Page 24 of He is… Creed: Part Three

“So, had you killed him at Groom Lake, the world would be a happy place right now?” She challenges. She holds up a hand. “Don’t answer. Just don’t.” She narrows her gaze on me. “Are you trying to upset me?”

“I’m simply trying to prepare you.”

She pales, even paler than moments before, and wets her lips. “For when you kill him?”

“For whatever the future may hold,” I say. “As you said, this is war, and I’m a soldier.”

She chokes on that. “Oh, I am fully aware that you are a soldier, Creed.” She swallows hard and shakes her head. “No, I don’t believe you’ll kill him. I know you know that isn’t the answer.”

“You know less about me than you think you do, Addie.”

Footsteps sound behind us, and Addie squeezes her eyes shut. No matter what her father has done, he was her father. She didn’t have it in her to wish him dead. Nor could she bear the idea of me killing him. It would destroy her. She would lose everything in one fatal swoop. But she didn’t say that—not now, not with Caleb joining us.

One look at Caleb’s face, and Addie backs away, giving us space to talk. “I’m going to the ladies’ room.” She rushes away down the hallway, with no idea where she’s going. But wherever it is, it will be with anger and hate in her heart for me.

And it has to stay that way.

So, I let her go and focus on Caleb and the news he delivers. On the war, not the woman.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Addie

“The Zodius have retreated for now…”

That’s all I hear Caleb say before I turn the corner, seeking a much-needed escape.

Fortunately, the bathroom is actually easy to find, and once inside the tiny one-stall room, I press my palms against the cool ceramic sink, looking skyward without seeing what is above. I don’t need to hear more of Caleb’s report. “Retreated for now” translates too easily to “more bloodshed to come.”

I’m not pissed at Creed, though I’m fairly certain that was his intent. He’s pushing me away. Maybe he can’t bear the idea of being in love with my father’s daughter. Being bound to me for the rest of his life.

But I can’t think about my personal pain over him right now.

More bloodshed to come…

The bloodshed has to end, and if I could turn back time and do a hundred things differently, I would have connected the dots about my father’s motives and taken action. But I can only go forward, however daunting it may become. Inhaling, I lower my chin, cringing at the raccoon eyes staring back at me in the mirror, the mud slashes streaking a line down my cheeks. I’m still sick—feeling pretty crappy, to be honest—but worrying about my stomach churning seems selfish when soldiers are fighting for their lives.

What rattles me in this moment is not my disheveled image or my personal discomfort, but what was underneath it all. For years, perhaps all my life, my identity has been tied to my fathers in ways that reached beyond biology.

“You can make this right,” I whisper. “You will make this right.”

Pulling myself together, I clean up a little and force myself to get back out there on the front lines. I exit the bathroom and intend to rejoin Creed and Caleb, locating them side-by-side outside the surgery-viewing window. The sight of Creed standing there—legs braced in a V, arms crossed in front of his chest, an unapproachable air about him intended for me—is disconcerting in every possible way.

Because I have nowhere else to go but to him.

In a matter of days, we’ve gone from enemies to lovers, and right now, I’m not sure what we are besides the soldier that didn’t kill my father but wishes he had. Truth be told, I’m not certain Creed could ever completely separate me from my father, no matter how hard he might try or how much he might say otherwise.

I take a hint and don’t step to Creed, leaning against a wall behind him, but still between him and Caleb. My attention cuts beyond the glass as Katie drops one green-spiked bullet after another into a glass container. The tension in the waiting area is palpable; the worry that Jensen won’t make it through this is no doubt on everyone’s mind.

Creed stands like steel, watching every move the doctor makes. Caleb, in turn, resorts to pacing, and pacing some more, until he all but wears a hole in the concrete floor. Until, finally, Katie is here with us, offering an update.

“He’s stable,” she announces, eyeing me with a silent, understanding welcome, and this news is as welcome as a soft breeze on a hot day. Oh, so needed. “But he’s not out of trouble yet,” she warns. “He’s lost a lot of blood. And he’s endured tremendous damage to his body. Whatever those bullets are made of, they do more than penetrate the armor. They shred muscle and tissue. He’s in for a long night of healing, and I’m worried about the healing sickness, considering the extent of his injuries. Though untested, I’m of the opinion that C deficiency is creating the healing illness, so I’ve started a supplement intravenously. That and the fact that he’s shown no healing illness in the past allow me to be optimistically hopeful.”

“When will we know he’s out of trouble?” I ask, beating the others to the question.

“A few more hours,” she says, looking us all over. “You should all go clean up and get some rest.” She points at me. “Not you. I heard what happened to you. I need to examine you before you get away from me. I just need a few minutes to check on Maddox.” She begins to depart and hesitates, reaching into her pocket and producing a clear, sealed baggy full of bullets. “Thought you might want these.” She drops them into Caleb’s hand, then turns and leaves.

Caleb stares at the bullets. We all do. As if they are the devil in disguise. After seeing the other men bleeding to death because of them, I think perhaps they were.

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