Daughter of a Dixon ✔️

93: That's My Girl

When we finally arrived back to the home I hadn't seen in so long, we were greeted by a familiar face at the gate. One I hadn't expected to see whatsoever, in fact.

Rick was the first to ask the question burning endlessly into our minds. "Where's Sasha?"

Rosita's face faltered, and she crossed her arms across her chest. "There's someone here," was all she said. Her evasive tone made me believe something had happened when she and Sasha snuck out of Hilltop to go to the Sanctuary, but she didn't give any of us time to question her further.

She spun around on her heel quickly, walking us through the evening Alexandrian streets. We followed her to the cell, which was built by Morgan, in silence, practically being swallowed by threatening anticipation.

When we entered the cell, all of us peered around the corner of the wall, trying to see who our unexpected visitor was. As soon as I caught a glimpse of greasy, blonde hair, and a crippled face, I went from zero to one-hundred in less than a second.

I maneuvered through our people, pushing them slightly to the side, as I made my way towards Dwight, ready to take a knife to his throat. Just before I could reach him, a strong pair of arms caught me around the waist, and lifted me into the air.

"No! Get him outta here!" I cried, fighting against Carl's grasp. "Take him away and burn him!"

Carl tightened his hold on me, lifting me up and hauling me back to the doorway. It was only then I had noticed Dad did the same thing, and Rick was scrambling to try and get him away from Dwight.

"He says he wants to help us!" Rosita said adamantly to Rick, who had finally got Dad to stand back. Rick gave one of his famous, 'what the hell?' expressions before turning back to Dwight, cocking his head to the side and raising his brow.

"Is that true?... Do you wanna help?"

"I do," Dwight answered immediately, nodding.

"If you wanted to help, you shoulda done it two weeks ago, asshole," I snarled, giving him the worst death glare I could manage. There was no doubt in my mind that Dad was doing the same thing, except looking about twenty times more intimidating.

Dwight turned to me, his shoulders rising and falling in a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry... I had no authority over what Mike did... he's dead, Negan killed him after he found out."

I felt all the tension in the room shifting towards me, and so, with a better sense of judgement, I forced myself to stay quiet.

"Do you really wanna help us?" Rick questioned after a moment's silence.

Dwight stuck by his initial answer, giving an adamant nod and speaking another, verbal agreement.

Rick let out a heavy sigh, tilting his head to the side in a conflicted gesture. "Okay..." he said, his voice a low rumble. He stared at the man before him with contemptible eyes before drawing his gun in one, swift motion, readying the weapon to fire if necessary.

"Get on your knees," our leader snarled, and I loved the tone of dominance in his voice.

Dwight knew, we were running the show now.