by S. M. Soto
“Soph?”
Garrett’s voice snaps me out of the trance I always seem to find myself in when I’m near this man. I turn my attention back to my brother, his forehead still creased with worry.
“Yeah. I’m okay now. I just…all the men sitting together…it was almost like I was back…” I clear my throat and shake my head, halting myself from having to finish that sentence. Garrett helps me to my feet giving me a thorough once over.
“You up to going in there? We don’t have to if you’re not ready.”
“I can do it.” I reassure him with a sight nod of my head. He pauses, searching my eyes for any indication I’m lying. Seeming appeased with what he sees, he grips my hand and ushers me into the kitchen. The conversation between the guys around the table halts once we walk back into the kitchen. Heat rises to my cheeks and neck. The urge to crawl into a corner and hide is almost too strong to ignore. I swallow past the thickness in my throat and keep my gaze trained on the ceiling, afraid to let myself get caught up in their probing stares.
“Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to my little sister, Sophia.” Garrett announces loudly, and I cringe in embarrassment.
Did he really have to broadcast it out to everyone like that?
“Soph, these are all the assholes I work with.” Garrett jokes, trying to lighten the mood. Chuckles ring out from the guys and I manage to keep my gaze trained on the ceiling.
Despite the awkward introduction, Garrett ushers me to an empty seat at the table, running off to make me a plate of what’s for dinner.
“Quite the entrance you made, love.” Someone says beside me in a familiar English accent. I swing my head to my left, and I’m met with Finlay’s cheerful smile. My lip twitches.
“Saw that, did you?” I scrunch my face up, cringing in embarrassment, prompting Finlay to chuckle.
“The whole room saw you just now, love. But don’t worry, these blokes are too worried about getting full to pay any attention.”
A small smile lifts the corners of my lips. I don’t know if that was his mission—to make me smile and get out of my head, but it worked. At least now I don’t feel like everyone here is judging me.
“Who makes all the food here anyway?” I ask him as I stare at the plates filled with an assortment of food.
“Mera, of course. She’s a blessing and curse all at once. Her food is so good, you can’t just have one plate,” he says with his signature charming grin.
“Out of my seat, Finlay.” Garrett’s voice holds a warning, and I swing my head to him in confusion.
What’s his deal?
Finlay raises his arms in surrender. “Aye, mate. Just keeping your seat warm.” He raises his large body out of Garrett’s seat and winks cheekily at me behind my brothers back before strolling out of the room, whistling a random tune.
I surprise myself when I finish all the food on my plate. Garrett piled enough on there to feed a small army, and yet I wiped the whole plate clean. Most of the meal I tried to stay unnoticeable, but that didn’t work for long. Garrett started introducing a few of the guys lingering at the table.
“Soph, this is Jose,” he says gesturing to a thick muscled guy with mocha colored skin. He gives a small wave and I return the gesture. “And you remember Kam,” my brother says, gesturing to the bulky man that reminds me of the actor Ving Rhames. “And finally, this here is Ricky.” He points to a guy with a full beard that’s long enough to braid and a bald head—quite the combination. I smile politely at each of them, feeling completely out of my element with so many other people around me.
I think everyone at the table must sense my awkwardness, as the conversation goes on each of them slowly excuse themselves until it’s just Garrett and I left.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay. I feel a lot better now that I’ve eaten.”
He smiles at me and nods his head. “Yeah, I saw you wipe your whole plate clean.” He chuckles making me smile. Hearing him laugh makes me realize just how much I’ve missed him.
Gar helps me up from the table and walks me to my room. I can tell he wants to spend more time with me, but honestly, I just want to be alone. I come up with a lie, telling him I’m feeling tired, and I plan on heading to bed. With a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead, my brother leaves me.
I head into the bathroom and surprise myself when I floss my teeth three times, taking advantage of the luxury of dental care. It’s been so long since I’ve had the option to clean my teeth. I squirt half the tube of toothpaste onto my toothbrush, sagging in relief when I feel the burst of mint spread along my tongue. It’s amazing how much we take for granted. I’ve never took anything about my past life into consideration until now.
After flossing and brushing, I find a new set of pajamas and climb into bed. I curl my legs into myself and hug them to my chest. My eyes dart around the quiet room, sending a chill down my spine. I should feel safe here, but I don’t. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back there in that small room with them. Will I ever be able to close my eyes and not see those men hovering over me? It’s too much.
I just want to forget. I wish I didn’t have to remember.
I’m not sure how long I stare blankly at the ceiling, trying to pass the time, afraid of what awaits me in my dreams. Finally, my eyes grow heavy and slowly close, and I drift off into a troubled sleep.
Images of the dingy, dirty, claustrophobic room come in sporadic flashes. I can feel the burning sting of the whip breaking the skin on my back. I can smell the sodden, dirty bed beneath my nostrils as his hot breaths pants in my ear excitedly. I thrash and scream, doing everything I can to get his heavy body off me but it’s no use. His weight smothers me, cutting off all my oxygen supply. A sharp pain in my shoulder urges me to open my eyes, and the images of my horrific dream slowly fade away.
My eyes fly open, slowly adjusting to the darkness in the room. They freeze on the figure looming at the foot of my bed. I groggily rub my eyes and scramble to prop myself onto my elbows. The foot of my bed is fuzzy, and the dark figure slips out of the room again without a word. Falling back onto the bed, my eyes close within seconds, fatigued, and I’m drifting back to sleep.
I wake the next morning to orange and pink hues, casting a warm glow throughout the room. The soft light seeps through the cracks of the boarded windows, unable to be contained. Dust motes hover in the still air, refracting the morning light. My eyes shift to the window and my heart drops a little. I wish it wasn’t blocked off. I wish I could look out the window like a normal person, but I can’t. Garrett explained that although this was a cover house, it didn’t necessarily mean it was a safe house. On the outside, this was Glenwood Oaks, the nursing home in Crest Fall, Missouri, but that’s just a front to the outsiders. On the inside, this place was filled with bulky men, soldiers, trained killers—mercenaries are what Garrett called his team. He assured me I’d be able to look out the windows and go outside when the dust settled. Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean.
Shaking my head, I climb out of bed and drag myself into the shower. I awkwardly work around the brace for my collar bone. If I didn’t need it so badly, I’d chuck the thing in the garbage and say to hell with it.
My legs nearly give out on me twice beneath the warm spray, but I refuse to call someone for help. I can and will do this on my own. Using the tiled shower wall for support, I scrub my body as best as I can. My fingers pause over the pursed scars on my back left from the whip. They slowly trace over the ugly wounds I haven’t had the strength to look at yet. My eyes drift closed, and my chest tightens when I think about the whip slashing through my skin. When my legs wobble, and threaten to give out again, I decide that’s as clean as I’m getting today.
I grab a pair of yoga pants—the only ones that seem to fit—and a long sleeve white t-shirt. I’m just about to click the nurse button on the remote near my bed for Garrett or Mera, but I don’t, thinking better of it. For once, I’d like to have some alone time without G
arrett, my shadow, hovering over me. Maybe I can even use this time to explore the rest of the house, or building, whatever you want to call it. Slipping on a pair of white tennis shoes from the closet, I nervously wipe my sweaty palms on the fabric of my yoga pants.
Stepping just outside of the threshold, there’s a long corridor on each side of my room. I presume this room was chosen for me because it’s right in the middle, surrounded by trained killers that can easily protect me. Shifting left then right, I decided to go left and keep walking until I see something other than doors and this damn, never-ending hallway. A thump of movement in the room up ahead prompts me to start walking toward it. The big wooden door, identical to the rest of the doors down this hall is left ajar, so I take a chance and walk inside. The room looks identical to the one I’m sleeping in, but this room has a personal touch. I can tell someone stays in here often. There’s a couple of strewn out shirts and paperwork scattered all over a desk next to a laptop. There’s three black duffel bags in the corner and a couple of books resting on the bedside table.
At the corner of my eye, I see someone approach from another door on the other side of the room. I spin around and much to my surprise I find a very shirtless Creed. He stops mid step as he notices me and raises his eyebrows in surprise. I couldn’t stop myself from openly gawking at him even if I tried. He’s practically naked—shirtless, with beads of water still dripping from his chest, shoulders, and the tips of his hair. His sweatpants hang low on his hips, revealing a deep v and slabs of muscle. Intricate tattoos cover his chest and the top halves of his arms, somehow making the muscles look even larger and formidable.
Creed loudly clears his throat and I snap my eyes up to his, shaking my head slightly to clear the thick fog.
“I-I-I’m sorry. I was just wandering through the hall and the door was open. I didn’t realize you were…uh, you know preoccupied and such,” I stammer, all the while shifting uncomfortably on my feet. My face burns with the flush of my embarrassment. He stands motionless for a second, those slate orbs looking deep in thought. His eyes are such a striking feature, and not just because of their color, but because of the raw intensity in them. What sends a tremor down my spine is how cold and withdrawn they are. They’re blanketed in something dark and sinister—just like mine.
Before I can manage to embarrass myself any further, I pivot and start striding toward the door, ready to run and bury myself in my room to hide my embarrassment. The heavy warmth of his hand on my forearm freezes me in place. Slowly, I crane my head around, finding him staring at me with so much intensity, my cheeks flame instantly and my heart pounds violently in my chest. He runs his hand through his hair almost like he’s frustrated and breathes out a harsh exhale. Every muscle in his abdomen and arm bunch with the movement.
“I can show you around.”
I tilt my head to the side and look at him. I mean really look at him. He’s ruggedly handsome. Just looking at him I can tell he’s trouble, he has it written all over him. I should be running out of here afraid of being this close to another man, especially after what has happened to me, but for some strange reason, I don’t want to. In a way, he saved me, and some insane part of me wants to get to know him—be close to him.
“That would be great.”
I make a point to look down at his hand still on my arm. He immediately let’s go, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Just because I said I want to know him, doesn’t mean I’m comfortable with his hands on me.
I take a couple steps toward the door and give him a minute to cover up for our walk. I’m not sure I’d be able to concentrate on anything during the tour if he’s shirtless. I smell him at my side before I see him. He smells like fresh water, spice and something masculine. It’s musky. It’s intoxicating. It’s different.
He leads us out of the room and through the hallway.
“There’s only seven people who stay on this floor regardless of all the rooms,” he states. “This room to the left is Mera’s and the room right across from her is Kam’s,” he says as we walk past their rooms and back toward mine. “That’s your room and right next door is Cova’s room, of course. The rest of the rooms down there are taken by the rest of the guys, a few are open to anyone else that needs to stay here.”
“So, anyone can stay here?”
“No. You’re not even supposed to be here, but Cova is…stubborn, to say the least.”
His response makes me smile. “Cova? Why do you call him that? Why not just call him Garrett?”
He gazes down at me and for the briefest second, he looks slightly uncomfortable. “I call him that because that’s what he’s called here. It’s force of habit, I guess.”
I make a contemplative noise that sounds a lot like, hmm.
“Is Creed your real name?”
“No, it’s not. Garrett still has some things he’d like to explain to you,” he says, quickly changing the subject. I stop walking and wait for him to turn and look at me before I begin.
“What do you mean stuff to explain to me? There’s more to his earlier explanation? Why don’t I know anything? I mean, why are we even here?”
A frown line appears on his forehead after my string of questions and he blows out a deep breath. “Your brother will explain everything to you soon. Just wait for him to wrap his head around everything.” He resumes striding toward the large spiral staircase that leads downstairs.
We walk in silence for a bit until I can’t stay quiet anymore.
“Can you at least tell me how you found me?” We reach the bottom of the steps and he leads me down a short hallway into what looks like a sitting room. With dim lighting, plush burgundy couches, an oak coffee table and a fire place, the room gives off comforting vibes. This must be the room the guys use to wind down.
“Are you sure you’re up to hearing about that right now?”
I take a seat on the leather couch and look back at him.
“Yes. I want to know. No, I need to know what happened. Don’t spare me the details either. I’d like to know everything.”
He pauses before sitting, staring at me with a look of confusion. Finally, he lowers himself on the sofa across from me. His eyes shutter and become cold, the silver depths go blank as he gathers himself. Looking down at his hands he begins.
“We were called out for a mission. Our unit received a tip that there would be potential sex trades happening somewhere in the Middle East.”
My stomach churns as I realize how very close I came to being sold to one of those sick monsters. He looks up at me from his hands and holds my stare for a solid beat. He turns his attention to the window behind me before resuming.
“I found you in a puddle of blood on the floor. You had a dislocated collarbone, and you were beaten half to death.”
My hand flies to my right shoulder as it throbs in almost remembered pain. There was so much pain that day in general.
“It was touch and go at first. You were out of it for a couple of days but overall Mera has told us everything is healing accordingly. Physically, you should be better in no time.”
I look up into his eyes and let the tears fall. I hated what those men put me through.
All for what? To be sold to some sick psychopath?
Creed uncomfortably clears his throat, stands to his feet and walks out of the room to leave me in my self-pity.
“Hold on,” I choke out. He freezes at the threshold, looking back at me over his shoulder. “What’s your name? Your real name.”
Without taking his eyes off me he says, “Diavolo.”
My brows pull down, and I cock my head to the side. “That’s…different. Does it have a meaning?” Something flashes behind his steel gray eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by a cold stare, and the tensing of his jaw.
“It means the Devil.”
With that odd response, he turns around and heads out of the room.
I sat there for a while contemplating everything he told me about what happened that d
ay. There were still so many things I didn’t understand, but for now, it was enough information. I wasn’t sure I was strong enough to hear any more details. My mind easily drifts to the end of our conversation—his real name. Who would name their son after the Devil, and why? Where did he get the name Creed from then? The cogs in my mind churn as I try to figure out the man with the striking gray eyes.
AT DINNER, I CAN’T HELP but sneak glances at Creed from his position across the table from Garrett and I. Ever since our conversation earlier, I haven’t been able to purge him from my mind. There’s so much mystery behind the man with the dark hair and the mesmerizing steel eyes. I’m becoming a moth to a flame, but just like the moth, my idiotic self won’t be able to stay away.
During dinner, Creed made a point to look at me with a raised brow and an indifferent look on his face. He must’ve sensed my gaze on him during the entire meal. There was a cold and calculating gleam in his eye that forced me to finally shift my attention elsewhere. I hated that he caught me staring, but I couldn’t stop myself. He was an enigma, something my screwed-up mind wanted to know more about. Just because he saved me, didn’t mean I shouldn’t be afraid of him and all the other men here. They were mercenaries who killed for a living, but for the life of me, I couldn’t get Creed and his mesmerizing eyes out of my head.
Garrett walks me up to my room trying to make light conversation, but I’m unable to follow along. There’s still too many unanswered questions. Finally, past the point of being kept in the dark, I take Creed’s advice and summon the courage to ask Garrett about what this place is, and what I’m really doing here.
