Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1)

by D. M. Burns

  Carson grabs my arm. My head snaps to his anchor on my coat then up to his face. He snakes his head from side to side no. His eyes shouting out for me to contain it. He knows the boardroom beast is running free, evil little fucker. Brock and Damien are firing off the questions, but I tune them out. Lance is still assessing the scene.

  What is going on? Did I do something wrong? Is he mad at me? Her voice is the only one I hear at this moment.

  “Brogan Creed… What happened to this table?” Geneva squeals out from behind me. I turn around and backtrack my steps. Gen’s about to lose her shit over the boardroom cosmetology makeover. God damn it.

  chapter 17

  brealyn

  Brogan has been behind closed doors all day. Every one of his partners have been on edge after that meeting this morning. They’ve been milling in and out of his office like lab rats in a maze. Sure, the entire staff has been filling the hallways full of hushed rumors ever since the CC Capitals' entourage departure. I even overheard two ladies in the restroom say that Brogan and Channing were in a physical altercation.

  The vibration was felt throughout the building and the commotion was heard. Everyone took flight to investigate the disturbance. Unlike them, I was tardy to the party, and only caught sight of Channing leaving. Which Channing’s entire show and efforts toward me where only meant to provoke the beast in Brogan, period.

  I wanted to melt into the floor becoming one with the grout between the tiles. No offense, but that man is what I picture in my mind Lucifer would look like in a tailored suit stitched with fiery thread. A sexy devil but a devil all the same.

  To top it off, Brogan witnessed the entire play by play and my heart bottomed out. The expression on Brogan’s face was fury laced with deadly deeds written out in a blood contract. He started to advance, but thankfully Carson waded in.

  When his ice whites speared through me, I simply wanted to run back into my office and shut the door. Blocking off both brothers felt like a self-preservation technique that I needed to practice. A crucial strategy worth implementing for future reference should I need to round back to it. Brogan turned and stormed off to his office with his partners following on his heels.

  Later, my concern skyrocketed when I watched in horror as a crew of men carried out the boardroom table in two pieces, split straight down the middle. How’s that even a possibility? Out of crazed curiosity, I wandered into the spacious area to get a look-see.

  As my eyes scanned the aftermath, they landed on a crater in the wall the size of a wrecking ball. There was a crack that trailed along the structure of the room that resembled a busted-up blood vessel in the building's body. Plus, the point of impact was so high off the ground. My mind reels over the impossibility. It was freakishly unexplainable supernatural events, period. What I saw was not logical. Not unless people can scale walls. The urgency for the situation was at a new level for me.

  That’s when I decided to approached Geneva. It was after the office Christmas party that incidentally lacked the attendance of the five horsemen. None of the partners, much less the president of the company, showed face. I found Gen grumbling something about billing the asshole brother for unexpected and unbudgeted expenses. Those were her exact words. It was a little shocking to hear because she’s normally a very chilled individual.

  When I asked her if everything was okay, her fake smile told all. It was a forced attempt at hiding her true feelings. Before that greeting, I had every intention of seeing Brogan but felt it wise to round back later. The office is closed next week in observation of the holidays and I really want to see him.

  And well, here I am. Leaning against the front of Geneva’s empty desk with my arms crossed over my chest while I nervously chew on my bottom lip. Where I’ve been posted for the last ten minutes, debating. I’m staring at Brogan’s door like it might snap out and bite me if I get any closer.

  The office closed hours ago. Proof of that is found in the darkened corners of this deserted place that seem to be whispering out over sordid secrets, mocking me. Plotting out future evil happenings to come that I’m literally left in the dark about.

  Scrubbing my hands up and down the chills covering my arms, I wonder if I should just leave. Heck, he’s probably not even in there. There’s no light peeking out from around the frame of the door. Plus, Carson told me about Brogan having his own personal access in and out of the building.

  I’m not one of those needy country chicks but after today’s events, I just want to make sure he’s okay. Suck it up you wimp and just go knock on the door. Move your darn feet and knock on the dang door ALREADY.

  Pushing off the desk, I step forward with my heart hammering in my chest violently. Holding my breath, I hesitantly tap out on the dividing barrier. Awareness of fear and eagerness ziplining through my veins is real but confusing in the same right.

  “Come in.” His voice is low and vibrates through my body. Closing my eyes, I let out a heavy sigh. One… Two… Three…

  Clutching the handle, I twist it slowly entering his domain. My eyes touchdown on every corner of the blacked-out room but the natural light from the moon illuminates in from his beautiful nightfall view. His desk is a dark bloodstained yacht and it matches his rich and successful caliber to a tee. It’s positioned in the middle of a light gray expensive rug that covers most of the shiny black tile.

  Shelves adorn the entire right side of his space and I can make out an impressive bar built into the corner. To the left, there’s a huge TV muted screen but I know the significance that it bears for him. It's scrolling at the bottom of the LED display, closing stock information from the days end. While the lack of lighting leaves the rest of the details to the imagination, his office makes three of my lofts in size.

  His defined, strong back is facing me as he stands tall peering out at the buildings in the distance. He lost the business coat and that bright white business shirt stands out over large tension infused muscles. With his hands linked behind his powerful body, he looks like a mythical God seeking answers from the heavens above. The sight is mesmerizing, captivating even.

  Brogan doesn’t flinch or show any signs of acknowledging me. He’s right in front of me but seems so far away. I feel like I’m intruding. Second-guessing my bright idea to come in here and disturb him bounces around my brain stems. His head turns slightly to the side as if that’s his way of giving me permission to speak. I want to slowly approach him and wrap my arms around him, but I believe I’d be stepping into the line of fire.

  “Uhmmm, I just wanted to check in on you before I head out.” Darn it. Why does it sound like I’ve been chugging broken glass? I clear my throat and continue, “Are you okay?” It sounds like a dumb question now that it’s airborne. Jesus.

  Moments tick by but he remains silent and statute still. I take that as my cue to leave. Wringing my hands together so tightly that I’m white knuckling them, I turn back retracing my steps for the exit out. My heart is heavy, and I feel an unfound sense of sorrow. I want so badly to see him smile again. Be the reason for it but right now that seems impossible. Maybe he just needs some space and time. If that’s what he needs, I can give that to him.

  Just when I’m about to step out of the door, it’s forcefully thrown shut causing my hair to blowout around my face. My body snaps tightly as the abrupt slamming sound scares me stiff. I never even heard him in his approach.

  Brogan braces his strong hands on either side of the door encasing me in with those massive arms. He doesn’t touch me, no. He’s strung tight and I feel his brooding vibe racing over every inch of my being. The air is thick with doubt and tension. Like he doesn’t trust himself which is absurd to me because this is the most assured man I know.

  “Don’t go.” His voice sounds like a painful plea.

  I nod at the door because I’m too scared to turn around and he rests his forehead into the crook of my shoulder. My hands are shaking with the need to touch him, but I’m petrified. I don’t know what’s happening here
. All I know is that I want-no-I need to be here with him, for him.

  “You don’t ever need to be scared of me, Brealyn, ever.”

  He turns his head slightly and I feel the whisper of his swollen lips pressing against the curve of my neck. Dear God. My body has instant chills. Slowly spinning around, I come face to face with those high beams. My shaky hands roam over his shirt covered chest. The bumpy terrain under my fingertips is nothing less of a human art form.

  His body flinches sporadically under my gradual route from his abs up until I’m cupping both sides of his beautiful facial features in the palms of my hands. He closes his eyes momentarily and pulls air in through his nose.

  My body has never craved a man like it does him. There’s sweet temptation lingering around the edges of my thoughts, whispering out for permission to have him. It’s like a force beyond my control is pushing me closer to him. He even shows up in my dreams. If those sandman fantasies ever become reality, then this man will own me, mind-heart-soul. Even now, it’s not a farfetched concept. Only a countdown and touch away.

  High school was fun, but dating was never at the forefront of my to-do list. Finding my forever wasn’t a thought and never crossed my mind. Having one boyfriend throughout the last year of college, we messed around, sure. But I could never follow through with sleeping whit him or anyone for that matter.

  Something always pushed for me to hold onto my virginity. That was mine and I promised myself that when I made that choice it would count. Perhaps, Brogan was that reason. My body seems to think so with an intensity that’s slowly turning into torturous need.

  “Damn… Not deserving.” He says.

  Those words are whispered out from behind his clenched teeth and he looks off to the side with a bad case of lockjaw. Brogan’s hand slides down the door and he grips my hip tightly, almost painfully. His eyes are gazing at his hold on me like he’s lost in thought.

  “Listen to me Brea, I’ve done a lot of bad shit over the years. Bad things that financially broke, crippled, and destroyed others… Other bad people.” He grinds out. His confession catches me off guard. My brows scrunch together while taking in this beautiful but unsettled soul in front of me. “I’m not a good man and I’m not looking for forgiveness because I won’t be changing anytime soon. I’m greedy but I’m also honest. I’m telling you all this because those are facts and one day, I’ll pay for all the selfish shit I’ve done-my wrongs. Ultimately the person at my side will too. If you were smart, you’d stay away from me.” His eyes are singling out at how hard that was for him to say.

  “Uhmmm.” I bite the inside of my cheek. I’m not going to lie. There are a few deal breakers for me. But my soul tells me this man believes himself to be far worse than he truly is. “Anything illegal?” I ask. Please God, let him say no… Those translucent eyes focused on mine, he shakes his head no. “You’ve never physically hurt anyone, right?”

  “With the exception of today, no.” He deadpans. There’s that honesty thing he was talking about. So, he did have a confrontation with his brother.

  “Basically, from what I gather you’re like a Wallstreet Robinhood, right? Except you don’t actually give to the poor. Is that about, right?” Even thought I know that to be a lie. Beth in accounting told me all about his covert charity, but I swore not to speak a word about that.

  “Jesus Christ. Only you would find a way to sugarcoat it, Southern Comfort…” He smirks but nods yes. I love that I made him sorta smile.

  “I don’t call that being a bad man at all. I call that being the better businessman, Brogan. The fact that you feel like you’ve done wrong tells me you have a conscience. I also have acceptance for who you are.” I touchdown over the center of his heart but never break eye contact, his chest decompresses, and his eyes flare. “This is especially important… Are you listening to me?” He nods intently. “To me, you’re so very special, and unique.”

  Leaning in, I lightly brush my lips across his and the fevered rumble that works its way out of his lungs makes my legs tremble. He drops his other hand from the door, clasps that oversized claw under the curve of my backside and hefts me up. He advances forward burying me against the wood-grained door, using it as a body restraint to hold me firmly in place. His mouth closes over mine and Brogan does what he does best, he takes with controlled desperation in his movements. This is urgent need unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

  Wrapping my legs around his back, I pull him into my v-shaped heated base. His hand glides my snug skirt up, bunching it up around my thighs, and I whimper into his mouth. For the first time in my life, I want him, every aspect. His hips grind into me with a power that’s frantic in nature and I feel every awe-inspiring inch of him. This man is not for beginners and my body could care less about that fact. When a knock taps out at the door, we both instantly go still. Dear Jesus, really?

  “Get away from my damn door.” Brogan’s voice is not kind in delivery, quite the contrary. I pinch the sensitive skin under his arm, and he tilts his head at me in amusement. I shrug my shoulders.

  “Hola, Mr. Creed. It’s Isabellaaaa. I need clean you office. Be back in few after done wit Mr. Carson.”

  “Thanks, Isa.” He says. “Shit.”

  Honestly, my first time probably shouldn’t be against a door anyway. Or at my place of employment. But then again try telling that to my urgent body. It’s been patience for an awfully long time. I let out a frustrated moan.

  Brogan’s staring at me like I’m a loon then he laughs out loud while shaking his head and I giggle with him. Not sure what he finds so funny, but I love to hear him laugh. It’s a rarity. Much like seeing that Lonestar dimple. It’s always a sexy sight too. He buries his face into the side of my neck and breathes deeply. I tangle my fingers in his hair while sending up a little thank you for this happy mood shift. Things were way too heavy, and God knows I love to see him smile.

  “Come with me, Miss. Winters.” That simple request is issued as a command but also delivered as a question. He kisses my neck while grazing his teeth across my sensitive skin before returning those eyes to me.

  “Mr. M is coming by to change out my filters when I get home. He’s religious about the upkeep. Seeing to the manly maintenance himself is kinda his thing.”

  “Your landlord.” He says. I nod my head.

  “Mr. Maggio also owns the restaurant right below my loft too. It’s my favorite place to eat.”

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow then.” When I hesitate a moment, Brogan circles his hips reminding me of why I shouldn’t deny him.

  “Uhm, ohhh… I have plans but I’ll see if I can change them,” I whisper. Brogan squints his eyes like he’s biting back the need to demand that I cancel them to be with him.

  “With whom?” I lightly brush my fingers across his cheek and his eyes soften by a fraction. They resemble two white blue orbs shining in the dark.

  “My two best friends, Tamera and Max. I promised to go and listen to some new band playing at the local bar down the street. Christmas is next week, and the office is closed. Do you have any plans for the holidays?”

  “This place doesn’t close for me, but I’ll call you when I leave.”

  He purposely ignores my inquiry about Christmas. My theories are cemented with his lack of an answer. I unwrap my legs from around him and he sits me down. I swipe my hands over my skirt and watch as it takes shape back in place.

  Brogan swipes his hand over his jaw on a low groan then saunters over to his desk. At first, I think he’s aggravated with me. He continues over to his chair, grabs his coat off the back, shrugs it on, and retrieves his iPhone. I want to probe into the strange happenings of the day and his Christmas plans, but I just managed to lift away the heaviness of the day that was wearing him down.

  “Let’s go. I’m taking you home. No more late nights here, Brea. If you refuse to listen,” He quirks his brows while moving back my way at a leisurely pace then continues, “And you find yourself here, Lincoln will see y
ou home, yeah?”

  “Okay. Sure. Uhmm, are you mad at me?” When he’s standing right in front of me again, he tilts his head producing that side mouth smirk.

  “Mad at you? No. Disappointed with the circumstances? Yes. Control is key. That’s something I have an abundance of in all aspects. You’ve done nothing wrong. Are you ready?” I nod.

  He reaches around me and opens the door. When we move into the hallway, we’re greeted by a round little lady pushing a cleaning cart. This must be Isabella. She’s smiling so brightly that it’s contagious and I return the inspirational happiness.

  “It’s all yours, Isa. See you tomorrow tonight,” Brogan says as he places his hand at my lower back while leading me to my office to retrieve my things.

  “Adios, Mr. Creed.” Isabella singsongs. “Have wonderful night.”

  chapter 18

  brogan

  The last twenty-four hours have been a plethora of newfound information that’s for sure. Not only do I have a bastard brother I never knew about, but for whatever weird universal reason it seems that Brea’s a virginal offering from the Gods above. One negative to a positive washed out the fuckery of my boardroom bullshit with Channing.

  I’ve learned a great deal about Channing though. The guy’s three years older than me and from the information I gathered he was born and raised at Stars Orphanage in Chicago. His biological mother passed away after giving birth to him as well. That shit strikes me as odd, but the medical records said the woman lost a tremendous amount of blood, and resuscitation efforts were exhausted. Apparently, his mother was born with a heart defect that tied in with the unfortunate turn of events during birth.

  Channing’s record is painted up with adolescent incidents of anger-fueled outbursts that never ended well for the other parties involved. He managed to steer himself off the wrong side of the road and focused on his education. His grades attracted colleges and he went on to LSU where he graduated at the top of his class.