Seed of Sin (The House of Creed Book 2)

by D. M. Burns

  “I did talk to him, twenty-eight stitches worth of conversation.” I smile wide. “I warned him about her. I don’t like his thoughts, Carson. He’s fixated on Brea.”

  “No, you’re fixated on Brea and sensitive to normal guy bullshit when it comes to her.” I brace my palms on my desk leaning into him. Carson knows shits about to get evil.

  “You’re my best friend but even that has god damn limitations when it comes to her. Watch yourself, Carson.” I growl. That’s the first time I’ve ever said anything like that to him, but it’ll be my last if he doesn’t find safe footing and quickly.

  “Hold up a second before you tear into me… Let me explain first.” He raises his hands up as if he’s entering the circus circle. “I’m not taking up for him, no-no. He’s a dick. We all know that. All I’m saying is that before Brea, the revolving door of coats was a daily occurrence and no one woman was ever seen twice with the exception of the coffee queen episode. But after the past several months, Damien as well as all of Manhattan knows the Wallstreet God is serious. You know yourself that Damien would never disrespect you like that, not as your friend or business partner. You’re just a possessive prick, pissed off, and hellbent on making him pay.”

  “You do what you want with Damien but he’s yours to handle. If he fucks up again, I’ll hold you personally responsible and shove a horseshoe up your ass.” He simply smirks at me. “I’ve gotta go. We won’t be back for two weeks. So, if you need anything, don’t call me. I’ll be out of pocket starting tomorrow, yeah?” I look over at Carson and he’s shaking his head back and forth.

  “Never thought I’d see the day that you’d be taking off work, much less flying to Greece with a drop-dead sexy ass woman who’s too damn good for you. I’m proud of you, you dick.” He stands and moves for the door. “Take care of my marketing director.”

  Taking in the confines around me, I let my eyes absorb the shit conditions and ridiculous amount of trash scattered about the place. Multiple pizza boxes, Chinese takeout, an endless amount of empty booze bottles, and endless cupcake containers. And last but not least, a much larger, shirtless, but sweatpants covered body that resembles mine crashed out in the middle of all this shit. I scrunch my nose up at the disgusting aroma wafting out of this oversized living room.

  It reeks of bad decisions, heartbreak, and depression encased by an overflowing trash dumpster that’s been left to marinate in jacked-up juices. Something I’m all too familiar with. Sucks for this asshole. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for him in the least. Fuck him and that little violin playing man in the background.

  Staring at my brother, I chuckle while shaking my head. He really never had a prayer with my Southern Comfort. Considering he’s extracted himself from an untimely death by accepting the fact Brea belongs with me, it’s time he got on with his life. And because she cares about his wellbeing that’s the only reason I’m here right now.

  Moving further into the room, I cautiously avoiding stepping in the thick layer of trash that's spread out like carpet and toss the folder down on top of his mantel in between the rows of ever ending candles. It’s the only fucking spot not completely covered in shit. Then I step over to the prick of the hour and nudge him with my seven thousand-dollar kicks. When I notice a foil hamburger wrapper caught on the heel of my shoe, I swipe it off on his sweats.

  “What do you want asshole?” He grunts without opening his eyes.

  “It’s not about me, you dick. I’m here because of Brea. She’s worried about you and hellbent on punishing me for your nonresponsive bastard ways.”

  “Go fuck yourself, Creed.” He growls as he turns over on his side.

  “I’d rather not. Essentially, that’s why I’m here because if Brea doesn’t see your face soon, my hand will become my friend, and I’ll become your worst nightmare again.” I smirk down at him. “You do realize that you’re a Creed too, right?”

  I step over his body and amble over to the bar. Busying myself with preparing a drink. Well, shit… What is this? It looks like this is his last bottle of Southern Comfort. It’s the hard to find imported kind. It seems a little ironic and cruel for me to be partaking with his last bottle but then again, it’s Southern Comfort. There’s a theme here. I chuckle to myself while filling the glass full.

  “I’m not the golden boy… The WALLSTREET GOD.” He holds his head up and squints through his asshole eyes at me. “Don’t drink that you, fucker.” He grates out.

  “Ahhh, didn’t anyone ever teach you to share, Channing?” This shit is way too much fun. “I’m simply trying to help you out by consuming your supply.” Poor bastard. I’ve been in his position before; shit is brutal.

  “First off, I’m not drunk, you prick. Any alcohol content I consume is burned through before it hits the lining of my stomach.” He sits up and wraps his hands around his head.

  “That is a shit side effect, period,” I state as a matter of fact while pointing my glass holding finger at him then turning it up on a smirk. “And depressing as fuck.”

  “No shit.” He deadpans while staring at the ceiling overhead.

  “But the sad fact in all of that is that you’d willingly choose to live like a filthy pig with a conscious state of mind.” My eyes scan over the room again.

  “Don’t judge me, asshole.” He groans while cupping his head again.

  “Judging you would indicate that I care, so no worries there, big brother.” I roll my eyes.

  “Why are you here?”

  “If my soon to be wife comes back to your door again and you refuse to open it, I’ll reach through that motherfucker and jerk you out. That’s a promise.” He drops his hands and squints at me.

  “So, now you two are getting married?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

  “After I propose to her, yes,” I smirk.

  “Typical Brogan Creed corporate control fashion.” He laughs out loud. “Making assumptions before even having popped the question.” He scrubs his hands over his face.

  “She’ll say yes, I’m sure of it. But you need not worry about that. You concentrate on opening the fucking door should she drop back by.” I growl.

  “Let me get this straight, you want me to have a relationship with her now?” He chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re a twisted little son-of-a-bitch. All that mind-reading bullshit has left you mentally challenged, Jesus Christ.”

  “Let’s be honest, I don’t want you anywhere near Brealyn because we both know what your intentions are.” I take a sip of Channing’s pricey purchase then look back at him. “But her, she simply wants her overgrown butthole grizzly bear to be okay.” I spit those words out at him like there raw sewage. Much like the shit coating the top layer of his floor, disgusting.

  “Huh, she told you that?” He smirks at me.

  “No, asshole. I can hear her most heartfelt secrets. She’s good to the very fucking core and for whatever reason, she has a genuine love for you. Brotherly love, that is.” I point my drink holding finger at him while tucking my other hand in my pants pocket to keep from whipping his ass. “She comes here at least twice a week wanting to check in on her god damn friend and ya know what?” I quirk my brow at him as my voice rises out of anger for her.

  “Let’s hear it.” He whips his hand out as if this is a game of sorts. As if Brea’s feelings are of no concern to him.

  “You don’t deserve her devotion. Her give a shit is wasted on you.” I growl. “I keep trying to tell her this and she continues to take up for you. She has misguided faith in a friendship that’s one-sided.”

  “This is priceless shit, right here. You’re talking about misguided faith and preaching to me about being a good friend.” He chuckles. “About not being deserving… Do you really believe you’re worthy?” He laughs out loud.

  “I don’t deserve her, no. I never said I did. You’re right, but I’ll live the rest of my fucking life trying to earn that, protect her, and love her. And fuck your opinion.”

  “YOUR SELF-SER
VING WANTS ARE GOING TO FUCKING KILL HER.” Channing bounces to his feet with renewed energy like a god damn Red Bull IV was just administered. His arms are widespread with and angry vibe pulsing through every point. He rakes his fingers through both sides of his hair. “FUCK…” He starts to pace through the shit covered mess littered about the floor.

  “You’re wrong.” I swallow the knot in my throat, and I focus on the brown liquid as it swirls around in my glass then I turn it up finishing it off. “She’s going to be fine. I’ll see to it.” My voice doesn’t sound as convincing as I want it to be and he notices. He turns to me and chuckles with no humor.

  “If you honestly believed that this conversation would be nonexistent. That’s something I’ve learned about you in such a short amount of time, baby brother. You don’t bother with the small talk when you have all the information and facts. That tells me you don’t know shit. You’re not capable of protecting her from yourself. Your wants mean more than she does.”

  “What happened to that acceptance bullshit you were sprouting the last time I saw you.” He ignores that and powers on.

  “Tell me something, Brogan… Have you seen any more mental visions from her?” He shakes his head no like he already has the answer. “You haven’t, have you?”

  I squint my eyes into the empty glass hating that he’s right. Knowing that this is significant but unable to pinpoint or harness any of the answers. I’ve tried to see her dreams or any glimpse like I did that night at my penthouse but now, for whatever reason, I’ve been blocked out like an asshole neighbor trying to hack into your wi-fi connection utilizing your data. I’ve been ignoring it and lying to myself that this doesn’t mean anything but it does. I set his glass down on the coffee table.

  “No.” I turn my ice whites to him and shake my head to confirm. Channing closes his eyes and lets his head fall back seemingly staring up at the ceiling. He was hopeful.

  “Didn’t think so. I have no fucking foresight at all that includes her anymore, nothing. Every single past vision I had of her was filed away in my memory bank. I could pull from it at any time, reference it, and see her but it’s wiped out now because of you. Every future file I had of her is gone.”

  He jabs his index finger at me right before his hulking body moves hastily in my direction. Quickly I’m jerked up by the collar of my business shirt, off the ground, and thrown into his wall with no restraint behind his power. Full throttle. The wall crumbles all around us. I don’t bother to fight back, no. I’m afraid he’ll get sidetrack and the information funneling in will get cut off.

  “Three guesses on what that means and the first two don’t count.” He sneers.

  “We decided together but let me worry about that, yeah?” My jaw flexes in aggravation.

  “NO!” His voice sounds like a distraught demonic entity. “Don’t push this off on her, you pussy. She was safe with me, but this is what you wanted; self-centered motherfucker that you are. I warned you… Now you own it like a god damn Wallstreet God would.” Those flames flare to life in his eyes and I’ve got to admit my temperature is rising dramatically. “You fucking decided and in the end that fatal mistake will take her away from us all, bravo brother. Tell me you at least told her, right? You gave her the right to decide, right?”

  “She’s finally happy and you’d know that if you’d open your god damn door.”

  “At what cost? Or the better question is, for how long?” He snarls.

  His eyes seem to turn a darker shade of red. It’s quite fascinating and any other time I’d point this out but not right now. My stomach is turning the contents of the Southern Comfort over and I look off to the side with my jaw clenched. This is the type of shit I’ve been refusing to admit or acknowledge.

  “And your ass didn’t even tell her.” His voice is dripping with cyanide then he slams me back into the wall again. “I’m going to leave you fully intact to feel the loss of that woman for every second that you have to live without her. Misery will become your soulmate of choice because you selfishly decided for her. Took her right to be informed away, like it belonged to you and not her. The Wallstreet collector of souls. I won’t make this easy for you, oh no.”

  With every word he grinds out, his eyes become more intense. Channing releases me quickly stepping away and covers his eyes with his hands. He wants to fry my ass. When he roars out into the room it’s what I’d imagine someone undergoing third world torture of the worst kind to sound like. The outburst sets off every candle in the room to a roasting inferno. The flames are peeking out at top velocity and the heat is immense.

  “Shit, I didn’t come here for this. It’s done now and I can’t change it.” I state. “She’s a grown woman and our choices are not open for a brotherly debate.”

  “And you want me to act like I’m okay with this shit. To become a part of this premeditated death you’ve imposed on her, that… that you’re responsible for. Fuck outta here with that shit.” He shakes his head slowly from side to side.

  “Channing, she loves you too. Just in a different way, you dick.” I scrub my hand over my face. “If you know her time is limited then why the fuck wouldn’t you do everything in your power to see to it that she’s happy? That’s not a damn friend. That’s a bystander simply enjoying the show. Truth is, no one knows what’s going to happen.” I really want to believe that shit.

  “Don’t try to mind fuck me. You feel it. You know it. Bad shit is to come.” His black holes turn to me and his voice drops to an aching octaval as he grates out, “How does it feel to seep the life out of such a beautiful soul. Clipping her butterfly wings, right?” His laugh is humorless and cruel. “Not the soulless like you’re used to draining dry, no… But a wonderful human being such as her… The one you say you love, how? Tell me?”

  “How the fuck do you know that?” I growl. Really… I want to know how he knows that tidbit about me. I never told anyone.

  “Only the soulless would do what you’ve done, that’s how.” He shakes his head at me again. “My futuristic sight comes in handy when horror and hauntings are near.”

  “I came here to say what I had to say. You don’t have to agree with what Brea and I do. That’s between us-her and I. Just like it’s your choice if you decide not to reach out to her. But if she shows back up here…” I point in the direction of his front door then continue, “And you ignore her, what I do next will have you begging for me to extract the life out of you, that’s guaranteed.” I wink at him and move to leave.

  “What the fuck is this?” I swivel back around to see he’s swiped the file folder off his mantel flipping through the paperwork.

  “Your asshole legacy, remember? Figured you might need something to occupy your time and attention now. You know… Since that whole settling down with a family thing has been bused and cleared off the table by yours truly.” I call out over my shoulder.

  “You motherfucker…” He growls.

  “Just stating facts, big brother.” I chuckle. “Compliments of Brea, you dick.”

  “You would do something like this, you little prick.” I hear him call out. “This doesn’t change a damn thing between us.”

  I smirk to myself because he’s right. It doesn’t change anything in my world as far as he’s concerned but Brea’s a totally different subject matter altogether. She’s altered everything. It’s all because of her. She has shifted my entire world around without any effort, period. I want to be the person she believes I am. The person I see reflected in her eyes makes me proud. I want to be that for her, for me, for us. Fuck him though.

  The gnawing in my chest that I could possibly stand to lose her has set off an urgency in me that’s stirring my inside army of demons to life. I’ll figure this shit out because life without her is not something I’m capable of anymore.

  chapter 14

  channing

  Gripping both sides of my hair, I swivel around in my desk chair and avoid looking at the fine print laid out in front of me. I toss the file folder
of documents out on my desk then gaze out my window with a smirk playing on my face. That little son-of-a-bitch signed over Creeds Capitals to me. God damn it…

  If I didn’t know Brogan better, I’d think this was his way of opening the brotherly gates. A peace offering… Rolling out a welcoming red-carpet awareness or at the very least smoothing over his bullshit but that’s not his style. As I said, if I didn’t know him better that’s the conclusion I draw but I do, know him… Brogan doesn’t give a shit about what others think of him, or whether you agree with his warpath corporate decisions, no. Unapologetic with zero fucks, that’s him.

  This little show of heart came from the only one with a pulse-period, Brealyn. She’s his only good side. The beautiful glow that shines from her soul busts through and lights up his dark murky corridors. Even if he instigated this shit himself, the goodness of the act and idea was derived from her filtering off onto him.

  Holding onto my anger for him and this shit situation is the only thing that I have left that’s real, other than her. Burning him from the inside out was tempting but unlike him, I don’t want to be the reason why she feels any type of loss. That’s not for me to decide. Anyway, letting Brogan live to regret the blowback from his decisions will be far worse than anything I can do to him. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

  Brogan showing up here with this Creed Capitals contract and those feeble ass attempts at threatening me where Brea is concerned is his way of pissing on my anger fueled flames. I don’t need him to make me feel like shit where she’s concerned. I can do that all on my own without any help from him.

  My coherent state of mind was acutely aware every damn time she was at my front door. Her thick southern drawl whispered out non-vulgar curses in Brea terminology on the other side of my door when I didn’t answer. She’s been by here countless times while I laid in my living room floor listening to her tapping on the door. It was enough to push me to drink.