Page 28 of He is… Creed: Part Three

“That list is short. The U.S. Army. Period. There are no other customers. So, if you’re shooting each other up with them, that’s not my problem.”

“You’re lying.” She can barely look me in the eye, but then, it’s been a long time since she could—maybe all the way back to the days of those after-school cookies. She wasn’t that woman anymore—the perfect housewife and mother—if she ever had been.

She glares at me. “Don’t you dare come in here and pretend honor while you judge me, because we both know you’ve plenty to be judged on yourself. And your day is coming, Creed.”

“I want names,” I demand, my tone harsh by design. “Who did you sell the Green Hornets to?”

“I’m not giving you anything,” she declares. “You certainly haven’t given a damn thing to me.”

“If even one more of these bullets ends up in one of our soldiers,” I say. “I promise you, I will make destroying you and Taylor Industries my life mission.”

That pale, plastic surgery-created face reddens. “What’s so pathetic,” she says, “is that I believe you. I believe my son would try to destroy me.”

“Your son died years ago,” I assure her. “You killed him.”

I’d come here for answers and hoped to find the loving mother I’d grown up with, not the enemy she’s become. Jesus Christ, I’m a fool. I expect Addie to give up on her father, and yet I still haven’t managed to do so with my mother. “Talking isn’t working,” I say. “Let’s go to your computer.”

Her eyes go wide. “Why would I do that?”

“Because I want more than the names of who you sold those bullets to. I want inventory of every last bullet stocked in your warehouses.” Alarm slides across her face, and she looked like she might refuse, so I softly add, “We can do this the easy way, Mother, or the hard way.”

She glowers, her gaze skittering to the gun and two knives strapped to my hips, swallowing hard as she inventories how easily I can make good on that ultimatum. Without looking at me, she turns on her heels and marches down the hall, turning to the office on the right that had once been my father’s.

I’m behind her solid mahogany desk by the time she’s on the opposite side. She isn’t doing anything I don’t supervise. I sit and key her MacBook to life.

“Already logged in,” I note, glancing up at her. “I’m ashamed, Mother. You should be more careful.” I point to the visitor’s chair across from me. “Sit.” Her lips purse, but she does as she’s told.

I pull out my gun and set it on the desk, reminding her how easily I can use it, and start typing. A second password screen pops up the instant I type in “Green Hornets.”

“What’s the password?”

“Creed,” she informs me, giving me a go to hell glare.

I don’t miss the implication that she made those bullets to kill me and those like me. She hates me almost as much as I hate her. I type in my name.

The information I need appears on the screen, including storage locations and past shipments, which indicate sales to only one buyer—the U.S. Army, just as she claims.

Or so the sales documents indicate.

“Call your security team. Clear Caleb Rain to pick up a shipment.”

She goes ghost-white. “You won’t get away with this,” she vows.

“Just make the call.”

She makes the call, and the instant she hangs up, I snatch my cell and contact my Renegade team.

“We’ll wait together while they retrieve the bullets,” I tell her. “That way, you can help me clear up any trouble they might run into.”

In the meantime, I want the specs to manufacture those bullets. I return my attention to her MacBook and get to work downloading her data onto a drive.

That’s when my nostrils flare with the scent of sex again and something else that’s familiar. My gaze jerks to hers with realization. It’s Lawrence. Holy hell, it’s the fucking general.

I pick up my weapon and stand. “Get up,” I command. “And take me to him.”

Chapter Thirty

Creed

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