Page 4 of Lethal Truths

The second I’m even half awake, the sharp aches all over my body steal my breath. I shift in bed, trying to get more comfortable, and then everything tenses.

I’m naked. Not a stitch of clothing on me.

What happened last night after I dragged my broken body from the woods? Did my attackers come back for me? Did they haul me back to their bed to take turns on me and… Bile burns as it creeps up my throat, but I focus on the pains of my body, and after a moment, I find that nothing hurts between my legs. Just every-fucking-where else.

Taking a chance, I blink open my eyes, squinting at the familiar room. A deep sigh on my left causes stray strands of my hair to blow over my face. Turning my head slowly, more so I don’t hurt myself, I come almost nose to nose with a sleeping Creed. Our hands are clasped together, and even in slumber, he’s wearing a deep frown.

Tears fill my eyes as I study his rough, handsome, and deadly features. I made it. I crawled my ass here on the brink of death, and I don’t remember anything past slumping against the porch, but I really did make it. Emotion gets caught in my throat, and despite my efforts to tamp it down, a muffled sob breaks free.

Creed’s intoxicating brown eyes snap open, frantically darting to the bedroom door like he’s expecting an intruder. Seeing no one there, he swallows, freezing when he meets my gaze for the first time.

So many things flash behind those amber depths; relief, fear, anger, concern. Creed licks his lips, and then whispers, “Are you really here with me?”

Unable to speak — my throat shredded raw from all my screaming last night — I nod, wincing as even that small movement shoots pain up and down my body.

He sighs, closing his eyes and bringing our joined hands up to his lips. Creed kisses the back of my hand and then each of my knuckles and then looks at me once more. “I know you need to rest, and I have some water and pain meds for you, but can I ask you something first?” he rasps, looking like he needs to rest too. The dark circles beneath his bloodshot eyes prove he’s exhausted.

My breathing stops, anticipating the question I know he’ll ask. With another stiff nod, I swallow past the lump in my throat and wait.

Creed slowly reaches up and traces my jaw and then grabs my chin, gently brushing his thumb over my cracked lip. His eyes are pools of rage as he studies the marks on my face and neck. “Why did you come here? You made it out of the forest, you could have gone anywhere else for help. Why come here — where Asher and Griffin live, where I live, after all we’ve done to you — when there are fifteen other houses on this street alone?”

That’s not what I expected him to ask. I thought he’d press me for the identity of my attackers, and the fact that I have no fucking clue who hurt me makes me sick with panic. They could be anyone, and that means I’ll never know when to prepare for danger.

The coils of dread in my stomach settle a little with the easy question, and I lean into the comfort of his touch. “Because,” I start, shocked by the rough croak of my voice. Clearing my throat as Creed watches me with a patient, concerned expression, I try again. “Because I knew if you were here, if I could just get to you, I’d be alright,” I admit quietly, feeling my cheeks flame with the heavy truth. After everything I’ve endured, I shouldn’t be so trusting, but something about Creed is freeing.

Asher and Griffin have been cruel and manipulating, using me like a personal source of entertainment. Sure, each of them had very different ways of going about things, but in the end, they’ve both made their true feelings about me very clear.

Creed is different, though. Yes, he’s hurt me. He’s been vile and wicked, and I’ve shed tears because of him. But he hasn’t lied straight to my face about the kind of man he is. Through it all, the exhilarating highs and the devastating lows, I’ve pretty much understood him.

Creed is a man who does what he wants.

At the end of the day, it’s truly that simple. He looks out for himself, he makes his own rules, and he doesn’t give a damn about who he hurts along the way. And really, none of that should be comforting, but in a world full of liars where I’ve never felt so damn alone, something about the way he behaves speaks to me. Creed may hurt me again, but at least he’ll be open about it. At least I’ll be able to ready myself for it. And that’s something I can trust.

Something in Creed’s dangerous gaze softens, and he offers me a shaky smile. “You’re mine to protect now, Ember. Mine, and you almost left me before I could show you what exactly that means,” he rasps.

I open my mouth to say… something. That I’m so confused as to why I feel safe with him. That I’m still angry about the shit he’s done, but too tired to deal with it right now. That our night of passion doesn’t make me his, but… maybe he could sway me, if he plays his cards right.

After all, I’m just a broken girl in a deadly world. Seems fitting to fall for a monster.

Before I can mutter a single, croaked syllable, though, Creed cups my cheek and presses a feather-light kiss to my forehead. He sighs heavily, like simply having that contact is putting his pieces back together. My stomach swoops and flips and stumbles over itself, all the while, my heart is refusing to give in so easily. Because I won’t survive it if he wins me over only to break me down again. I’ll need to keep my barriers high until I’m sure the outcome won’t destroy me.

Careful not to jostle me, Creed slowly pulls back and stands from the bed. He walks across his room, his gait steady and purposeful. Stopping beside his desk, he grabs an orange pill bottle, pops the cap, and spills a few little pills into his hand. He curls his fingers around them, grabs a water bottle, and then strides back to me. The look in his eyes is almost enough to take away the pain. Like I matter. Like he cares. Creed looks at me like he’d slaughter anyone who gets too close.

There goes my stomach again.

Swallowing to ease my dry throat, I slowly push myself up in his bed, hissing as all the wounds up and down my torso scream in protest. Creed’s brows dip low, his lips pressed together as he stops beside me.

“I would have helped you sit up,” he murmurs disapprovingly. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself too hard.” Holding out his hand with the pills, he tells me, “Here. These will help with the pain, but they’ll also knock you out. You need to sleep through the worst of this shit so your body can heal.”

I take the pills, nodding easily. I’d much rather sleep and not feel this constant sharp ache all over. “Is it bad?” I ask him softly, my voice shaking as memories of the cold sting of that knife come crashing down. I drop my eyes when he takes too long to answer. “I can’t… I can’t look. Not yet. I don’t want to see what they did to me… All the new scars I’ll be forced to wear,” I admit, squeezing my eyes shut to stop the tidal wave of fresh tears threatening to break through any second.

I thought I was so strong coming here to avenge my sick mom. I thought I’d walk in, find the answers I needed, and then leave. I’d either give my mom some peace, knowing she didn’t hallucinate all this Celestial crap, or I’d know that she really is broken and maybe I could have moved on from the weight of trying to save her.

A few months in, and all I’ve managed to do is get bullied, beaten, and betrayed.

The bed dips, and after a moment, I open my eyes and see Creed sitting beside me. He sets the water down and then takes my hand, flipping it over to brush his thumb over the thick bandage on my wrist. “It’s really not good,” he breathes out roughly. I appreciate that he doesn’t sugarcoat it. I’m sure anyone else would have given me empty words, but not him. Creed is honest, even if it’s brutal. “But I’ll find them, Ember, and I promise you, I’ll give them matching scars before I send them off to hell.”

My tongue slips out to trace the cut on my bottom lip, and the pain fans the flames of my tumultuous emotions. “Can I help? I want… I want a hand in it, so they know what I felt,” I ask timidly, imagining myself hacking away at the man who straddled my waist and did this to me last night. I want to tie him up and blindfold him, and then force him to feel every slow slice and every drop of blood. I want him to feel hopeless and raw, and then I want to offer him a kindness that I didn’t get; I’ll put him out of his misery.

---