“I don’t run when little boys threaten me,” Devon sneers. I’m ripped from Creed’s warmth, suddenly being held by a heavy, muscled arm wrapped around my neck. His free hand, however, has a white-knuckled grip on the familiar Glock that has always been Devon’s signature weapon. The large, ornate D carved into the handle is there. Even in the dark where I can’t see it, I know it like I know the back of my hand.
Creed’s mouth curls into an amused sneer. But he looks like he’s about to gut Devon. I didn’t notice it at first, but the glint from his left hand captures my attention.
“I don’t make threats I never intend on fulfilling,” he tells Devon. I expect him to close the distance, to take me away, but he doesn’t. “When I make a vow, a promise, I mean it.” This time, his eyes flick toward me, but only for a split second, then they’re back on the man holding onto me. I know there’s no point in fighting Devon because he’ll only ignore my pleas.
“Oh?” A chuckle vibrates through Devon’s chest and into my back. “And what sort of promise did you make? You told me you have my girl,” he tells Creed. “And now that I have her in hand, you’re welcome to step back, or I will put a bullet in your head, little boy.”
Nothing Devon says seems to get to Creed. He looks like he’s chatting with friends about the party, still well and truly echoing through the trees. Creed tips his head to the side, his mouth pursing to one corner, as if he’s considering Devon’s words.
I will him to look at me, but he doesn’t. It’s as if I don’t exist. Like I’m nothing more than a bargaining chip between two men. Just like I always have been. Between my father and Devon.
The men in my life have always thought they know what’s best for me. But deep down, they don’t realize just how independent I really am. But right now, I feel helpless. I have two men glaring at each other, and I’m in the middle, caught in a silent war.
“I would be careful with her if I were you,” Creed says, breaking eye contact with Devon for a second before he steps closer.
“If you take one more step—”
“What? You’re going to shoot me?” The challenge is clear in Creed’s face. But then he glances at me with a grin so mischievous it sends both heat and fear racing through me. Then he nudges his chin toward my foot. His eyes glinting with malice. “I think Micaela has something she’d like to say to you,” he says, and I realize what he’s trying to tell me with those haunting dark eyes. I lift my foot, piercing my short heel into Devon’s foot, before a shot rings out through the darkness and a grunt of agony bounces around me in surround sound.
I’m suddenly splattered with thick metallic fluid, and a scream of shock is ripped from my chest when I turn to see the sleek, silver blade, now coated in blood, sticking out of Devon’s neck.
“It’s a shame,” Creed says, wiping his hands on the familiar handkerchief. “He and I could’ve been friends.” Once his fingers are clean, he offers me his hand, which I don’t take. Instead, I’m glaring up at him from the ground, where the material of my dress has been covered in dried leaves and dirt.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My words are venom, but Creed doesn’t look poisoned at all. Instead, he looks like he’s about to sit down for dinner. Smart, calm, and happy.
The crunch of leaves sound from behind me when the other two Haven men saunter up with what looks like plastic bags. They’re dressed in their costumes, but since they’re all in black, the blood won’t stain as obviously as my now ruined dress.
“Perhaps you should get up,” Brody says to me. “Or you’ll only end up being caked in mud worse than you already are.” He settles the large tarps I now realize he was holding, and I’m dragged to my feet. My knees weaken the moment I’m standing, but Creed’s arms hold me up.
“Let’s go, little mouse,” he whispers, leading me toward the house, but we don’t go to where the party is still in full swing. We take a path around the house, and we enter through a kitchen door.
“Why . . . What . . . I don’t—”
“You’re safe.” His words should have a calming effect on me, but they have the complete opposite. I dig my heels in, causing him to halt his steps. Creed sighs, realizing we’re not going to move until he speaks.
“You have to tell me what the fuck that was.” I point to the back door, to where we’ve just come from. Everything feels surreal. My head is spinning with how Devon and Creed knew each other. And how Creed just killed someone in front of me. He just stabbed Devon, in the jugular, and didn’t bat a fucking eyelid.
“I didn’t think you were a stranger to violence,” he tells me, as if he knows me. “Surely you’ve seen much worse.” This time, Creed’s dark eyes regard me with curiosity.
My mouth falls open, but I shut it seconds later. I can’t find the words to offer him in response. He does know who I am.
“You just stabbed someone.”
“And he deserved it,” Creed informs me with a shrug.
My throat burns when I retort, “That doesn’t make it okay!”
His hands grip my shoulders, holding me still, but my hands are shaking. “If you continue screaming, I will gag you and lock you in my bedroom until you calm the fuck down.” There’s no discussion. He’s not
