on ridding the Saviors, who knows what will happen to him.

What will happen to me?

I can't go to Negan, else I'll get in trouble. I can't go to Simon, he won't say a word. Even though Dwight and I have a mutual understanding, it's clear where he lies in the end. And my dad...

These people... Alpha and the Whisperers are capable of making large enough attacks to get Negan's attention, they don't hesitate and they don't seem to care who gets in the way. What will stop them from hurting innocents? What will stop them from marching right up to the Sanctuary's door?

Edited by Spitfire47.

*Cue dramatic music* Dun, dun, dun, dunnnnn!

WOW! What a reveal! Things keep going from bad to worse for Sam...

Thoughts? Going forward, what do you expect Negan's next move to be? Sam's? Do you fault Pete for his reaction? I can't wait to hear from you guys!

*The Whisperers come directly from the comics (and soon to be seen on season 9).*