Page 18 of He is… Creed: Part Three

He’s right—of course, he’s right—but hiding feels wrong. Guilt over so many things is eating me alive. “I helped my father. I stood by him. I—”

He kisses me—a deep, passionate kiss filled with the gentle strength I’ve always loved in him. Gentle. No matter how demanding or how stubborn this man can be, he’s always been gentle with me.

“We’ll find an answer,” he promises. “But we have to leave now. Okay?”

He’s asking despite the fact that we both know he’s not really asking at all, but it matters to me that he goes through the motions. I nod, unable to find my voice. I’m running, but only because Creed’s statement is accurate. I have to survive to fight. And I’m going to fight like I’ve never fought before.

Chapter Eighteen

Lucian

I found Julian in the center of his coliseum—Tad by his side with a smug look on his face, as if he mattered or something. They stood between a row of thirty wolves and another row of as many soldiers—a formation Julian favored when training the wolves for combat. He planned to use them to herd humans when he was ready to take over. To herd and kill as needed. Those damn wolves. I will never get used to those beasts walking amongst them as if they were above higher forms of life, just because they were joined with Julian.

I exit a stone staircase as Julian lifts his hand and then throws it down. The wolves and soldiers charge at one another. Julian and Tad back away, walking toward me, Tad by Julian’s side as if he belongs there instead of at his feet. Tad couldn’t see he was just another dog, lapping at Julian’s heels. But he would. Soon.

I would see to it. Because I had a plan to turn Creed and Addie’s time together into their end and my beginning. By night’s end, I would not only see to it that Addie Lawrence was dead; I’d frame Creed as her killer. Lawrence would be furious, devastated—vulnerable to Brock’s Red Dart probes. And Creed would be captive inside Zodius City, ready for his punishment. I would be his replacement, and Tad would be nothing.

Chapter Nineteen

Brock

I pull my truck under the bridge I’ve been directed to by Lawrence and kill the lights. Darkness is suffocating, silence complete, but for the rush of tires over the concrete highway above. Seconds morph into minutes, and my edginess is palpable.

The whistle of the wind comes soft and low, and I flip open the center compartment and remove a Smith and Wesson. It might be hard to kill a GTECH, but I know how to make a shot count.

Abruptly, the wind gushes around the vehicle. A roar of thunder follows, providing some comfort that this is Mother Nature rather than a Windwalker. I relax marginally, but do so with the comfort of that steel weapon against my palm.

From a distance, headlights flicker and turn down the street, high beams that cut through the fog. A white van pulls to a slow halt a few feet from my truck, lights illuminating the droplets of rain as they nosedive to the pavement.

I sit there, and so does the driver in the other vehicle. A silent standoff of sorts until I accept that I am being forced to exit first. I shove open the door, but with my weapon in hand.

Rain pelts steadily now, and my shirt clings to my skin, but I ignore the ice of the droplets. Still, no one exits the van, and between the black of the night and the tint of the front window, I’m clueless as to whom I’m dealing with.

I round the hood to the panel door and knock. It slides open, and to my shock, big blue eyes framed with long, sleek, raven hair greet me. The woman is striking—beauty in its purest form—and the smile she offers me is sweet enough to charm a battalion of soldiers. What the hell is she thinking, meeting a man under a bridge alone?

“Come in, Lieutenant Colonel,” she welcomes, “before you wash away.” Her voice is smooth as expensive whiskey, a throaty sensuality rasping from its depths.

But as my gaze shifts to the medical bed and monitors behind her, unease ticks to life. “Who are you?”

“The person who is going to hand you the world, Brock. If you want it. But you can call me Jocelyn.”

She’s for me, I think. She was sent to me to change my life. Slowly, this realization has me lowering my weapon, and she backs away from the entrance to offer me room to join her.

I don’t need a second invitation.

I climb inside the van and pull the door shut behind me.

I rotate to find her perched on a stool beside the bed, the scent of her, sweet and female, insinuating into my nostrils. “Lie on the bed and roll up your sleeve,” she orders, apparently unconcerned about the water I’m dripping all over the place.

It's less than a stride for me to sit on the mattress, and she rolls backward to allow me space to lie down. I pull my shirt over my head and toss the soggy mess. Her lips hint at a smile, as if she approves of my action.

I lay down.

Jocelyn scoots back to my side and wraps a rubber tube around my upper arm. Holy crap, I think. This is happening; it’s really happening. I’m about to become GTECH. As if confirming this conclusion, Jocelyn withdraws medication from a vial into a syringe, and my damn cock is standing at attention. I’m aroused. By her. By that needle about to create a new me.

Watching her now, she’s older than I first thought—maybe in her fifties, but could pass for forties. But it doesn’t turn me off. No, nothing about this woman turns me off. She is fucking amazing.

“General Lawrence told me you are aware of the risks, but I’d like to hear that from you,” she says. “Because there is no turning back. Everything about this program is experimental.”

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