by S. M. Soto
Or is there someplace even worse than hell?
My mind drifts to my brother, and as much as I don’t want to think about him losing his life, I can’t help but wonder where he’d land. I know he’s a good person, a good brother, I’ve seen it, but what he does for a living, taking the lives of others, even if they are the bad ones; it can’t be good. A life is still a life, isn’t it? Turning my head slightly, I shift my gaze to Creed, who looks just as lost in thought, if not more so.
Where would you land Creed? I ask myself as I stare at the incredibly handsome, yet frightening man next me.
“Aren’t you afraid of what will happen when you die?” I find myself asking out of the blue. Creed makes a sound akin to a scoff, still avoiding my gaze and shrugs carelessly.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters.” I press, prompting him to turn toward me. “I think everyone wonders if they’re going to burn in the fiery pits of hell for all eternity.” I say it as a joke, but he doesn’t take it as one.
“I’m going to hell, Sophia. I’ve known it since I was a boy.”
An audible gasp slips past my lips as I stare at Creed with wide eyes.
“How could you say that? Surely, you didn’t do anything that horrible when you were a kid.”
He shrugs, “I didn’t have a choice. Not in this life. The life I grew up in.”
“There’s always a choice, Creed,” I say with a frown, not understanding his logic. The life he grew up in? What is that supposed to mean?
“Not in my life.”
I want to ask him what he means by that. What he means by everything he’s just said, but I decide not to. I’m afraid of those answers. In my eyes, Creed is a hero—my savior—I’m worried any other knowledge will ruin that image of him. But deep down, I know it won’t. Discretely, I look around making sure no one is within ear shot.
“Have you gotten any closer to finding out who it is?”
He doesn’t ask me to elaborate because he knows exactly what I’m talking about. He shakes his head ever so slightly and I worry my bottom lip between my teeth. I don’t even want to consider it, but I’m worried the traitor in the group will never be found. He can be strategically planning everyone’s demise, and no one would ever know. It’s terrifying.
“I’m scared.” I whisper truthfully. My voice shakes with worry.
Creed finally turns to look at me, his steel gray orbs burn into mine intently. The color such a stark difference from his inky black hair, the contrast is hard to look away from.
“Nothing will happen to you. Not ever again. Your brother won’t let it.”
“And you?” I find myself asking. I don’t know why I do it. He doesn’t care about me, that much is obvious, but I still want to know he’d protect me. If not because he cares for me, but because he cares enough about his job to do so.
“I’d give my life to protect you, Sophia,” he says vehemently with steel in his voice. My heart flutters at his words. “You have nothing to worry about.”
Right now, his eyes look like pools of melted down silver metal. The depths so deep, I find myself getting lost in them. Unlike all our other encounters, this one is different, I feel it in the spark around us and see it in his expressive eyes. Hope, such an ugly yet beautiful emotion, fills my chest.
He cares.
Three Weeks Later
WITH ALL THE GUYS BACK, everything sort of falls back into a routine. The only difference now is the time I spend with Creed. Every day, no matter what time of day it is, we sit out on the rock that overlooks the trees and we talk. We don’t always talk about anything of importance, usually it’s me speaking, and him listening to me rant or tell a story. I hate how good it feels to be close to him and spend time with him. I hate that he’s the only guy I’ve ever felt this attracted to, and most of all, I hate that it feels wrong. So fucking wrong. Yet, at the same time, it feels right.
Over these past weeks, I’ve felt the shift in our relationship. We’re no longer strangers, but somewhat…friends. His demeanor toward me is no longer so cold and frigid. Things feel different, when he looks at me, I feel like his stare is hitting me in places it shouldn’t. When we talk, it doesn’t feel like empty words or mindless conversation. And when I look in his eyes, I feel everything he does, I see him, all of him. I’m still not sure if that’s a good thing. There’s darkness in Creed, it lingers around him, at the edges of his eyes, in the tone of his voice, it’s everywhere, yet I can’t seem to steer clear of him to protect myself. He’s finally opening up to me in his own way. It may not be the way I want, but I wouldn’t expect anything more from a man of his stature.
Stretching my legs out in front of me, I lean back on my elbows, ignoring the burning under my arms from the warm rock.
“When you said you’ve done things, what did you mean?” I randomly ask Creed as I perch on the large rock in front of the manmade stream. I’ve always wondered what he meant when he said he was the Devil, but I’ve never felt comfortable enough to ask, or know the answer—until now.
A humorless laugh escapes Creed as he moves from his standing position to sit next me, leaving enough space between us a school bus could park.
“I kill people. A lot of people.”
I turn my head towards him to get a good look at his face. There’s no emotion there, just the stark reality that he’s so used to killing people even talking about it doesn’t evoke any emotional response.
“I know that. I get it.” I lift my shoulder in a shrug while wringing my hands together nervously. “With your job…it’s what’s bound to happen.”
“I kill the bad guys, and sometimes, even the good ones,” he says in a low, menacing tone. Slowly his gaze meets mine and the intensity there has my lungs seizing. His eyes are daring me to run for the hills, screaming for help, but I don’t. Even if he does kill people for a living, I know there’s good in him somewhere. I have to believe that.
“That doesn’t scare me.” I hope the words come out strong and controlled—believable. Cocking his head to the side, Creed stares at me intently, his gaze causes my heartbeat to triple in speed, and my breathing hitches. Something glints in his eye, but before I can assess what it is, he says something that freezes my body and has ice running through my veins.
“I’m Mafiosi.”
A solid beat of silence passes between us.
“You’re what?” I ask breathlessly, hoping he doesn’t mean what I think he does.
“My family has been part of the mob—the Italian mafia for decades. I grew up in this world. Killing people, their families. Following orders on who to eliminate. It’s what I do.”
I feel the color drain from my face. My body goes slack. I try to grasp what he’s saying and try to make sense of it all but it’s beyond my comprehension right now. As I stare at Creed and all his ruthless glory, it hits me that’s he’s an actual killer. A thug. A freaking mobster. He doesn’t just have ties to the mafia, he is the mafia. It all hits me in spades.
My chest heaves and I rub my temples vigorously, trying to ease the heavy pounding. When my eyes finally settle back on Creed, he’s staring at me with an unreadable expression. Waiting.
“So, you’re…” I swallow thickly, unable to finish the sentence. My mouth opens and closes like a gaping fish as I try to force the words past my lips. Creed’s lip twitches in amusement. This is definitely something I don’t find funny.
“They call me the Fantasma.”
Forcing myself to breathe normally, I swallow the saliva pooling in my throat. As it goes down, it feels like sandpaper grating along my esophagus. Summoning the strength I didn’t realize I had, my green eyes lock on his gray ones. Right now, they’re the color of smoke, and ash, clouding my ability to think clearly.
“What does that mean?”
My voice is so unlike my own that I clear my throat after speaking. Trying to settle my frayed nerves. My heart is beating faster than the thrumming wings of a caged bird. It sounds
like someone is banging out an uneven beat on the drums. His eyes glint almost menacingly at my question.
“The ghost. No one knows who he is, or where he comes from. He’s just a ghost. He goes in, takes out people within a blink of an eye, and gets out unseen.”
A cold trickle of sweat drips down between my shoulder blades.
“Sounds like a nighttime horror story you’d tell children,” I say trying to sound unaffected, but it doesn’t work. Creed knows me too well.
“I’m sure it is.”
“And that’s supposed to be you?” I ask hoarsely, holding my breath.
“Yes.”
“But you work for the government, you’re a special forces soldier…I don’t understand.” I shake my head slowly, trying to make sense of it all.
“I’m not.”
“What do you mean?” I ask warily, my heart pounding within my chest.
“I’m not a special forces soldier. I’m not like your brother. I was never even in the military. I do bad things for a living because I’m good at it. It’s what I was raised to do. I was hired by the government to kill people, not save them, Sophia.”
“Then why are you here? Are you…are you the mole?” I ask nervously. My mind screams to run before it’s too late, but my heart, my heart tells me something else. That dumb bitch says to stay.
A dark, semblance of a smile dawns on the sharp angels of his face.
“No. I was…bribed into coming here. They needed my skill set, and they had an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I blow out a sigh of relief. I knew deep down he wasn’t the mole, but just hearing it brings on a wave of reassurance.
“Don’t fool yourself into believing everyone here was once a soldier. As I’ve said before, Jose was part of the Mexican cartel who are known for being ruthless, while Kam and Ricky are just as bad.”
“You, of all people, were bribed into this? I find that very hard to believe.” I say, deciding to skip over talk about Jose, Kam and Ricky. I already don’t trust them. I don’t need another reason to believe one of them is a traitor.
“I made a mistake when I was young, I was only eleven, but still the mistake was big enough to get me caught, and in my line of work. Getting caught isn’t an option.”
“What happened?”
He closes his eyes for the briefest second before blowing out a ragged breath. When he opens them, I see sadness in those metallic depths. So much sadness, it makes my heart clench painfully.
“I was ordered to take out a cop and his family that were causing trouble for the family business.”
“You were only eleven and your father had you murder a cop and his family?” I ask incredulously, with raised brows. “Did he want you dead or something? That sounds like a suicide mission.”
“By nine years old, I was the best shot in all of Illinois. I could hit all my targets right between the eyes with a blindfold on,” he deadpans. My eyes widen the size of saucers.
“Holy shit,” I murmur.
“I didn’t know there was a kid. She was just an innocent baby, and I was supposed to kill her, like I did the rest. But I couldn’t. So, I let her live. She grew up, using every resource possible to find out why her parents were killed. In a city like Chicago, it’s easy to assume why cops and their families mysteriously pop up dead. She was smart. She was angry, and she wanted vengeance for her family, for her younger self. She was on the trail of the families in Chicago. That’s when Jeremy found me, asked me to work for him. I almost killed him right then and there, but I didn’t.”
“Jeremy, was that…?”
“Yes. He was Mera’s husband.”
Suddenly, it’s as if missing puzzle pieces are slowly coming into place, it all starts to come together. Everything that didn’t make sense about this place, about Creed…it all pieces together slowly.
“So what happened to her?”
Creed stares down at me intently. Silver to green.
“I killed her.”
My eyes drift shut at his words and my heart clenches.
“I spared her life as a child, only to take it away as an adult.”
I search his face and see exactly what I’m looking for. Remorse. Creed can claim he’s the worst person on the planet—the Devil—but what he doesn’t realize is I can see the pieces of good in him. No matter how much he doesn’t want me to see it, I still do. After being around so many evil people it’s like I somehow know he’s not evil. He’s not like them. I’ve seen evil. I’ve looked evil in the face for nine months straight, and Creed—or Diavolo—he’s not as evil as he wants me to believe.
“You spared a little girl’s life, you aren’t the monster you make yourself out to be, Creed.”
His eyes narrow and he frowns down at me, like he honestly can’t believe I still see any good in him.
“I still killed her, and I’ve killed many after her. Whether they were in my way, or it was a hit on an entire family, I never made that mistake again. There’s no place for tenderness in this life. It makes you weak. And I don’t have time for weaknesses. So don’t fool yourself. There’s nothing good about me, Sophia. You’d do well to remember that.”
Before I can even stand to my feet and open my mouth, he’s gone. He strides into the building calmly, and lithely. His tense shoulders are the only indication of his frustration with me.
Huffing out a breath, I stare off into the line of trees for another ten minutes before I decide to head inside. I avoid Garrett and his room at all costs. I just need a moment to myself, to process all this information; make note of everything Creed has told me. The one question I can’t seem to find an answer to is, why? Why the hell would he trust me enough to tell me all that?
Was this a test? Or a trick?
Creed was a man who was dangerous. That was obvious, but he was also a man who made my knees weak, my breathing erratic, and made my heart feel like it wasn’t my own. He was someone that still had a heart, despite everything he’s been through, and all the lives he’s taken. This information should frighten me away from him, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t change anything for me. All it does is help me understand the mercurial man with the metallic eyes that continue to fill my dreams.
The next day I spend time with Garrett and the rest of the guys in the gym. It’s crowded with most of them in here, but I’m slowly getting used to having them all around. Their witty banter, and boisterous voices have become a welcome change in my life.
Finlay and Garrett both show me some self-defense moves that can come in handy in case I’m ever attacked. I can tell my brother is itching to wrap his hands around Finlay’s throat every time he stares at my thighs in these shorts, but I know he’s secretly thankful. Garrett was never one for patience. And teaching someone who’s never played a sport in her whole life how to fight off an attacker is almost impossible. Thankfully, Finlay has been extremely helpful. A little hands-on and flirty, but still helpful nonetheless. That was just Finlay though, he was funny and flirtatious to a fault, and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
I can tell that beneath all the flirting he might be interested in me, but I try to steer around that. Finlay is a nice guy, but sadly, he isn’t Creed. I shouldn’t even be thinking about Creed in that sense, but I do, much too often to be healthy I wager. He’s in my head, in my dreams, and when I wake up, he’s there all over again. I can’t purge him from my mind. And honestly, I don’t think I want to. He’s the only thing that makes me forget about those horrid nine months. They aren’t erased from my mind, not by a long shot, but when I’m near him, I feel safer. It doesn’t hurt so much. Creed makes me remember where I am, that I’m no longer trapped in the past, and those men can no longer hurt me. That’s all that really matters.
GARRETT FLOPS DOWN ON MY bed as I fold the basket filled with my clothes. I keep meaning to ask him where the washer and dryer is located. I’m not sure how comfortable I am with making Mera do my laundry. I understand that she’s like a mother figure here, but Jesus, you’d think these
men would be able to do their own laundry. I don’t want to add mine on top of theirs.
“What do you have planned for the night?”
I stop folding clothes and stare at Garrett with a “what do you think?” expression plastered on my face. He tosses his head back and laughs, prompting me to roll my eyes at whatever he thinks is so damn funny.
“How would you like to go out with me and a few of the guys tonight?” He asks, and I swear, my heart just about pounds out of my chest. The neatly folded shirt slips out of my grasp as I stare at him slack jawed.
“Are you serious? If this is some sort of joke, it’s cruel.”
Garrett cracks a smile and shakes his head.
“It’s not a joke. I know you’ve been stuck in here for a while, so I thought this was a great opportunity.” He lifts both shoulders in a haphazard shrug. I eye him warily with my head cocked to the side.
“Will she be there?”
If I’m not mistaken, I see my brother’s face flush pink in embarrassment. His eyes ping around the room to avoid looking at me.
“Yes, she will be,” he says, prompting a giddy smile to spread across my face.
I kick Garrett out of the room and change into a new pair of clothes. It’s not something I’d normally wear but it’s all I have here at the moment. Just thinking about my old clothes brings back nostalgic memories of my old life. I close my eyes thinking about my best friend Alexis and what she’s possibly going through.
Alexis is the sister I’ve never had. We’ve never so much as gone a week without speaking to each other, so nine months plus without hearing her voice is starting to weigh down on me. I miss the little things about our friendship. The comfort of her voice. Her crass attitude and hilarious jokes. If I close my eyes and concentrate hard enough, I can almost feel her hugging me, telling me to stay strong and that everything will be okay. With her arms wrapped around me, she’d make a smart remark about my clothes and how hot Creed is for a killer.
