The man on the other side was different to how I'd been picturing him, but he was so obviously Negan. He was intimidatingly tall, even as he leant to one side. He was wearing a black leather jacket and a matching glove on his right hand, and the weapon resting over his shoulder was a wooden baseball bat, wrapped in barbed wire—the end was coated in dried blood.

Negan watched in boredom as the gate cover, and only the cover, was moved aside. His eyes trailed over the rusted bars that blocked his path, and he menacingly gave Spencer an amused look as if to question why he was being made to wait.

"Well?"

"Um . . . who are you?"

I cringed and picked up the pace, needing to intervene before Spencer got someone killed.

"Oh, you better be joking. Negan, Lucille." He raised the bat from his shoulder to show it off. "I know I had to make a pretty strong first impression." His eyes drifted over when he saw me approaching, and he gave a toothy smile. "Well, hello there, young lady. You wouldn't happen to have had an accent, would you?"

"You knew he was coming?" Spencer leant down and questioned me before I could even think of an answer—at least that gave me an excuse to ignore Negan. As I went to open the gate, he blocked my path. "Hey—"

"Move." My voice was strong as I cut him off.

Good.

"You're just letting him in here?" He asked.

"I said move." I gave him a glare that was meant to remind him of the threats I gave the other day because I had no patience to deal with another hissy fit from Spencer. "Now."

He stared me down, his jaw setting as he blew an annoyed breath out through his nose. His gaze wavered and flickered to Negan who was still waiting on the other side of the gate. Finally, he turned away and walked back towards the van they were going to take on the run.

I locked eyes with Rosita, leaving no room for argument. "Sort him out."

Then I turned for the gate, deciding it would be best just to let Negan and the Saviours in before we tore each other apart. For some reason, Spencer didn't seem to understand that my being there meant I would take the brunt of the attention.

A murmur of appreciation rippled through Negan's chest as he mirrored my movements on the other side. "Ice. Cold. You have some power here, young lady."

I twisted the lock, before grasping two of the bars and heaving the second gate to the side all by myself. Negan continued to follow me, a grin plastered on his face as I pushed two gates fully open, allowing enough room for his trucks to enter if he wanted them to.

"I bet you think you look mighty cool with that thing," he said as he pointed to the axe holstered at my hip. "And you'd be right. I get it, going for the whole Tomb Raider vibe, matches the accent. Go on, say something for me."

"I—" I don't think I had ever been put more on the spot. "I don't know—"

"Rick!" Negan exclaimed excitedly, cutting me off.

I looked back over my shoulder to see Rick walking down to where we were standing, thankfully. I had never felt more put on the spot in my life. Rosita came to stand behind him to look out past the gate at the trucks.

"You said a week," Rick said. "You're early."

"I missed you." I don't think Negan had stopped smiling since he arrived. He chuckled as a walker came out from behind one of his trucks, and he began to walk backwards to it. "Oh, Rick. Come on out here, watch this! Calling it!"

He turned to face the approaching walker between the alley of the two large vehicles, and when he was close enough, he swung the bat from down behind him and struck it upside the jaw. It fell back against the bonnet with a thud and rolled onto the ground.

My blood went cold as I realised how he killed them. All the ways I had been picturing it suddenly became far more graphic, far more real. He'd beaten Glenn and Abraham to death with a barbed-wire bat. Lucille, did he call it?

Negan started to laugh as it died in one swing. "Easy peasy lemon squeezy!"

I felt a pit form at the bottom of my stomach as all I could do was stare at it, the blood dripping onto the ground. My hand came up to my chest, fingers curling over my shoulder as I dug my palm into the gauze with stitches underneath to keep me in the moment—now was not the time to break down.

"All right, everybody. Let's get started. Big day."

I stepped forward to meet the tens of people he brought along to take our things. There had to be at least thirty of them. Some broke out into sickening grins when they saw me, whereas the woman near the front just eyed me up and down.

Daryl was standing by one of the supports for the walls, and he didn't try to meet my eyes. He looked awful, tired, dirty. He was wearing a ragged beige sweatshirt and joggers with an orange A spray painted on the front which immediately sent me back to the train car for the shortest of seconds.

"Hey, Rick. You see that? What I just did? That is some service! I mean, we almost get turned away at the gate. Who is that guy, anyway?" He points at Spencer. "Luckily, this little helper you have here stepped in, a little worrying that a teenage girl is smarter than that prick over there. But do I get mad? Do I throw a fit? Do I bash some ginger's dome in?"

I winced.

"Nope," he continued. "I just take care of one of these dead pricks that could've killed one of y'all." He circled his hand as if he was about to take a bow and stepped forward. "Service." He turned his bat up in his hands and straightened up as he walked towards us and the open gate. "Hold this."

Rick held the bat as it was shoved into his hand, and I felt physically sick at the sight of it. Negan just walked past us and entered the community, his arms out to the side like he was taking in the grandeur of it all.

His tens of people began to round the corner, pushing Daryl in front of them. The man leading them had bright blonde hair, and half of his face looked like it had been burnt—the same person who killed Denise. Dwight, I think his name was. He was wearing a blue-grey button-up with Daryl's winged vest over the top. I wanted to scream at him to take it off, but I knew that wouldn't go down well. It was probably why he had it on in the first place.

Rick finally looked at me and nodded his head as if to send me from the sheer mass of people who began to fill the large opening to our community. I agreed that I didn't want to be standing around any of them, so I backed off around the car and walked back to where Isaac was standing on the grass, watching.

"Hot diggity dog! This place is magnificent!" Negan excitedly exclaimed as he leaned back at the hips. "An embarrassment of riches, as they say," he turned back to face Rick. "Yes, sir, I do believe you are gonna have plenty to offer up."

Rick didn't answer him and turned back to Daryl. "Daryl, hey—"

"No," Negan interrupted in a stern voice that made my heart stop every time I heard it. It immediately changed back to his usual cocky demeanour. "Nope. He's the help. You don't look at him, you don't talk to him, and I don't make you chop anything off of him."

Negan turned around, his eyes landing on Rosita, who hadn't moved when the Saviours came into the walls. She was standing there with her gaze set on something down the street. I squeezed my eyes closed when I realised he was going to start messing with her, too. I know she hadn't been dating Abraham at the time, but I can't imagine his death was easy on her.

"Same goes for everyone," He said in a sing-song voice as he approached Rosita, who had the same pissed-off look on her face. "Right?"

Rosita stared forward blankly as he leaned down, his face inches from her own. I had to give her credit for how she held it together, her arms crossed over her chest that heaved with visible anger. But she turned her eyes to look at him and then moved past to walk away.

Negan shook his arms with amusement as he followed her path, blowing out a breath and stopping just beside Rick as he said quietly, "A lot of suspense there. I don't think she even knew how much." He straightened up and walked ahead of Rick. "Alright, let's get this show on the road. See what kind of goodies you got in the cupboard."

"We put aside half the supplies," Rick said.

"No, Rick. No." Negan's voice went dangerously quiet as he turned around. "You don't decide what we take, I do. Arat!"

"You heard the man." The mean-looking woman with black curly hair bleached blonde at the ends took a step forward, hunched over from holding the shotgun in her hands. When none of them moved, she waved her arm and yelled, "Move out!"

"They're just gonna search the houses a bit, keep the process movin'," Negan told him. "Alright, you gonna show me around or not?"

I watched as Negan's men went forward and dispersed, spreading through the town, stomping through front lawns, marching into houses. They all looked too comfortable, too familiar with the motions for my liking.

"Come on," Isaac curled his fingers around my wrist, gently tugging me up the street. "Let's go hide out in the garage."

I squeezed his hand but then pulled it away, looking around anxiously as I continued to follow him. I felt bad about yanking my hand away so fast, but I didn't want any of Negan's people, or himself to see. I couldn't show weakness, and didn't want any of them to know my personal life.

"They'll be there—"

"We can't avoid them, I know that, but . . ." He blew out a sigh. "I don't know. You're right. I just don't want to be out here with all of them."

Neither did I. Every time I looked around, I saw one of them. Or Negan, or Daryl. Looking broken in ways I'd never seen, ways I didn't know was possible. It crushed me inside, beat me down low into the ground. I felt my eyes burn but sucked in a breath. I couldn't be weak, I couldn't show them anything. I was feeling exactly what Negan wanted me to, and so were Rick and the others.

I wasn't stupid, this was exactly why Daryl was here. Not as an example, or to scare us. Sure that would've been a bonus, showing us how he treated, punished people, and scaring us into getting Daryl hurt. That wasn't the true reason, it was to crush our spirits. Make us feel low, weak.

It worked, and I hated it.

At the house, Aaron and Eric were standing on their porch, watching the group of Saviours that had started into the first houses to the left of the gate across the park. Eric was the one who looked more annoyed, Aaron was resigned.

Because he'd been there.

"Going in the garage," Isaac said.

Aaron nodded, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. "Yeah, okay."

Isaac didn't bother flicking the light on inside the garage, enough came through the windows at the top of the rolling door. He sat at one end of the sofa bed, leaning back against the boxy armrest with his feet up on the other side. He nodded to the empty spot between his legs, which I sat in. I pulled my knees to my chest and leaned my head sideways against the back of the sofa.

"I'm still really tired," I admitted.

He scooched forward, bringing an arm up to brush his thumb against my temple. "I'm not surprised."

I was—I slept for 16 hours when I finally drifted off in Rick's bed, and then again later that night after I got some food in me. "The past few days feels like no time has passed, like I wasn't aware any time had been passing."

"I know," Isaac said quietly.

Of course he did, he had been there for me being completely nonfunctional. I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "I just wish I could have . . . I don't know."

"Nothing could have prepared you for him, Ace."

We kept hearing yelling, voices carrying through the walls from outside. Some seemed like mindless chatter, others shouting orders. All of them searching, taking, stealing. And all of us, sitting, staring, watching, letting it all happen. This was our life now.

"You think we can be somewhere else next time they show up?" Isaac asked.

I shrugged. "I think if he's early now, we can't be sure when they show up next."

The door opened and a figure stood at the top of the stairs. Dwight. He was towering over Isaac and me from where we sat on the sofa. He raised a brow at us, like he was thinking of mocking insults until Isaac pushed himself back on the sofa.

"Looking for the mechanic," Dwight said finally. "Someone said they work here."

"Yeah," I said quietly.

I untied the army green jumpsuit sleeves from around my waist and pulled them over my shoulders, zipping it up. I don't know why, I just wanted a bit more coverage in the mechanic coveralls than the tank top was offering me.

He pounded down the steps, taking a look around at the tools on the board and scattered on the workbenches. He rapped his knuckles against the wooden surface as he walked forward, before turning around.

"So where the hell are they?"

I turned pink, realising the confusion and stood up. "I meant, yeah, I'm the mechanic . . . sorry."

"You should be." My heart was racing as he crossed his arms, staring me down. But his lips twisted up into a smirk, and he tilted his head to the side. "I'm just kidding. But seriously, when I asked around they were sending me to you?"

"Yeah."

"Great." He clapped his hands together, "I'm gonna get started, take a look around, see if there's anything we need. Our guy gave me a list before coming here in case you did have a working garage, and look at that, you do. But hey, we can always do with some spares, right?"

Fuck me, just start already. I could see Isaac wanted to yell out the same thing, his glare fixed on Dwight who began rummaging through my toolbox. When he picked out a few things he wanted, he looked around and grabbed an empty cardboard box left by me and Aaron when we moved his things out.

"In all honesty, I didn't need you here for this. But Negan wanted to know if you guys had some mechanics so he could start splitting the jobs, give our guys back home less work to do," Dwight said. "Good for them, not so good for you. Gonna have to keep up on two lots of work."

"If he wants me to work, why take my tools?" I bit out.

"I'm not taking everything, am I?" He looked back over his shoulder, turning the box to me like it gave any indication of what he put inside. "Don't you worry, I'm sure you'll build your collection here back up in no time."

Yeah, with the little supplies that aren't left rusted in the back of pickups. Sure. I just bit the inside of my cheeks and nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground ahead of me. Isaac was leaning forward on his knees like he was waiting for this all to be over.

"Besides, it's not like you need more than one set of tools," Dwight continued. "You can barely fit anybody in here anyway, so you'll only have what? One, two people working at a time? It's doable."

I glanced at Isaac, confused. One or two people working at a time? Did they think we had a whole set team of mechanics?

Isaac raised an eyebrow, returning my look of confusion, showing he had caught that too.

If I was right, and that was the case, I didn't bother correcting that assumption. Better for them not to know everything there is about me, and better for them to assume Alexandria had more skilled workers than we did. At least, I thought it might be better, no way to know if I was going in the right direction with that yet or not.

Dwight continued, noisily sorting through all my tools, tossing some in his box while leaving others scattered across the bench. Each clang made me wince. Some of those tools had taken ages to collect and organize. I remembered even finding some on runs with Glenn—

I stopped that thought quickly, shoving it down deep before it took me over.

"You got a good set-up here," Dwight commented like I cared what he had to say, picking up a socket wrench. "Organised, clean."

Yeah, well, it sure was before you showed up.

"Better than what we're working with. Our mechanics are shit at keeping their stations tidy."

If I had the time or thought capacity, I would've thought more deeply about it and even mentioned how dumb and pathetic it sounded. I worked on my own, alone, doing all the jobs, the work, the cleaning, the organisation. They had a team, multiple help, workers, mechanics and others. He was saying they couldn't keep their shit together in their own garage?

I bit my tongue.

"This will make a nice addition to our garage," Dwight was examining the pegboard on the wall that held the heavier tools. He glanced around. "This place is a bit small, isn't it? Not much space for a community this size. Do you have another setup, somewhere? This can't be it unless you're actually only doing one job at a time."

Another assumption I wouldn't bother to correct. "All the tools are here."

He just hummed in disbelief.

Dwight began rifling through it all. My stack of maps, papers, notes, diagrams. Lists and diagrams of Alendria's vehicles, lists of parts we'd been collecting, my inventory, routes marked where I'd found supplies for work.

My stomach clenched. I wanted to be sick. Those maps and notes I had where I'd been scavenging for my own work supplies, what I'd left behind, what they still could have. Along with some other places I'd known hadn't been hit yet but hadn't had the chance to go myself. Every garage and auto shop we'd found or seen in phone books. Places we might need again when—if we ever got out from under Negan's thumb.

Dwight turned back to face us, crossing his arms as he leaned against the workbench. His burned face twisted into something that might have been a smile. "I tell ya. You seemed more fun at the gate."

"I don't want to get anyone killed."

"I'm not killing anybody," he said, lifting his hands to the sides.

You killed Denise, I left unsaid, moving to sit back on the sofa.

Isaac fidgeted with his hands beside me.

"It's not something I'm willing to risk."

"So, you're only gonna have an attitude with your own group, huh?" He raised a brow.

"Just the dicks."

"There we go, swearing. Progress." He pushed off from the bench, adjusting his—Daryl's vest at his shoulders. "Boss'll want to talk to you soon, about the vehicles, maintenance, that sort of thing. Thought we could have you doing more here, but there's just no space in here."

My stomach lurched; I didn't want to be anywhere near Negan or his bat.

Just then, as if his ears had been burning. There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, more familiar than the last ones. I didn't even need to look at the door to know who was standing there. "Dwighty-boy, didn't our guys teach you anything? Whoever runs this place is gonna be pissed when they come back here and find it ransacked."

"She's already here," Dwight only threw a thumb back over his shoulder.

Negan stepped down to the bottom of the stairs, grinning widely. "Well, hello again."

Rick was just behind him, his gaze apologetic as he eyed me and Isaac in the garage. Negan was making him follow him around like a lost puppy, another power play. And he was still holding that stupid fucking bat.

"You are full of surprises, darling," Negan said. "I'm sure Dwighty-boy filled you in, but I'm gonna be leaving you some work, cars to fix up here. Takes a lot of vehicles to keep all our bases running. Course I can't bring the real serious cases because they won't drive, but I'm sure we can find something to keep you all busy."

I only hummed in response.

My eyes were on Dwight as he lifted my yellow bag from the workbench to check behind it. I wrung my hands, praying that he didn't open it and check inside. None of us considered that we might want to hide the bombs I'd made.

I involuntarily gasped as he dropped the bag on the ground, breathing out a harsh breath when the bag did not explode into shrapnel. Rick looked at me, asking silently if that bag was full of bombs, but I didn't need to answer.

When I looked up, Negan's eyes were on me, a confused grin working its way onto his face.

"Hand me that bag?" I failed to suppress another flinch when Dwight leant over to grab the bag again, throwing it into Negan's arms. Dwight seemed to realise why he wanted it then, and leaned back against the workbench to watch. "Let's see what we have going on in here, shall we?"

He pulled the zip open and dug his hand inside, pulling out the first bomb on the top. It took him a few seconds to even work out what it was, his eyes flicking between the can and my face for some kind of clue. When he realised, he breathed out a long whistle.

"Fucking yikes . . ." He carefully placed the bag down on the workbench and pried open the top of the tin can. "Jesus fucking fuck! Be more fucking careful around here, would you? We could have just all been torn to fucking shreds. Look at this shit! This is home-fucking-made!"

He put the can down beside the bag, looking at Rick who refused to meet his eyes. This was my fault, I should have hidden them beyond the walls before Negan showed up, but he came early, and this was one of the first days I could function without bursting into tears.

"How many more of these fuckers are in here?" Negan pulled the bag wide open to look inside. "There's two fucking more!"

"One of them—" I stopped myself, regretting even opening my mouth because it made me feel physically sick. But Negan would probably start asking questions about how to make them if we have any more. It was probably better to offer the answers up now. "One's a smoke bomb."

"Well, I guess you're not just taking inventory then." Negan turned around and walked over, looming over me from the side as he brought the tin can up to eye level. "You made these?"

I nodded, swallowing.

"Well, I guess that explains what happened in one of the stairwells at the satellite station," Negan turned to look at Dwight but didn't move away. His eyes turned back to me, burning holes into the top of my head. He shook the bomb in front of my face again.

"How'd you make it?"

"Shrapnel, fertiliser and ignition," I answered.

"That easy huh?"

I hummed.

"I meant the answer, thought it was gonna be a bitch getting something like that out of you," he admitted, taking a step away. "Smart girl. You see, Rick? This is someone who gets it, who gets what it takes to make this kind of deal work."

The air around us shifted after that. Negan's theatrical amusement gained a sharper edge. He kept glancing back at me as they continued like he was recalculating something in his head. It made me uncomfortable, scared even, like I was walking on eggshells, waiting for something.

"You know what I think?" He said finally, spinning to face me. "I think we got off on the wrong fucking foot here. All that radio chatter about being the big bad wolf, and here you are, building presents that go bada-fucking-boom in the night."

He was grinning widely, but it didn't reach his eyes, they remained dark and cold. God, was he going to kill me? He was surely thinking about it, taking out a threat. I wasn't entirely sure why he hadn't brought it up himself.

Unless he just didn't consider me a threat.

"Should've led with that, sweetheart. Would've been much more impressive than the accent."

"Wasn't trying to impress you."

"No?" He leaned in close, tone deepening. "Then what exactly were you trying to do at my outpost? Because I gotta tell you, that was some mighty fucking impressive work. Creative. Messy as fuck, but creative."

"Just trying to survive."

He stared me down, unmoving, eyes flickering over my features, studying me. I kept myself still, trying to stand my ground, pretending he wasn't making me uneasy. Finally, to my relief, he pulled himself and his eyes away.

As he straightened up, he laughed. "Oh, we are going to have some fun, you and I."

"Dwight!" I flinched as he called out to his friend. "Keep an eye on her. Don't let . . ." Negan turned to me, a finger jabbing into my chest, "Mac—" I looked down and saw the name tag of the jumpsuit, the name Mac embroidered into a small badge on my left side. "Don't let Mac near anything explosive."

I winced as he poked the area near my stitches, a noise trapped at the back of my throat.

"Problem?"

"Stitches."

"From my Satellite station?"

I shook my head.

"Shame."

Negan turned back to Dwight, putting the bombs in the box he was holding and searching the rest of my bag. I'm sure there was nothing left inside apart from my water bottle. Rick had taken all the guns back to the armoury while I was out of it and my radio was still in the car.

"Get used to seeing him around, Dwighty-boy," Negan told me, walking around the garage. "I know his face is freaky as shit, but I would rather you get nightmares than be left alone to make any more of them." His eyes stopped on Isaac and he grinned. "I guess that ruins whatever you had going on here."

"Try not to be too overbearing, just keep an eye on her. Don't let her anywhere alone, that's all," he told Dwight.

"On it."

"Good, now that's settled. Rick," Negan finally addressed him, "let's continue with the tour, shall we?"

Negan nodded his head telling Rick to follow him as they walked out of the garage, continuing the sick charade of a tour as Negan further cemented the idea that he was in control. That left us alone with Dwight, who offered a sinister-looking smile as he leaned back against the workbench and crossed his arms.

"Guess you're stuck with me," he said.

I stopped myself from rolling my eyes. "Lucky me."

Letting out a sigh, I nodded for Isaac to follow me and walked out of the garage, leaving the house just as some Saviours were moving a mattress down the stairs. Isaac and I slipped outside, followed by Dwight who didn't hang around but always remained within visual contact. I know Isaac wanted to be alone, but it was easier to be outside around everyone else, probably less awkward than just sitting in a room with Dwight.

"You can still hide out if you want," I offered quietly. "I just don't think you want to stay in there with me now I have a warden."

"I'll stay with you," he promised. "At least he's not too overbearing out here. But it does mean seeing him around a lot more."

Negan could be heard from where we were on the porch. "Whatever happened to that sick girl? That seemed like a hell of a stressful night for her. The way she was carrying on, she was married to number two, right?"

Maggie.

My heart felt like it had been ripped out because I hadn't even considered that Maggie was there, that she watched him— I gripped the railing, my nails digging into the wood. He was seriously asking about her after what he did?

Isaac leaned into me, his voice not loud enough to be heard by anyone else. "Did he tell you about Maggie?"

I nodded.

Between my screaming and yelling on the 23, Rick managed to get out that Sasha had taken Maggie to Hilltop where she could be safe and see their doctor. There was no way of knowing if she was okay, but Sasha hadn't returned, which I was taking as a good sign.

"Careful," I looked down at them, seeing the anger that flooded Rick's features. "Careful how you're lookin' at me, Rick. Widows, especially ones that look like that . . ." Negan trailed off. "They are special. I love 'em. Right after their husbands go, they are just . . . empty inside. But usually not for long," he finished with a singsong voice and a laugh.

I was going to be sick.

"Ah, where is she? I would love to see her."

"Do you care to pay your respects?" Gabriel asked from behind him.

Negan spun around, "Ho-ly crap! You—" he pointed at him "—are creepy as shit, sneaking up on me, wearin' that collar with that freaky-ass smile."

Gabriel didn't know how to take that. "My apologies. I'm Father Gabriel."

Negan let out a breathy chuckle before he turned back to Rick. "She didn't make it?"

Gabriel led them away to where we had been burying bodies near our wall with the names written on it. I was glad I remembered enough of what Rick told me to know that Maggie was probably still alive because I would have been floored by that information.

I stayed with Isaac, near Aaron and Eric for a while until—

BANG!

"Infirmary," I got out before sprinting off.

I could hear Isaac's steps pounding on the ground behind me as we raced down the street and sprinted towards the infirmary. My mind was racing with all the worst outcomes, what if the Saviours killed someone? What if we killed a Saviour and Negan makes us pay for it? I ran faster than I think I have ever before.

Carl was standing there, facing off with two Saviours, pointing a gun at the one holding a box of our medicine. They didn't have weapons drawn, either worried about getting shot or overly confident that they wouldn't—probably the latter.

"Carl put the fucking gun down," I snapped.

"Listen to the girl," the Saviour with brown hair and a beard grinned, not caring that he was being held at gunpoint.

"They're taking everything," Carl didn't even look back at me as he spoke.

"Carl, they'll kill someone—"

"They said half!" Carl snapped. "Put some back or the next one goes in you."

The man laughed with the box and leaned forward. "Kid . . . what do you think happens next?"

"You die."

If I could have taken the gun and lied for him at that moment I would have, but the Saviours wouldn't have let it slide. He was going to get himself killed and there was nothing I could do, and the idea of that was killing me, slowly and painfully.

But it was too late because Rick came in through the door with Lucille gripped in his right hand, which meant that Negan wouldn't be far behind. "Carl. Carl, put it down."

And just as I predicted, Negan walked into the room behind me and Isaac, grinning as he circled Carl.

"No, he's taking all of our medicine. They said only half our stuff," Carl said.

"Of course," Negan laughed. "Really, kid?"

"And you should go before you find out how dangerous we all are." Carl wasn't scared to make a threat like that.

"Well, pardon me, young man. Excuse the shit out of my goddamn French, but did you just threaten me?" Negan seemed almost impressed. "Look, I get threatening Davey here, but I can't have it. Not him, not me."

Rick tried again. "Carl just put it down—"

"Don't be rude, Rick. We are having a conversation here," Negan cut him off. "Now, boy, where were we? Oh, yeah! Your giant, man-sized balls. No threatening us. Listen, I like you, so I don't want to go hard proving a point here—you don't want that. I said half your shit, and half is what I say it is."

I guessed that would be the loophole, that he said only half but then he decides what anyway. What was the point of lying about it? We couldn't have done anything whether he decided to take more than half, because the consequence of fighting back was playing out in front of my eyes right now.

"I'm serious, do you want me to prove how serious?" He left a menacing pause before asking, "Again?"

That seemed to scare Carl a little, because he faltered, pulling back away from Negan and turning to give the gun over to Rick. But it didn't matter anymore. When Carl came to hide beside me, Negan turned to Rick and grabbed the gun from his hands, letting out a sigh.

"You know, Rick, this whole thing reminds me that you have a lot of guns. There's all the guns you took from my outpost when you wasted all my people with a shit-ton of your own guns, and I'm bettin' there's even more—which adds up to an absolute" he leaned back, "ass-load of guns, and you have a girl here that can make fucking bombs."

Carl looked at me out the side of his eye, but I decided not to return his disappointed glare.

"Now, I haven't killed her. But as this little emotional outburst just made crystal clear . . . I can't allow you to have that many guns." A silence settled in the room for just a moment before Negan decided. "They're all mine now. So tell me, Rick . . . Where are my guns?"

Isaac went to fetch his water bottle from the house as Negan made Rick show him where the armoury was. I followed them and watched from afar, seeing that my warden had found me again reminded me that it was best just to stand around in the streets.

Martinez was watching too, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fence of one of the apartments. Negan had seen him, seen me walk up to him, but decided to grant some kind of mercy and not rush over here to pick on me.

Was it because of Martinez? He was smaller, but well built still, even after our time on the road Martinez had kept a lot of muscle definition in his arms. You could tell he was strong just by looking at him, maybe Negan could too—not that it should have mattered to him with the amount of people he had.

Maybe he was just content picking on Rick.

"He thinks my name is Mac," I told him as if it meant anything.

"Around him a lot, aren't you?" Martinez noticed.

"I'm being followed anyway," I said, nodding back to Dwight who was close by but working. "Negan found out I make bombs so I can't necessarily hide away somewhere. I may as well just hang around . . . Besides, if he's tormenting me, then he's not bothering anyone else."

"He should be scared of you," Martinez said out of nowhere.

"I don't think he's scared of me," I said.

"If he wasn't scared he wouldn't have someone following you around," Martinez said. "Not that it matters, because this is it, our lives now. Woodbury version two."

"You don't think that," I turned to face him.

He looked down at me with an almost pitiful stare. "Ace, it's all the same shit but worse. We used to kill people and take their stuff, the only difference is this guy takes it a step further and keeps the groups around to do his bidding for him. Keeps him stocked without having to actually work for any of it."

"Maybe he can't," I said.

"Meaning . . ."

"I don't know, maybe he needs the other groups and their stuff to survive," I said.

Martinez thought for a second and shrugged. "It's possible. Doesn't change anything, but it's possible."

"You know what today is, Rick? Today is a banner day," Negan was saying as his men and Daryl brought out the guns. "Yes, it is. I think this little arrangement we have is gonna work out just fine."

As Daryl brought up an armful of guns, Negan took one of the handguns from the top of the pile and grabbed it from him. My heart was still aching to see him beaten and bruised, wearing the clothes they made him wear, but I tried not to look so broken up about it.

"Hold up. Let's see if you've been taking care of my guns," Negan said.

He cocked the handgun, and, as if to get a reaction out of someone, held it up to Daryl who walked straight past him and back down the stairs to the armoury. Really, the only person that even flinched as he did it was me.

As Daryl walked down the stairs, Negan raised his arm and sent off a bullet through the window of one of the apartment buildings. The window smashed and the casing clattered on the ground at his feet. Negan looked pretty pleased with himself.

"Feels good. Sounds good! Oh, I do believe Lucille's gettin' a little jealous."

Another man came up from the basement with the unloaded RPG that Abraham found on the road when they got separated during the herd. Daryl used it to kill a group of Saviours on the road, and it was more than clear that Negan recognised that.

"Well, ho-ly smokes!" The man handed him the RPG. "Look at this! It was you guys that took out Little Timmy and the dick Brigade? Wow, Rick. Gettin' in your last licks. Ooh, man, I'm gonna have some fun with this."

Negan couldn't say much more, even though it looked like he wanted to bring up something else, before Olivia was stammering out some words and Arat dragged her up from the basement, "Please, I— I don't know—"

Martinez straightened up beside me.

"Arat, we don't do that," Negan looked actually disappointed with his people, swinging an arm to point at Olivia, "unless they do somethin' to deserve it."

"Yeah, we went through the inventory, guns in the armoury, guns they had around the walls. They're short. Glock 9 and a .22 Bobcat."

Negan turned to Olivia. "Is that true?"

"We had some people leave town," Rick tried to cover for it. "Those guns probably went with them."

"So Olivia sucks at her job. Is that what you're sayin'?" Negan asked.

"No. No, I'm not sayin' that—"

"There should be a full accounting here, right? Top to bottom." He turned back to Olivia. "Am I right?"

"No." She shook her head, too flustered and confused. "I mean, yes. The inventory is correct."

"Good." He took a step closer to her, tapping the book. "But not so good, too. You see, what's in here isn't in there. You're two handguns short. Do you know where they are?"

"No, I . . ."

Negan sighed. "That's disappointing, Rick. I thought that we had an understanding. But this—well, this shows that someone's not on board, and I can't have that." He looked back at Olivia. "I don't enjoy killing women. Men, I can waste them all the live long. But at the end of the day, Olivia, my dear, this was your responsibility.

"Look, we can work this out," Rick raised a hand to him.

"Oh, yes, we can," Negan agreed loudly. When he stepped closer to Olivia, she was whimpering, scared shitless. "And I'm going to . . . right now. This was your job, and you screwed up. Keeping track of guns? That shit is life and death."

Rick gathered everyone into a meeting, mainly because searching around the Saviours would have been too difficult to actually try and get a good look in every house. The Alexandrians were also less submissive to the idea than they should have been, which left not enough people to search every building and vehicle.

I explained what happened to Isaac when he came to sit down beside me, offering me a water bottle in the church which I gratefully accepted—my headache was beginning to gnaw at my brain and I just wanted this stupid day to be over.

Rick placed the barbed-wire bat down on the windowsill before finally turning to address us. "I thought about hiding some of the guns. I did it before," Rick said. "I figured I could bury some out there. Maybe we don't touch them for years."

"Years?" Tobin asked.

The shocked voice made me sick, hearing it out loud made me sick. This was it now, our lives.

"Yeah, that's right," Rick said. "But what if the Saviours find those guns? What if we run into them when we have those guns on us? One of us dies. Maybe more than that—maybe a lot more. Doesn't matter how many bullets we have. It isn't enough, they win. It's that black-and-white."

"Hiding a couple of guns isn't the answer, not anymore," he continued. "We don't have to like it, but we need to give them over. A Glock 9 and a .22, that's what they're looking for. Who has it?" Rick went quiet, giving the person a chance to stand up, but nobody did. "Someone knows where they are or they know who does. If we don't find them, they're gonna kill Olivia. They'll do it."

"Why do they care?" Scott stood. "Two guns aren't a threat to them. But those guns could help protect us from whatever else is out there."

"Do you have 'em?"

"Wish I did."

I clenched my teeth, shooting out a sigh. Why didn't they realise that this kind of attitude was only pissing the Saviours off? Negan was already losing his patience, it's why I had been so honest with him about the bombs.

"Most of you weren't there, you didn't have to watch." I dug my palms into my eyes. "But you can look away now when someone else dies, or you can help solve this. We give them what they want, and we live in peace."

There was whispering behind me, and I looked back in time to see Eric stand beside Aaron who looked mortified. "Say we find the guns. How are we gonna get out of this, Rick?"

I turned back around and buried my hands in my eyes again.

"There is no way out of this," Rick sounded broken as he said it.

"You can't mean that," Eric bit out.

Martinez threw a glare over his shoulder. "I can tell you now, he does. None of you know what it's like to work for someone this bad, well I do. And basically, you do whatever it is that keeps you and anyone else alive, because the alternative is death."

Nobody spoke up again, some barely even looked at the front, too scared and upset to argue with him. It was like before with the herd, like reality was beginning to kick in. But they never had to deal with this kind of thing, not like we did. Martinez was right, it was just like Woodbury.

"Negan owns us now," Martinez finished. "This is what being fucked feels like, get used to it. So, who has the guns?"

"Do we know if he just had one of his men take them?" Isaac asked.

Rick tilted his head. "What?"

Isaac seemed like he regretted asking, but he continued to explain what he meant anyway. "I mean, they seem pretty happy just killing people. How do we know one of the Saviours didn't just hide two guns to stir shit up?"

"Negan's been with Rick all day," I said quietly. "He didn't order that."

"But we don't know what kind of handle he has over his own men," Isaac argued. "If nobody here took them, then it's a possibility. Maybe one of them just wants to see another one of us die."

"Not everyone's here," Eugene cut off his theory.

"Who's missing?" Martinez asked. "If no one fesses up then it's probably one of them, right?"

"Spencer and Rosita were going on a run earlier," Eugene said. "I think they still went out there, but Dwight took the guns off them before they left."

"That doesn't mean they didn't hide guns before," I said.

And we began searching their houses again. Isaac and I took the upstairs of Spencer's house, flipping each of the rooms inside out to find the guns that he may have taken. It was the one chance I had a pass from Dwight because I was too frantically searching to be building bombs.

Isaac had his gloves on. There was nothing necessarily dirty about anything we were searching for, but I think this whole day got the best of him and he didn't want to be looking under dusty beds and cupboards with his bare hands.

"I swear to fuck, if he's done this I'll fucking kill him," I muttered, my hand running down the back of a chest of drawers in case he taped a gun to the back of it.

"Should I be worried you keep wanting to murder people in our own group?" Isaac asked.

"I'd be more worried that we keep letting dicks in the group," I answered.

And that was it for our conversation because I was too focused to pull together a string of words. I hated not knowing if we were in the same room as them and just missing them or if we were in the clear to move on. Both Isaac and I kept pissing each other off by checking spots we knew the other had checked already.

As we were going to move into the next room, Rick yelled up the stairs, "I got 'em!"

Isaac and I sprinted down, meeting Aaron and Gabriel in the hallway where Rick was holding a silk bag with guns inside. In the living room, I could see where the curtain had been brushed aside and there were some things on the ground beside a vent.

"He stole food, alcohol and guns," Rick said.

"Fucking bastard," I snapped.

"We'll deal with him after, let's just make sure we save Olivia," Rick said. "I think he wants to leave, just waiting on us now."

We marched out of the house, where the Saviours had finished packing up everything from the armoury into one of the big green trucks they parked outside. Carl was standing there on the curb watching some of them on the other side from where Negan was waiting with Olivia, Dwight, Arat and more people I didn't recognise.

I followed Carl's gaze to Dave, the one from the infirmary, and a few more guys standing around Enid, going through her things, picking on her. Dave held up a handful of her green balloons as he taunted her, and she crossed her arms. I could feel what she felt, just wanting to escape from creeps like him—he was definitely being a creep, acting the way he was to a young teenager.

"They'll be gone soon," was all Rick could say.

God, I hoped so.

I followed him as we walked past all the apartment buildings to where Negan was standing with his group. He smiled as he saw us approaching, his eyes falling to look at the gloves Isaac was wearing, "You got CSI on the case, sure he'll have this solved for us in no time."

Isaac tensed beside me.

"What you got for me, Rick?" Rick gave him the black silk bag with the guns inside. "Well, would you look at that? They were here after all. Funny how a little 'Holy shit! Somebody's gonna die!' lights a fire under everybody's ass! So, tell me, Rick, which one of your fine folks almost cost Olivia the rest of her days?"

"It doesn't matter anymore."

"No, it matters. See, you need to get everybody on board. Everybody. Or . . . we just go right back to square one."

Negan left it at that, though. He ordered most of his men to three of the trucks and started heading back to a place he called the Sanctuary. A lot of the Saviours left after that order, so many that it shocked me to still see so many waiting around at the front gate to leave.

I could feel their eyes on us as they lined up the next group of vehicles to go, but as the first ones pulled out of the gates, our van turned a corner down the street and pulled back in through the gates as Rosita and Spencer returned home.

God, I just wanted to beat his face in. He almost got Olivia killed, and for what? How could he be so stupid as to steal two guns and not even cross them off in the logbook? Why hadn't I considered doing that same thing myself?

"Hell of a place you got here, Rick," Negan complimented at the gate.

"Give me a second," Rick asked quickly, out of nowhere.

I looked past Negan to see Michonne with a deer over her shoulders, which she must have gunned down. Fuck. Rick was going to get that gun from her? If he didn't say anything then we could have kept that gun and Negan would have been none the wiser.

But he'd already seen her now, and he had a smile as he turned back to Rick. "No."

"Please, can you just . . . give me a second?" Rick tried again.

His smile only grew, and he gave a single nod, letting Rick walk outside the gates to talk to her. Guess it was good that I only had the idea about the log book then because if I had opted into stealing the guns I would have trusted Rick with that information and he would have just handed them over to Negan.

I let out a long tired breath, seemingly reminding Negan that I was there. God, I was fucking hot. I wanted to get out of these coveralls, but if I did it then, I knew I risked some stripping or sex jokes from Negan that would have made me hate myself just that little bit more.

"You're all red, darling," he said. "Though I gotta say, that jumpsuit is growing on me. Very . . . professional."

I didn't respond, both not wanting to and having nothing to add to that. He was just goading me on, I knew. I wasn't sure what he meant by it exactly, but that's probably his intention. To toy with me, have me wondering, nervous, on edge.

"You know what else is growing on me?" Negan pointed to our line of cars. "That station wagon, I want it."

I looked over at the car he was referring to, the one I had driven to Hillcrest the day I killed those ten people. In all honesty, I hadn't even looked at that car since that day, because I worked so hard to get it fixed just for it to crap out in one of my worst moments. It seemed almost cruel that he was asking for it, but he'd have no idea why.

Of course, he'd want that one. Of bloody course.

"I wouldn't. It's a piece of shit, don't even really know what's wrong with it." I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to will the car to just vanish.

"See, now that, that just makes me want it more. Think of it as your first official assignment. Get it running by next week. While you're on that, I'll be consulting with my head guy about what he wants done, see what tasks your people can take off our hands."

"Seriously, take another fucking car," I pleaded. "It'll be hours work testing what the hell is wrong with it. Maybe days to fix it if I don't have the parts or tools, which is very unlikely now—and then there's finding the right parts. And the petrol I'll have to waste driving it around that I could just give to you. All for me to just sit here, shitting myself waiting for you to come back when something breaks down that I didn't know about or wasn't my fault." I took a breath. "I don't want that over my head."

"That's not the only thing you don't want over your head." He winked, holding up a hand as if it was holding his bat and clicking his tongue to subtly act out hitting me with it. "I don't care what the problems are, I want it done by next week. And it has to be next week because that's when we'll have more work for you to do."

I sighed, staring at the car.

He stepped closer, leaning close like before, voice deep and threatening. "Just think, darling. Your life could have been a hell of a lot worse, today. Like I said, I should have killed you when I found out what you were able to do with that nogging of yours. Do not mistake a decision like that for fear, I'm just not stupid enough to give you a chance to show me what you are capable of."

I already showed you what I'm capable of, I wanted to say. He'd seen the bodies in the satellite station, what one bomb had done to them. Luckily I was capable of holding my tongue or he'd probably have just killed me for my attitude.

"Do you understand me?"

I clenched my teeth and nodded. "Yeah, I understand."

"Now that's what I like to hear." He grinned, pulling away from me. "You know what? I think you and I are gonna work real well together, got a real bright bloody future ahead of us."

"Is that a play on my accent?"

"Could be," he shrugged. "Could be foreshadowing, you decide which you prefer."

I pursed my lips, nodding to myself.

Luckily for me, at the sound of footsteps, Negan turned back to the gate where Michonne was storming toward us with a deer over her shoulders. Rick was following behind her, holding the rifle she had to kill it with.

"Look at this!" Negan exclaimed.

Michonne eyed Daryl as she came to stand beside me.

"I thought she was scavenging, she was hunting," Rick said, handing Negan the rifle. "This one never came inside. We kept it near the line."

"Look at this," Negan was quieter this time, but still very amused. "This is something to build a relationship on. Good for you, Rick. This is readin' the room and gettin' the message. I've said it before, I'm gonna say it again. You, sir . . . are special."

"Now that you know we can follow your rules . . ." Rick began and I winced at whatever was going to follow.

"Yes?" Negan spun back to him with a singsong voice.

"I'd like to ask you if Daryl can stay."

"Not happenin'," his response was quick, but at the disappointment, the way Rick clenched his jaw he changed his mind. "You know what? I don't know. Maybe Daryl can plead his case. Maybe Daryl can sway me. Daryl?"

Daryl stood silently, probably because Negan was talking out of his ass. The only thing asking to stay would have done was to get him tormented to no end. And Daryl was not the kind of person who wanted to beg someone to let him stay with his family.

"Well, you tried," Negan said. "Now what you gotta do is get over that tall wall of yours and try harder out there. Earn for me, because we're coming back soon. And no more magic guns. Arat, grab that deer, it's getting late. Let's go home."

Michonne pissed off, dropped the deer on the ground behind her and stormed off towards the house. I understood her anger, Negan was just asking it to get a rise out of her, and it worked. So much for not taking any of our food, which was what he promised earlier when he saw how little supplies we had.

"Man, I love a gal that buys me dinner and doesn't expect me to put out," Negan laughed, leaning over Rick's shoulder. He turned to look out at the land in front of our community, the ruined houses and grass like he was taking it all in.

I grunted out in surprise and clutched my collarbone as someone slammed their hand down hard on my shoulder with stitches, and I turned to face Dwight. "Gonna miss you, kid. It's been fun following you around."

He stopped as he was going to pass me as if waiting for a response. When none came, he just walked past me to get Daryl's bike that Rosita and Spencer had unloaded from the van behind me. Did they go out just for that or did he ask for it? I think Dwight had kidnapped their group when Daryl ran away so maybe he wanted it back—he'd stolen it before.

"I'll take that." He grabbed the handles to stake his claim, before turning to Rosita who was standing at the back of our van. "Rosita! Got a little thank-you," he reached into his bag and threw back her hat. "That's all you're getting back. Took all your guns, most of your beds. I hope you find a place to lay your pretty little head." He let out a gross breathy chuckle. "Did you find anything else out there?"

Rosita shrugged. "Just your dead friends."

Dwight seemed almost amused as he got on the bike, revving it. When it roared to life he drove back up towards our community to spin it around, before driving back toward us and stopping in front of Daryl.

"You can have it back," Dwight told him. "Just say the word."

Again, there was no response from Daryl. Dwight shrugged, and drove off, following the other trucks that had already gone. Thank God. This meant they were all leaving soon, right? I could only hope, but to be honest, once they left I would have to work on the station wagon which I didn't necessarily have planned.

Negan turned back to Rick with the biggest smile. "So, nobody died. And you know what I think? I think you and I, we've refined our understanding," Rick didn't say anything for a while, so Negan said, "Let me ask you something, Rick. Do you want me to go?"

"I think that'd be good," Rick said.

"Then just say those two magical words," Negan told him.

It physically hurt Rick for him to say, "Thank you.

Negan chuckled. "Don't be ridiculous. Thank you."

A walker growled, coming around the buildings and up to the gates where we were all standing.

Negan seemed excited for another opportunity to show off. "Another one, you need our help. Davey, hand me that candlestick over there." He took the candlestick from the creep Dave who was messing with Enid. "You know what I think, Rick? I think we're both gonna come out of this winners. Watch my form!"

As he had done before, he walked up to the walker with the candlestick and swung it down onto the corpse's head like he would have done with his bat, which was still being held by Rick. The way he spoke about it, it was a miracle that he let anyone else touch the thing at all.

"Yep. Win-win," he said as he dropped the candlestick on the ground. "You should clean that up for me for next time. Let's move out!"

All of the Saviours began to walk away, leaving only Negan on this side of the truck. As he was walking away, he stopped and raised his hand like he was forgetting something—and my eyes went back to the bat that was in Rick's hand. Negan spun around to face him.

"Oh, wait. How careless of me. You didn't think I was gonna leave Lucille, did ya? I mean, after what she did, why would you want 'er? Thank you for being so accommodating, friend," Negan leant in really close to take the bat from Rick's hands. Then he whispered, "In case you haven't caught on, I just slipped my dick down your throat, and you thanked me for it."

He gave a smile my way before tapping the bonnet of his van and climbing inside. The engine rumbled, and the last of the Saviours began to leave Alexandria, leaving Rick standing in the opening of the gate. I ran my hands over my face and sighed.

God, was it going to be like that every time?

It got just that bit worse because as the last truck rolled out of the gates, I could see Daryl sitting on a bench at the back, staring at us as they took him back to the Sanctuary. Rick followed the truck outside to watch it leave and I felt the final crushing blow of someone stamping on my heart.

When they were finally gone, Rick closed the gates and walked towards me. Then we went around the van where Spencer was standing between that and the wall. I followed, just in case this conversation turned out to be fun.

"Spencer," Rick called as he walked up to him. "We took the guns you had in your house. The Saviors wanted ours, all of them. There were two missing from the inventory, they were gonna kill Olivia."

Spencer didn't say anything, his face miserable as he realised the guns he'd stolen had been taken from him. Or maybe it was because we found his stash, either way, I didn't care. I hated him. I hated him so much.

"Spencer," Rick snapped quietly.

"You went into my house?"

I clenched my teeth. "Yeah . . . because you're the one that gets to act all pissed."

"They were gonna kill Olivia," Rick repeated, but it was apparent Spencer didn't care whether he was the reason Olivia almost lost her life. "Look, I'm not faulting you for having the guns, I did it myself. But the food and liquor? That's 'cause you're small, Spencer. You're weak. You got lucky with the walls. You got lucky with us."

Rick nodded for me to follow him away from Spencer, and I did, tracing his path back up towards our house. Our leaving didn't stop Spencer from trying to blame us, make us feel bad about what happened like we had any control over it.

"We should've made a deal with them when we could've," he said, and I could tell that was directed at me. "Oh, yeah, we're so lucky. You've led us all to the Promised Land! Isn't that right, Rick?! Here we are!"

I stopped, looking back at him when Rick pulled me along with an arm over my shoulder, as if to say he's not worth it, and kept me ahead of him. This seemed to only spur him on though, and he kept trying to get a reaction out of us.

"I guess Glenn and Abraham were lucky, too?"

I froze in my steps, turning to look back over my shoulder again when I saw that Rick had stopped in his tracks but didn't bother to give him the satisfaction of having a breakdown like I knew I would have if he hadn't been there.

"You say anything like that again to me, I'll break your jaw, knock your teeth out," Rick threatened in a low voice. "You understand?" Silence followed, so Rick added, "Say yes."

There was a pause before: "Yes."