Page 9 of He is… Creed: Part Two

She gasps. “No! God, no.” She throws the covers aside. “I’m coming. I have influence over the women. I’ll—”

“You will not leave this room,” I command.

“But Julian—” She’s shaking. Panicked.

“Ava,” I reprimand sharply, still dressing. “Control yourself.”

The phone on the wall jangles, and I yank it off the receiver, listening as I’m informed about a breach too far underway to be stopped. The line goes dead, and fury overtakes me, and I beat the damn thing against the wall, the rage inside me bubbling over, impossible to control. I toss the receiver and grab not one, but two MP5 machine guns and head for the door. My need for blood is now all I see. I’m going to blow holes in Creed and let him damn near bleed to death. Then let the bastard heal and do it all over again.

The instant I exit the underground to surface level, I hear the roar of the Renegade choppers—to the east, west, and south sides of the complex. I fade into the wind and head west, appearing just as a group of my soldiers are about to fire a rocket launcher at a chopper. Awareness rips through me—the kind I felt only for two people, my lifebond and my twin.

“No!” I shout, but not soon enough. The weapon discharges, and time stands still. The dreams of a greater world—of my brother joining me to rule a new kingdom—threatened in the shadowy swampland of my brother’s certain death.

A crackle of energy slides over me, much like the awareness of Caleb an instant before. Creed appears in the doorway of the chopper—the wind shifting around him, seeming to take form. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before—nothing any other GTECH could do. Then suddenly, a powerful wall of wind thrusts from where Creed stands and forces the missile back at the Zodius soldiers in his pursuit. I fade into the wind a second before the missile explodes, one of the few weapons sure to be lethal for a GTECH. I return seconds later to find my soldiers sprawled out on the ground, injured or dead, and the helicopter quickly traveling away. Those who’ve survived the explosion scramble for their footing, murmuring about both Creed’s betrayal and his ability to control the wind, an ability no one, not even myself, ever knew he possessed.

Fucking Creed held that power in check, concealing it from me and from all of us. And that power is a weapon. The bastard betrayed me, made me look like a fool, and the rage part of me wants to start blowing shit up until the government gives me Red Dart. And once I have it, Creed will be the first to suffer.

I pace, willing myself to calm, to think. If Creed was working for the Renegades, Caleb knows about Red Dart and the government’s intent to use it on all GTECHs. Caleb’s smart enough to know that Red Dart in the hands of the government means his demise, not just mine. This is officially a race to get Red Dart first.

Him or me?

I retrieve the cell, hit the two-way radio function, and call two of my officers to my side for immediate action. Within seconds, the two men stand at attention before me. I face them, my hands behind my back. “If I find out that either of you is working with Creed, I will start cutting out vital organs. Starting with your fucking eyes. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!” they bark together.

My gaze is razor sharp as it lands on Tad, the officer in charge of female recruitment, an ugly mug with a deep scar along his cheek. “How many did we lose?” I ask.

“Half,” he responds.

“Replace them. Quickly.”

“Commander, sir,” Tad replies. “I respectfully request the added duty of killing Creed. Both to prove my loyalty and because I would enjoy drawing his blood.”

“If he’s dead, he feels no pain,” Lucian, my third-in-command, counters. “I can give you Red Dart. Then use it to make Creed suffer. You will control him. Make him sit at your feet. Make him bark like an animal, if you wish, so all of Zodius City may see.”

My attention cuts sharply to Lucian, a new interest in the soldier who’d always paled in Creed’s shadow, often seeming weak. I study the harsh slash of Lucian’s mouth and the turbulent, black eyes set in a handsome face, unlike the doggish hardness of Tad’s features. No one without physical beauty would be a part of my elite upper class. Exactly why the women recruited for their studies were all beautiful. Those who were unattractive would serve, not lead. Tad would serve. Lucian will need to prove himself to lead.

As for Creed, I now know him to possess a lethal ability to control the wind so powerful that he could direct missiles with it. That means Creed is too lethal to kill, because we need him. He’s also too lethal to live without a collar and leash that I hold. That means Red Dart. Which brings me back to Lucian. “Are you confident in the man you have inside Powell’s operation? After today, do you trust him?”

“He’s closer to Powell than Powell allows his own daughter—who he keeps at a distance,” he assures me. “Easily capable of creating doubt about where Creed’s loyalty may lie.”

Acidic warmth fills my gut as I contemplate a far better option. “If his daughter, Addie, were dead, brutally murdered, the general would be distracted enough to let down his guard, which will allow your connection to get his hands on Red Dart.” I sharpen my words. “Make it look like an accident. I don’t want this connected to an attempt to collect Red Dart, but I do want her dead. Now.” My lips twist. “A car accident—the way her mother died. My gift to the general will be his dead daughter. That’s what he gets for crossing me.”

I fade into the wind.

Chapter Seven

Addie

Twenty-four hours after Creed reappeared in my life and turned it upside down, I sit in the bar of my Washington hotel, enduring what is left on my agenda before my return home to Nevada the next morning. I’ve been tasked with managing the ever-curious press, and partnering with various members of my father’s trusted allies to do so as well. Today that translates to Lieutenant Colonel Brock West—my father’s closest confidant since my return from Germany.

Truly, I’m not sure how the press has become my problem, but nevertheless here I sit, prepping Brock for press interviews with far too much interest from the public. I find reporters a bit too eager for my liking to gobble up details about my father in his new role as special security advisor, as well as details about the new facility he’s recently completed eighty miles north of Groom Lake.

At present, I sit with Brock and Layla Cantu, the raven-haired reporter from the Sun Times, trying to focus on the interview underway, not Creed’s accusations about Red Dart or how damn good his hands felt on my body. “Why would the army build this new Dreamland military facility less than eighty miles from Groom Lake rather than use Groom Lake?” Layla queries, snapping me back to the present, ready to reply, but Brock beats me to the punch.

“Top-secret means top-secret, Ms. Cantu,” he replies with the same snotty arrogance he favors with everyone, even me, the daughter of the man he most wants to please. He just can’t help himself.

He’s forty-four, tall, blond, and good-looking, with an air of authority to go along with his arrogance that can be off-putting, thus why I cringe, knowing full well you don’t reprimand someone for showing interest in a topic without creating more interest in said topic. I eye Layla and offer a discreet eye roll that tells the other woman that Brock West, or “Brock,” as he’s casually, flirtatiously insisted I call him, is a pain in the backside. And while the act is for show, it’s true. He is a pain in the ass. I can’t stand the way Brock pants after my father, while being condescending to me one minute and flirting the next.

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