Page 60 of Creed

I really don’t want to dump my burdens on Creed, or Riley for that matter, but I know that the former will not relent until I’ve given him the information he’s seeking.

“I can’t leave Viper because I’m in debt with Tank.” I blurt out.

Both guys are stony faced, but Riley speaks, his voice low and carefully calm “How much?”

“What? No, I don’t—” I shake my head, swallowing hard. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Or you won’t tell me?” That was Creed this time.

“Both,” I answer quickly. A lump forms in my throat when I think about the shit I’ve landed myself in and a feeling of hopelessness blooms and spreads throughout my body, settling low in my gut. “The things that Tank had mentioned last night,” I start, hoping Creed would remember without having to recount the painful memories out loud. Luckily, he nods and my body relaxes, but not much. “There’s…some truth to that.”

My eyes flick to Creed's hands that are now clasped together, his knuckles squeezing so hard they’re turning white. I raise my gaze, sweeping over the men seated across from me. Creed’s jaw ticks, working back and forth, silently fuming while Riley looks utterly lost. I don’t have the energy to recount the whole story though. Not today, at least.

I push myself to continue. “When I refused to…comply with Tank’s new rules on how the VIP sessions were to end,” I pinned both men with a harsh glare, begging them to not interrupt or ask me to elaborate as I went on, “he lost several of his ‘VIP Clients’, thus the loss of tens of thousands of dollars each month. He holds me responsible for the loss of funds, and he told me that I’m to work off the debt.”

Riley is the first to speak after a moment of quiet pondering from them. “I’m sure there’s a lot more to unpack here, but what I want to know, is how much this Tank fucker thinks you owe him. Because whatever it is that he’s insinuating is your fault, is fucking asinine.”

I roll my lips together, knowing there’s no way to explain my debt to Tank in a way they’ll understand. “I truly don’t know, because there is no number.”

“No number? What the fuck does that mean?” Creed growls, his dark brows drawn together, his face morphing from one emotion to another. Anger, confusion, frustration.

“According to Tank, it means there’s no cap on the debt.” I blurt out, my body now starting to shiver from the cool breeze blowing across my bare thighs. I ignore it, ready to get this conversation over with so I can leave. Because that’s my only option, isn’t it? I can’t stay or follow them on tour and put them at risk of any kind of danger. “The debt is indefinite; I have to work for Viper until Tank feels that he’s recouped the cash lost from his VIP’s that left the club over me and the problems I caused for them.”

“That’s fucking bullshit and you know it, Collins.” Creed snaps. “He can’t force you to work for him because predatory men got their feelings hurt when you didn’t…when you wouldn’t…” he cut himself off, swallowing hard and shoving his tattooed fingers through his already messy locks.

“Tank doesn’t exactly operate on the right side of the law, Creed.”

“Doesn’t matter. If you don’t want to work there for that piece of shit, then I’ll see to it you never step foot inside of Viper and that he never bothers you again, Stardust.”

His voice never wavers. He’s so full of confidence in his words that I truly believe him. But would Creed getting involved make the problem that is Tank go away? Or would it paint a big red target right on his back, next to mine?

“I won’t ask you to do that. I don’t want you to put yourself at risk. Tank may be a dumb motherfucker at times, but he’s also a dangerous man, with dangerous connections. I don’t want you involved.” I glance from Creed to Riley. “Either of you.”

“You don’t have to ask, Collins. You know I’ll do it.” He takes me by surprise when he slides off of the lounge and kneels in front of me, his hands braced on either side of my thighs as he looks up at me. God, my heart is stuttering over the sad, desperate look that’s swimming through his eyes when repeats the words he begged me to accept two years ago. “Let me help you. I can get you out of there. Keep you safe. Please.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tears welling behind my lids, threatening to spill over the edge, my resolve wavering, much like my willingness to walk away from him. One traitorous tear falls and I feel the rough pad of Creed’s thumb gently swipe it away. He doesn’t move his hand though, as he cups the side of my neck and I lean into his touch without thought.

Just say yes, Collins. Let this man help you.

He’s only been begging to save you for two goddamned years.

I sigh, the sound so full of defeat that I hardly even recognize the sound as my own. Opening my eyes, I stare down at my nails, my fingers now folded in my lap, the damp towel draped loosely around my shoulders. Creed’s thumb sweeps up under my chin, gently pressing to get me to lift my gaze to his.

“Even if you manage to call off Tank and his dogs,” I start, my eyes volleying between his. I bite my lip and Creed’s stare snaps down to it before dragging them back up to meet my eyes. “He’s not the only man causing problems in my life.”

“What do you mean?” Riley asks behind Creed, and I nearly jump at the sound of his voice. Guilt washes down my spine because with Creed in close proximity, the rest of the world seemed to have faded away.

I clear my throat and lean away, causing Creed to drop his hand, but he makes no move to take his seat next to Riley again. He just stays crouched at my feet.

“Ever since I turned eighteen, when I aged out of the foster care system and left,” Creed winces at my words, but I ignore it and keep going. “I’ve been receiving some…disturbing texts.”

“Disturbing texts?” Riley parrots slowly. “You mean, like a stalker?”

I look at him and nod in confirmation. “But I’m almost one hundred percent certain I know who it is.” I turn back to Creed, knowing he’ll know who from the letters I’ve sent. “From Guy.”

Some of the color drains from Creed’s face as the recognition of my last foster father’s name is said out loud. “The cocksucker that somehow fooled the system into thinking he was fit to be a foster parent?

“The very same.” I laugh once, but it’s cold and detached, with no humor behind it. “The texts are always from different or more recently, blocked numbers, as I’m constantly blocking them as soon as I get them. Sometimes they sound more like threats, and other times they’re disgusting or crude in nature.” I force myself to sit still, to stop the trembling in my muscles as I think about each message that bastard has sent me. I swallow, “The last text I received from him came through just last night before my set. It had said I’m so close I could taste you.”

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