Deception and Chaos

by S. M. Soto

  “Do you ever sleep?” There’s a hint of exasperation in his tone that brings a small smile to my face.

  “Not really, no.”

  Creed turns around, gracing me with his beautifully handsome face. My eyes lock on the red mark still there on his jaw. A crease indents between my brows and I cock my head to the side.

  Why is that still there?

  He must notice my questioning expression because he steps closer, closing the distance between us.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What happened to your jaw, Creed?”

  His eyes glaze over, it’s almost like a thin sheen of ice slides over the gray. His gaze grows distant and his body visibly stiffens.

  “Creed?” I prompt.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says dismissively, swiping a frustrated hand down his face. And that’s when I get a good look at his knuckles. I gasp aloud, my eyes widening. I shoot forward, around the sofa and grip his hand in mine assessing the reddened knuckles, examining all the swelling and abrasions over the top of his battered hands.

  Oh God.

  He wasn’t sleeping with the pixie, he was out brawling somewhere.

  “Your hand! What the hell happened, Creed?”

  He snatches his hand away from me and steps around me, making a move toward the door. I grab onto his arm, stilling him in place. His bicep muscle is thick, and warm beneath my hand. It does funny things to my belly.

  “Please stay. You don’t have to tell me…just stay,” I plead. He expels a harsh breath, and his shoulders sag. He turns around to face me and I see indecision written all over his face, along with something else I can’t quite name.

  Slowly, he lowers himself onto the sofa and I do the same, leaving a respectable amount of space between us so he’s comfortable. We don’t say anything for a long time. Silence clogs the thick air surrounding us. I discretely stare at his profile. He’s such a big, bulky man, so tall and intimidating. He radiates a kind of power and ruthlessness that I’ve become all too familiar with. But that’s not all of him. I know there’s so much more to this man.

  “Why do you think you’re such a bad guy, Creed? You swear you’re this horrible person, but from what I’ve seen, that’s just not true.”

  Creed pins me with his metallic glare, making my breath hitch. Ever so slowly, he leans forward into my space, his clean sandalwood scent infiltrating my senses.

  “Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness, Sophia.”

  “You and I both know kindness is a weakness,” I fire back indignantly, tired of him always having a response for everything. He regards me silently for a beat before he nods his head ever so subtly, agreeing with me.

  “It’s a weakness I can’t afford,” he says quietly, his eyes drilling holes into my skull. “I revel in this life, in this job. The kill, the hunt, it’s what I live for,” he growls threateningly.

  “Why?” I whisper.

  “Witnessing your own mother’s murder will do that to you. It changes you. It fucking ruins you, making you so dark and unrecognizable, there’s no going back.”

  My heart squeezes painfully at his words. I reach out for his hand, and squeeze. Surprisingly, he doesn’t snatch his hand away or let go.

  “I’m so sorry, Creed.”

  With his head cocked to the side he watches me ruefully. He gives a small shake of his head and scoffs. “Don’t be.”

  I know I shouldn’t ask, but I want to know. His mother’s death had to have something to do with his family’s mafia involvement—that’s the only thing I’m sure of.

  “What happened?”

  He’s quiet for so long I’m sure he’s decided to ignore my question. What right do I have to know anything about his life? I don’t. So, when Creed opens his mouth to answer my question, I fall silent in surprise.

  “My grandfather chose his youngest son, my father, to take over the family instead of his eldest son, my uncle. My father and my uncle were always competitive, being the only boys in the family. They both wanted to take my grandfather’s place as Capo Dei Capi. At the time, my mother was arranged to be married to my uncle, but when he was passed over to lead the family, she was promised to my father. They were already falling in love which only made their transition easier at the time.” He shifts his gaze away, looking out the darkened window. “But that never sat well with my uncle. He wasn’t okay with just being the underboss. A few years after my father became boss, my mother gave birth to me and everything started to fall apart. My uncle broke away from the family, and one by one tried to kill us off. He started with my mother first. In his eyes, she committed the ultimate betrayal.”

  Tears spring to my eyes as I think of Creed’s mother, an innocent woman who married into that life for love.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  I don’t even think he hears my apology, his gaze is so far away it’s almost like he’s back there, reliving those moments.

  “It was the day before my eighth birthday,” he says in a gravelly voice. “We were shopping for formal attire to wear to the dinner she was holding in my honor. It all happened so fast, one moment, we were walking to the SUV with our men, then the next she was screaming, begging me to get down. At the time, I didn’t understand, I wasn’t comprehending her words. She shoved me on the ground so hard, my head smacked the pavement. All I remember was feeling confused, so confused I couldn’t get up and help my mother. There was white noise all around me, blocking out the yelling and gunshots. I remember feeling like I couldn’t move for a long time.”

  Blowing out a breath, he clenches his fists into a ball, still not meeting my gaze. His anger rolls off him in waves.

  “My mother took two bullets to the head and three to the back in order to save me. I couldn’t move because her lifeless body was on top of me, shielding me from the wrath of my uncle.”

  My hand flies to mouth to stifle the audible gasp, and hot tears begin to slide down my cheeks.

  “After her funeral, my father told me it was time to be a man. To prepare for the life I was destined to be in. To take vengeance for my mother. And that’s exactly what I did. I trained for six months straight with grown men. My father’s soldiers. Learning how to fight, use knifes, and shoot to kill. My first official kill was a puppy that was an early birthday gift from my mother. How fucked up is that?”

  Creed shifts his gaze to me, and I startle at the empty look in those depths. His voice is harsh and guttural, but those eyes are so cold and detached. A shiver trails down my spine, as he goes on.

  “With everything that had happened after her death, we never took the puppy in for his shots, he ended up getting parvo. He was suffering, bleeding out in his bed—he was in so much pain and I just remember wanting to make it better. My father pulled me outside and handed me a gun. He said there were things we had to do in this life that would hurt, but over time it would become easier. Second nature.” His eyes glaze over as he loses himself in the memory.

  “He gave me two options that day; shoot the dog in the head or break his neck. Either way I’d end his suffering. So, I did. With tears in my eyes I shot the last gift my mother ever gave me.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip to stifle the sob begging to tear through my chest. My heart squeezes painfully at his words. I can’t stop picturing a little boy forced to kill a helpless animal, even to end its suffering. I can’t stop picturing his tears or feeling his pain. Not Creed’s pain, but the pain of an eight-year-old Creed who was dragged into this life with no way out.

  “My next kill was my uncle. After months and months of dead ends, my father finally tracked him down. He held him in our basement and made me watch and participate in, torturing him. I watched my father torture him, skin him alive, rip his eyeballs out of his sockets. He instructed me, step by step on how to cut open his body to retrieve his organs. My father held his heart in his hand and told me to choose a knife, that I could do the honors.”

  If possible, my heart breaks even more for the l
ittle boy who had to take part in that kind of brutality.

  “Want to hear the really fucked up part? I was excited. I was ready to avenge my mother and my family. I wanted nothing more than to drive the knife through his heart and kill him. He took the one thing that made me happy. The only person who ever watched out for me. Killing him didn’t make me feel remorse, instead, all I felt was vindication and the lust to spill more blood.”

  Standing to his full height, he stares down at me with a cold, detached expression on his face.

  “So, you see? I’ve been primed and trained for this life since I was eight years old. This is who I am, Sophia. Not the man you want me to be.”

  I shake my head with purpose, refuting his words. My legs shoot forward and I mirror his stance.

  “You’re wrong,” I whisper. His jaw ticks, prompting him to step closer into my space, caging me in by his anger.

  “You’re good, and pure. We come from different worlds. I’m just as evil as the men who held you for nine months of your life. Don’t you ever think otherwise.”

  His words are like a slap to the face, causing me to stumble back onto the couch, my back sagging against the cushions. I stare up at him with a fresh wave of tears in my eyes.

  Seeming satisfied with my reaction, he straightens himself out and strides out of the room. I don’t move for a long time. My body won’t allow it. His words play back in my head like a story, or a movie in quick succession. After a while, I finally manage to pull myself up to my unsteady feet, and shuffle back to my bedroom, ready to call it one hell of a night. Only, I don’t stop walking when I reach my bedroom. I don’t stop until I’m standing in front of Creed’s closed door.

  I raise my hand, ready to knock on the hard, intimidating wood, but I hesitate. A sudden idea forms in my idiotic brain and of their own accord my feet make the trek toward my room. I rummage through the cabinet beneath the sink in my bathroom and smile when I find what I’m looking for.

  This time, when I walk back toward Creed’s room, I don’t hesitate. With the first aid kit gripped tightly against my chest, I knock on the door three times before letting myself in. When I step in, the first thing I notice is Creed. He’s perched on the edge of his bed, staring up at me like I’m insane.

  With his eyes focused so intently on me, I lose most of the bravado I walked in with and pause. I shift on my feet nervously, trying to figure out how to explain what I’m doing in his room. I can tell him the truth, which is how badly I need to be near him or feed him a lie—which explains the first aid kit in my hands.

  When he raises an inquisitive brow at me, I chicken out, deciding to go with the lie.

  Clearing my throat, I raise the first aid kit in my hand and pointedly stare down at his knuckles that still look unbelievably raw.

  “I thought you could use some help.”

  Creed heaves a sigh and starts shaking his head. “I don’t need—”

  “Would you just shut the hell up and let me help you?”

  Amusement twists his lips into a smirk and I take that as his form of approval.

  I close the distance between us and drop to my knees in front of him, doing my best to ignore the way my stomach is fluttering. Setting the first aid kit on the bed next to him, I rifle through its contents, searching for some alcohol wipes and salve for the scrapes. Once I find them, I tear one open using my teeth. I shift my gaze up and freeze when I find Creed looking down at me, watching my every move with rapt attention. My heart lodges itself in my throat, and I feel each violent thump reverberate through me.

  Dropping my gaze down, I reach out and take his large, heavy hand in mine. His skin is rough and hot to the touch with healed over scars decorating the skin. It sends tingles up my arm and shock waves through my body. I lick my suddenly dry lips before darting my eyes back up to meet his gaze. And when I do, I wish I hadn’t. So much heat flares in his eyes, it’s like a zap that hits straight to my core. My chest rises and falls rapidly as it struggles to keep up with my quick breaths. There’s no way I can ignore the way my nipples pebble and scrape against my shirt or how heavy my breasts feel. Every part of me aches for him.

  I swallow multiple times, trying to get rid of the sudden sensation of cotton mouth. I drag my gaze away from his, turning my focus back to the task at hand. With the alcohol wipe I gently apply pressure to the raw scrapes along his knuckles. Swiping in soft, gentle motions as to not make the sting worse than what I imagine it already is. Creed doesn’t complain or make a peep as I clean him up. He doesn’t move not even one muscle. He’s like an unfeeling statue.

  When the dried scabs of blood are cleaned off, I raise my gaze to his, meeting those silver depths head on, and before I can think better of it, I drop my head down and place my lips over his battered knuckles, never once taking my eyes off his. His body jerks, each muscle tightening as he tries to restrain himself. Creed’s eyes burn holes straight through me, blazing me in an inferno of desire, incinerating me. His nostrils flare and his chest rises and falls in quick succession as he tries to control his reaction, but it’s too late. I’ve already seen what I needed to see.

  Satisfied with the reaction I was able to extract from him, I apply some salve with a Q-tip to each scarred knuckle and rub my thumb gently along his skin, enjoying the way his dark hairs stand at attention. Without another word, I gather the first aid kit and the mess I made, slipping out of his room. My heart foolishly flutters all the way back to my bedroom, and the smile on my face doesn’t go away, even long after I’m in bed.

  IT’S BEEN A FEW DAYS since I last saw Creed. Over that time, I have thought about everything he’s said, cataloged it all. And I still come to one conclusion, he cares.

  I could hear the pain of his losing his mother in each of his words. I could feel it. If he didn’t care, if he was like those men, he wouldn’t have bothered with me from day one. He would’ve left me on that gold marble floor back at the mansion and left me to die. But he didn’t. I have to remind myself that it means something.

  As I walk down the hall with Garrett at my side, I smile at the story he’s been telling for the last ten minutes.

  “…she was so nervous the first time she served me, she spilled the plate of hotcakes all over me. It was comical, the look on her face. Come to find out, that was her first day on the job.”

  A laugh bubbles up my throat and I shake my head as I picture Wendy all nervous and flustered, spilling a plate full of food on my brother. That in itself would’ve been hilarious to see.

  “She really likes you, you know?” I say, sobering up from my laughter. Garrett looks at me out of the corner of his eye and expels a deep breath.

  “I know. I’ve known for a long time, it’s just…this thing between us can’t go anywhere.”

  I stop walking, placing my hands on my hips. Angry for Wendy.

  “Why the hell not?”

  Garrett gives me a look that says, “seriously?”

  “Garrett, she loves you. Even I can see that. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Of course it does. Wendy hasn’t had an easy life, and if things were different, maybe I’d be able to protect her and care for her the way she deserves, but I can’t. She knows that.”

  I open my mouth, ready to explain to him why things can go somewhere with Wendy, but Garrett shifts his attention away from me to something behind my back.

  “What’s up, man?”

  Glancing over my shoulder, there’s Creed standing tall and proud, with a serious expression on his face. I take a moment to commit his features to memory and enjoy this rare sight of him. It’s been so long since I’ve last seen him, four days to be exact, and now that we’re so close to one another, I don’t want to waste a second. I want to tell him his past doesn’t frighten me, he doesn’t frighten me, but I don’t. Instead, I turn back to my brother and rush the words out.

  “If you really care about her, and really want to be with her, you can make it happen. Where there’s a will, there’s al
ways a way, and this, it’s more than possible.”

  My brother’s face reddens in embarrassment, no doubt because I’ve blurted all this out in front of Creed. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I find Creed drilling holes into my head. His eyes are fixed on me intently.

  “Cova.” Creed’s deep and rich voice travels down the length of the hallway to us, rattling my bones. He gestures for my brother to follow after him.

  Garrett pats me on the shoulder. “I’ll be just a few, Soph.”

  He dismisses me with a peck to my forehead before following Creed down the hall. I watch them both leave, and just as I’m about to turn my back on the man that has stolen every part of me, he looks over his shoulder at me. Silver to green. My heart thumps to life, lodging itself in my throat. The heat of his gaze only lasts a few seconds before he turns back around, and they disappear out of sight.

  Over dinner I try to get Creed’s attention, doing anything I can to steal one moment with him where we can talk, but it’s useless. It’s like he knows what I’m trying to do and instead of making life easier on me, he’s ignoring me, making it damn near impossible to get one word out. I should know better when it comes to Creed—he’s hard pressed, and a pain in my ass. During the meal, he keeps his focus solely trained on his food and the conversation flowing around him. Never once does he look my way.

  That night, as I’m tossing and turning in bed, I throw caution to the wind, slipping out of my room in the early hours of the morning, and push into Creed’s bedroom without knocking. He’s sprawled out on his bed with his back propped against the headboard, sifting through papers. His t-shirt hugs the contours of his body to perfection, making my mouth water. His head snaps up at my entrance, his eyes narrowing on me.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m tired of you avoiding me,” I say bluntly with a haphazard shrug. He tosses the papers in his hand on the bed with a haggard sigh.

  “Go to bed, Sophia.”

  My lips thin into a pout and I prop my fists on my hips.

  “No. Not until we talk. I’m not an idiot, Creed. I know you care about me even if you don’t want to believe it.” He stares at me silently from his position on the bed, unmoving. “You feel this. I know you do.”