Page 38 of Creed

“He’s my boss,” she finally answers. She glances behind me , listening for a moment before her eyes harden and she stares at the door while her next words are nearly spit from her lips like a viper’s venom. “And he’s a shady, greedy, disgusting excuse for a man. He takes advantage of everyone around him without an ounce of remorse, and if he thought for even a second that I knew you, he’d?—”

“Well, would ya look at this,” a gruff voice slurs from behind us at the same time the door bangs off the wall for the second time tonight. We both whirl around and Collins freezes to the spot when a man who I’m guessing is the boss she’d mentioned is standing in the doorway that was just closed moments before. He’s a slimy looking fucker with thinning hair that’s been slicked back with nothing but the grease he’s produced. Sweat and food stains litter his ratty button down bowling shirt. His eyes are bloodshot and I can practically smell the vodka seeping from his pores in hot, sweaty waves.

Yeah, shady doesn’t even begin to describe this asshole. I instinctively take a step forward, placing myself between Collins and the guy who I’m assuming is this Tank fucker Collins mentioned.

“It ain’t even been fifteen minutes and already my new clients are leaving? The fuck did you do this time, girl?” He all but growls the words at Collins and it sets my teeth on edge. This time?

“It was just a misunderstanding, Tank. I’m-I’m sorry.” Collins answers behind me, her voice wavering. I’m not even looking at her but I can feel the fear and nervousness radiating off of her in waves while I feel her fist the back of my shirt in a tight fist.

He ignores her answer when his beady eyes slide to me and it’s like his personality takes a u-turn from dicktown and right into pleasantville. He whoops excitedly, clapping his hands once before rubbing them together excitedly. “Man, can’t fuckin’ believe it. The Creed Saint James in my club.” He strokes his dirty looking fingers over his unkempt beard. “I see you weren’t in here for very long, and I just saw Jett leaving this room with your lil’ band buddies in tow. Did you not get to enjoy a dance from the club’s favorite Star girl?” he uses her nickname condescendingly and chuckles, but the undertone of malice in his voice is evident. “She tends to be a very naughty girl to my best clients.” he slurs again, pointing his dirty finger toward her, “You fucked this up for yet another client, so we will be having that little talk we discussed earlier.” He snarls, trying to look around me at Collins with his drunken, icy stare, but I take a step to the side to block her further.

I’m about one more what the fuck moment from committing murder for the first time in my life. Jesus fucking Christ.

I am in complete disbelief of tonight’s turn of events.

Starting with some freak celestial realigning, I find Collins.

Collins… who’s all grown up.

Working in a fucking strip club.

Wearing next to nothing and looking like sin.

Dancing.

Working for this dirty sack of shit.

She’s clearly scared, so her behavior and reaction are learned by repetition.

Murder is on the mind for the fucker in front of me right now and sounding better and better all the time.

“No, I don’t think you will,” The words are out before I can stop them but fuck if it’s not a threat as much as it’s a statement with finality.

Of course the words don’t stick, though. Inebriation can cause false bravado in a man like Tank, so the nasty grin that pulls at his mouth as he takes a step into the room has my hackles rising. I don’t budge, even as I feel Collins tugging at my t-shirt as she tries to step back. It’s like he didn’t even hear me earlier as he tries to look around me to Collins and barks, “Get that wig back on and go get your ass ready for another set, Star. You’ve cost me too much tonight as it is, so you need to make up for the loss.”

I scrunch my nose at his close proximity because this dude really is just gross. And he owns this place? Make it make sense.

Collins starts to release my shirt and move around me, but I place my hand on her lower belly and push her back behind me without taking my eyes off of the asshole in front of me. “You don’t fucking talk to her.” I snarl, stepping up close to him despite my stomach roiling at his odor. He may be bigger, but this fucker is so out of shape I doubt it would take much to bring his ass to the ground if I lunged at him.

I barely hear Collins’ voice whisper a soft “Don’t,” at the same time Tank barks a dark laugh.

“I can talk to her however the fuck I see fit, seeing as I own her ass.” He chuckles again, but it lacks all humor. A muscle tics in my jaw as I stare him down, He will never own a damn thing when it comes to Collins Weston. That title of ownership had been claimed two years ago so surprise, motherfucker. It’s me. Hi.

Tank runs a hand over the top of his greasy hair, false confidence oozing from his words, similar to the way the alcohol seeps from his pores. He chuckles before he keeps talking, further digging his own grave. “But hey, I’ll let you in on a lil’ secret, Creed,” he starts, taking another step toward me and leaning down like he’s sharing a secret. Still I don’t move. My muscles coiling tighter with tension, just fucking daring him to say one more thing about Collins. “I have it on good authority from my top clients, that with a little molly and a quality pair of leather cuffs, this little princess here can give one hell of a happy ending.” His mouth turns into a malicious grin. “Isn’t that right?—”

I see red. I don’t let him finish as my fist collides hard into his nose, a satisfying, sickening crunch brings an unhinged smile to my face, and I revel in the sound of his nose breaking in this small, quiet room. Tank falls into an unconscious heap right in the middle of the floor, blood gushing from his now broken nose. I’m momentarily sad because I really wanted to hit him again.

Rage burns through my veins, filling every inch of my being with the need for more violence. Collins whimpers behind me and I realize she never once released my shirt, her grip now so tight it threatens to puncture the fabric. I can feel her shaking and I can’t stand not seeing her anymore. I take one last look at Tank, making sure he’s actually knocked out before I carefully turn to come face to face with her. Well, face to chest, because despite her long legs and heels, she’s still tiny.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask softly, not wanting to scare her further even though I’m still vibrating with anger. She doesn’t answer, nor does she release me so I can only turn toward her partially to look at her, but she’s not looking at me. I see she must have slipped the bright wig back onto her head before she gripped my shirt because the bright red hair is back in place, slightly tamer than it was before she removed it. She’s staring wide-eyed at my chest, but her gaze is vacant. I watch as her eyes dart back and forth but they’re unseeing. Tanks words must have triggered something in her, causing this panic with her and I feel the red mist settle over my eyes again. Collins looks like she’s lost in a memory right now.

Not a memory, a fucking nightmare.

The truth of the situation slams into me all at once, because there’s something that Tank had said that’s now ringing around my brain again and again; ‘happy ending’. It doesn’t take a goddamned genius to know what he and Tony were referring to when they said it, but now… was he telling me that she was fucking drugged, restrained, and forced to have sex with the clients here?

Nausea swirls in my gut at the thought of anyone taking advantage of her, of life still only taking and taking and taking from her after she fought to free herself.

“Collins,” I say as softly as I can with all this rage still boiling just beneath the surface. Her eyes snap up to mine, but it’s like she’s still not seeing me. In an instant, her shaking stops, but she still isn’t present in reality yet. It actually looks as though she’s dissociating.

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