Page 120 of Creeping Lily
The muzzle of his gun rises, the black eye of it finding my forehead.
The air turns heavy, every breath dragging like it’s been soaked in oil. My fingers twitch around my own weapon, every instinct screaming to move—but I know. This was always the road we were barreling down. Always going to end with one of us bleeding out on the floor. I just wish it was on my terms.
I exhale, slow and steady, and lower my gun. My other hand drifts upward, palm brushing my throat. My fingertips find the edge of the mask—the second skin that’s kept my truth buried.
And then, with the world holding its breath, I start to peel it back.
The silicone clingslike it was grown into my skin. Each pull rips at the seal, a soft tearing sound that feels louder than the pounding in my ears.
Lily freezes. Her eyes are locked on me, unblinking, as if movement might make the moment real.
I drag the mask lower—inch by inch—exposing the skin beneath. It’s red, raw, gasping for air after years trapped beneath rubber.
Her hands lift to her mouth, knuckles blanching. I can see the instant she recognizes what’s underneath, the second her mind puts my face back together with the boy she once knew.
The boy she loved.
The boy she lost.
The boy she mourned.
And now?—
The man who’s been stalking her from the shadows, the man she’s feared, the man she’s cursed in her head when she thought she was alone.
The final strip comes free, slick with sweat, and I let it fall from my hand. It hits the floor with a wet, hopeless thud.
Lincoln Walker stares back at her.
She staggers like I just landed a punch to her chest. I can almost hear the snap of something breaking inside her—the sharp fracture of trust.
Her lips move, shaping my name, but no sound comes out.
I see the war in her eyes. The rush of joy that I’m alive colliding with the raw horror of what I’ve become.
“You…” It’s barely a breath, but it’s jagged enough to cut. “…you’re him.”
Bentley’s arm is still locked around her waist, holding her upright, but she’s shaking so hard I can tell he’s the only thing keeping her from crumpling.
She looks at me like I’ve committed the worst kind of betrayal—not killing, not lying, but being alive without her knowing.
Every tear on her cheeks is a blade to my ribs, but I don’t look away. I want her to see me. All of me. The ruin. The scars. The man I had to become.
“Why?” The word comes out in a choked, shaking whisper. Not why I’m here. Not why the gun. Not why the years of shadows. Why I left her in hell while I walked free.
And she doesn’t even know yet—that the fire didn’t just burn my skin. It burned away every piece of the boy she remembers.
61
LILY
Ican’t stop the gasp that rips out of me, sharp and raw, even though I bite down on it like it’s a secret I can keep buried. He never took the mask off for me—not once. I told myself it was about the danger, about the shadows he lived in, about the need to stay faceless. I convinced myself anonymity was his armor. I clung to that lie like it could shield me from the truth.
But now, standing here, I see it was never about anonymity. It was about something far uglier. Far darker.
The silicone clings to him like a second skin, molded to every hard edge and sharp plane. I stand frozen as his hand moves—not because he wants to, but because Walker’s presence is a noose at his back, forcing this moment. Forcing him to strip himself bare.
He peels it away, inch by agonizing inch. The sound is quiet but obscene—flesh releasing from silicone with a damp, sticky whisper. The skin underneath blooms red, starving for air.
