In a world ruled by fear, survival comes with a price.
When her brother's attempt to overthrow the Saviors fails, Tessa finds herself under Negan's watchful eye-protected, controlled, and dangerously close to the man she should hate. As violence, po...
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"Welcome back, sweetheart." The words slithered through the dark like smoke.
For a second Tessa didn't move. Her body froze—not from fear, but from the violent surge of memories slamming into her all at once. Negan. The bat. The screams. Daryl on his knees. Glenn. Abraham. Her own wrists bruised by his grip. That cell. That room.
Her vision flickered—past and present colliding like a punch to the chest. The hurt. The deaths. The humiliation. It all detonated inside her.
There was no Rick here. No Daryl. No one between them. Just her and the man who broke everything. Tessa's breath ripped out of her—and she lunged. She slammed into Negan hard enough to knock him flat on the concrete. The impact echoed off the metal walls. Dust rained from the ceiling. Her knee pinned his chest as she ripped the knife from her hip and pressed the blade directly to his throat. Negan didn't fight. He didn't even raise a hand.
He just grinned up at her, teeth flashing in the dim light.
"Do it," he rasped. "Go on, sweetheart. We both know you don't have the guts." Tessa's hand trembled so violently the blade scraped his skin. Her breath shook like she couldn't get enough air. She pushed harder—just a heartbeat from slicing his throat wide open.
She wanted to. God, she wanted to.
But her body wouldn't move. Not the final inch. Not the kill. Her jaw clenched. Her arm shook. Her eyes burned.
Negan saw it happen—the moment her resolve cracked. And his grin widened.
"There she is," he whispered. Tessa barely had time to blink before Negan moved—fast, controlled, terrifyingly smooth. He hooked one arm around her ribs, the other around her wrist, and flipped her.
The world whipped sideways.
She hit the floor on her back with a painful thud, and suddenly—Negan was on top of her.
One knee between her legs. One hand pinning her wrist to the ground. Lucille leaning against his shoulder like this was casual.
Tessa bucked against him, teeth gritted. "Get off me!"
Negan didn't budge. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"You're strong," he murmured, looming above her, his breath warm against her cheek. "But you gotta commit." She tried again—twisting, kicking, pulling her arm.
No use.
He didn't hurt her. He just held her there. Steady. Solid. Unbreakable.
Then, slowly—almost gently—Negan loosened his grip. He took the knife from her hand... then flipped it in his palm... then held it out to her by the handle.
"Get up."
Tessa scrambled to her feet before he could cage her again, breath ragged, hair sticking to her face. Her palms stung. Her back throbbed. Her heart was a wild, frantic thing in her chest. Negan rose too—dusting his jacket off with a casual swipe, like they'd just bumped shoulders in a hallway.
They stood across from each other in the dim, shaking glow of the emergency light—breathing the same hot air, chests rising and falling in an uneven rhythm. Walkers pounded on the steel door behind them, the metal bending in and out with every slam. The groans and snarls filled the space like an approaching storm.
But Negan's eyes never left her. He took one slow step closer. Then another.
Tessa didn't back up—she couldn't. The wall was already pressing cold against her spine. Negan stopped inches away, tilting his head, studying her face with a slow, dangerous curiosity.
His voice dropped to a dark, maddening purr. "Sweetheart... you almost made me proud."
Tessa's pulse hammered. Negan leaned in, lips curling into something between a smirk and a promise.
"Now why don't we figure out how the hell we're gettin' outta this—before those dead assholes out there turn both of us into lunch." He turned toward the inner door.
But not before giving her one last look—slow, lingering, dangerous. A look that said he wasn't done with her.
