Seed of Sin (The House of Creed Book 2)

by D. M. Burns

  “I know what you’re thinking. You believe I’m a demon and for the most part, you’re right but not in this instance.” He shakes his head slowly. “This is me showing you mercy, something I’ve never done before. I’m giving you a second chance at life. This’ll be our secret though. Just know, that if my hunch is right, I’m going to need you to return the favor at a later date, yeah?” I squeeze my eyes together trying to breathe through the excruciating burning sensation. “You keep quiet or I’ll be the only Lone Walker in existence before everything is said and done. I’m superior in power and I’ll kill them both with zero remorse should they provoke me, starting with Brogan.” He winks at me then pushes to stand to his full height looming over my body.

  “No… Please…” My plea comes out a soft whisper.

  “I’ll see you soon.” Logan makes a promise that I hope he doesn’t keep.

  “Sunshine…” I try to move my head in the direction of Channing’s voice filtering from down the hallway but I can’t. Instantly, my fear becomes overwhelming for Channing. I want to scream out for him to leave but my effort is lost in the pain I feel.

  “Don’t… Please don’t hurt him.” My hushed request is for Channing.

  When I focus back on Logan, he’s no longer the vision of the man I seen just moments ago standing over me. Instead, I see Brogan. Blinking through my confusion. I shake my head slowly. No…

  I swallow down the tears that instantly build up and burn into my sight, blurring everything. I hold those icy cold white eyes but I know that’s not him. Those are not the windows to Brogan’s soul, no. Those are evil deceptions. I let out a low moan as the tears flow over and skate down my face before the darkness closes in.

  chapter 30

  channing

  That see-through-disappearing bullshit that Brogan is capable of would’ve come in handy as I was trying to get past his asshole security, but I improvised. The poor guy became preoccupied with one helluva fever. I left him at his post to figure that shit out on his own and took the ride up to Brogan’s penthouse. By now these assholes know that I’m Brogan’s god damn brother. You’d think they’d cut me some slack. Hell, who am I kidding? Knowing Brogan, he probably told them to call the authorities, seen on sight. Little son-of-a-bitch.

  As I file out of the elevator, I can’t shake the edgy and panicky feeling consuming me. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. My insight and images of Brea were fucked and incidentally the first ones I’ve had in months of her. All my visions before this moment led me to believe that I was the mysterious Seed of Sin. I’m beginning to second guess everything now. I’ve been far off the mark with a lot of the filtered fundamentals that have been sporadically slung my way.

  Earlier I was hit with a foreign voice speaking those words out and I saw the blade of a bloody knife. It was just a flittering skit, bits, and pieces. I’m still unaware of who that person is. The panoramic view obscured his face but I saw Brea’s petrified state in the encounter, here. At this penthouse. I’ve never wanted to be so wrong in all my life. Right now, I hope for a lapse in my cursed ability.

  “Sunshine…” I call out again across Brogan’s former housing.

  My hands shake with pent up anxiety and aggression. When I see his face come into view, I tilt my head to the side and place my hands on my hips. What is going on? My black holes laser in on him. I’m left to wonder why the fuck my baby brother’s face wasn’t present in my earlier sneak peek.

  “Where’s Brea?” I ask but I’m ignored altogether.

  Brogan’s cold corporate cutters slice through me. It’s similar to the way he looked at me the first time he saw me in his boardroom, a vicious adversary due for a slow death. Or what he likes to refer to as a financial fucking. Something feels off though, lethal lingering’s are in the air. My feet cautiously move me forward, one foot in front of other, and when I clear the dividing wall, I see her… My brain experiences a malfunction of the worst kind.

  Her white blouse is covered in a dark red wet stain with a pooling of blood beside her limp body. Her head is lulled to the side and she’s not moving. Her face is a lighter shade of powder white. More so than normal. The air in this place is that of fear mixed with fucked outcomes, extremely fatal ones. My circular sockets come to life on cue in a fiery red essence and a coat of boiling turmoil lights my framed outline. My chest begins to heave in an enraged pattern.

  I’m a man of measured control over my powers but at this moment that’s a luxury that I won’t be able to afford this motherfucker in front of me. My head snaps to Brogan and he simply smirks. It’s a demonic assault. One that I welcome with open arms. I want the evil oncoming’s as I have every intention of returning the token.

  “You motherfucker…” I roar out in rage as my heart hammers inside my chest. I move toward Brea’s body but suddenly I’m picked up off the floor and slammed into the wall with an unforeseen force of demonic strength I’ve never encountered before. Did he just hit me? No… He never moved a muscle. Those cold icy eyes of his callously flare out and I invite the foreplay.

  “That’s no way to talk to about my momma.” He tsk me. “Call it mere casualties. Unkind offerings of the worst kind maybe.” He shrugs his shoulders unaffected. “Essentials. You should really mind your own business, Channing. This doesn’t involve you.” He points at me but his eyes keep cutting to the side at Brea. It’s like he’s studying the satanic ritual he performed on her, waiting on the aftereffects.

  That’s the moment I lose my composure. Who the fuck am I kidding? Calm was never really an option available to me as soon as her lifeless body came into view on his blood-covered floor. My eyes bore down on him and I let the heated hate radiate like a furnace, sinking inside his skin. This motherfucker should explode in flames. I’ve never been this bent before. My body shakes as I exude hell down over him.

  His excruciating rumble echoes out from his scorched insides right before every glass structure around us implodes blasting out shard fragments everywhere. A hailstorm of tiny flying deadly blades. Before I have time to make sure Brea is okay, my body is airborne again through the massive corridor at the spend of light. That motherfucker never moved. How the fuck? I take out five pillars and two walls from the impact of flight before hitting the other end of the penthouses steel structure denting it in.

  When I bounce back up the skies have already turned a haunting midnight black outside the new opened window view. My wrath is volatile and nasty, for him. The winds pick up to a disastrous category five tornado, rushing in from all angles of the penthouse’s busted up airy confines.

  The hail that’s coming down is sure to cause damage unlike any ever reported and the thunder starts to roll. Streaks of lighting bring forth a perfect tone for the death that’s about to take place here. You’d think that the God’s up above are pissed off and showing their distaste for humankind by using mother nature to do so.

  Brogan appears at the other end of the hallway corridor with a brooding expression of aggravation on his face. One that displays his disgust for me breaking up the evil-dead party he was throwing down with Brea. His hands have her blood dripping from them and that amps my hate to an all-new level.

  Both sides of the hallway walls erupt into fueling flames. I let my anger and hatred shine through with an angry orange-red tint. It looks like a walk down Lucifer’s passageway of demented hell. His eyes scan my level of fuckery like this trait I possess is somehow new to him. As if he doesn’t know what I’m capable of. On some levels he’s right. He doesn’t know what all I can do. But he’s soon to find out. I smirk at that thought.

  I pace toward the now slow to rise levitating prick before me. How many abilities does this asshole really have? His cold calculating eyes follow my every step. I never knew the corporate cutthroat could fly or implode god damn buildings. Hell, I never thought he was capable of hurting Brea either but here the fuck we are.

  “If she’s dead, I’ll kill you,” I growl while inching my way closer to hi
m.

  “Then I guess it’s a good thing that I saved her life, hum?” He states that like he honestly believes this to be an actual fact.

  “I knew your mental ability would end up fucking that dome up. I thought you loved her,” I growl.

  “Oh, I do.” He winks.

  Clamping my hands together in front of me, like the closing of a book, gets his undivided attention. I’m about to school him on the curse I’m blessed with, diabolical dissection. When I swipe my hands out away from my body in a quick motion his immediate reaction and grunted response is music to my ears. A growl mixed with radical fury resonates from his chest. I delight in his agony.

  My motions lead you to believe that I’m cutting and separating the air with imaginary swords in both hands. His body jolts out in pain and his face turns a radiant scarlet shade. He grits his teeth together which locks his jaw tight and the veins in his neck protrude. He trying to control his pain tolerance but the look on his face tells me it’s an epic fail. Sucks for him but I’m about to up the gruesome game.

  I know it feels like his insides are splitting and detaching because that’s exactly what I’m doing. My hands-free operation game moves are expert. I’m tearing him apart from the inside out. When I slam my hands back together and pretend to be balling up a piece of paper, he roars out into the space that divides us. An agonized and tortured animal. I’m focused in on his internal organs, grinding them together like a shit sandwich. Hell, I smile gleefully when I see blood appear and start to trickle from his nose.

  “Hurt’s, doesn’t it, fucker?” I snicker in a satanic rasp. “Your cranium is next and by the time I’m done, your mental stability will be that of a six-month-old.”

  “Fuck you…” He grates out.

  My emotional storms outside are engulfing us. The rain is whiplashing across our bodies and the wind's velocity is creating a manic howl resonating inside my inner ears. It’s fitting for the tone here. I steady myself. It’s time to end this, him.

  Jerking my hands to my chest sends his soon to be dead corpse soaring my way. I take off running toward him for an impact of death and devastation. When our bodies are about to collide, the motherfucker disappears into thin air. I stumble forward in surprise, turning in shocked circles. My eyes searching the place over for the bastard, nothing. What the fuck?

  I don’t have time for this hide and seek shit. I move my ass for the living room, instantly extinguishing the flames around me on the way. I drop to my knees and skid across the floor coming to a stop beside Brea. My eyes rake over her frame. I try to lock in on a scan using my eyes for any internal harm, but my talents are unless with this one country girl. Why my abilities have been blocked out when it comes to her is beyond me. Damn it…

  Pulling her lifeless weight into my arms, I wipe the droplets of rain from her face and feel for a pulse. It’s faint but there all the same. My eyes scan down to her wet blood-stained blouse. With shaky hands, I pull her shirt up and see the gaping open wound that’s deeply sliced across her lower stomach and I cringe. That crazed motherfucker was trying to take her internal organs out. Holy fucking shit.

  “Sunshine… Shit, Brea, answer me.” I whisper out as the droplets of water run down my face and break free over the curve of my lips.

  My shaky plea falls out into the living room unanswered. I peer back down at the open gash only to watch it slowly seal back together like an unforeseen source is welding it close from the inside and healing her before my eyes. Son-of-a-bitch… What the fuck is going on? Snapping my eyes back to her face, I gently smooth my hand over her cheek and those royal blues flutter open.

  “Jesus Christ, sunshine…” I move to stand with her held tight to me. I’m too scared to let her go.

  “My boozy Batman…” She croaks out.

  “Damnit, girl. Jesus…” I smirk down at her as those full lips perk up into a faint forced smile. “I’ve got to call for some help. You need to go to the hospital. Let’s get you outta here then I’ve got a brother to kill.” I growl out.

  “Oh God… It’s not what you think. Please let me down, Channing.” She says. I shake my head no.

  “No fucking way. You were gutted open like a damn fish.” I grate out.

  My jaw locks up at the flashback fuckery of her carved open. A memory that’s sure to stay with me for years to come. She flails in my arms as shock slams into her when I confirm her momentarily neglected slashed-up status. She jerks her shirt up to see her miracle skin unmarred. This shit makes no sense.

  “Oh, thank God…” Her voice is that of relief mixed with disbelief. “Please put me down. I can walk. I’m fine.”

  “Are you out of your mind, sunshine?” I say. It’s not a question. Those are facts.

  “Put me down Creed.” She snaps.

  Reluctantly, I let her stand and watch with skeptical eyes as she holds tight to my arms steadying herself on two feet. She looks around at the wicked war aftermath of two brothers. It looks like a match sparked off inside a fueled asylum. Imploding the steel structure around us leaving nothing more than a burnt and busted up box.

  “Please… Oh, God. This is what my dreams were trying to tell me… I’ve got to go now Channing.” She moves for the elevator with petrified panic under her heels.

  “You’re not going nowhere near him. That motherfucker was trying to end you.” I growl at her back as I follow close behind. Why am I having to tell her shit that she’s fully aware of? She whips around and bunches my face between her shaky hands. Her fearful eyes bouncing between mine.

  “I know what you believe you saw but that was not Brogan, okay?” Her voice is stern. Is she insane?

  “Sure as fuck looked like him.” I toss out. “Have you lost your mind? Did you hit your head or some shit?” I can’t help the bite in my tone.

  “Stop asking me that… Jesus! Channing, please listen to me. That was not Brogan. Call him, Channing. Pull your phone out and call him. Call your brother… He’s still at work, call him.” She urges.

  Taking my phone out of my coat pocket, I dial the asshole, and speaker the call. When he answers, I swallow my anger and squint at Brea.

  “What’s up, you asshole?” Brogan asks. She lets out a sigh of relief when she hears his voice.

  “Uh, yeah. I, uhhh, just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight. The Cellar. Same time.” I grate out while running my free hand through my wet hair.

  “Unless you want to cancel, yeah.” He says. “Listen, I hate to cut this short. I’ve got another call. My building manager at BC Towers is buzzing in.”

  “Later.” I end the call and pocket the phone. “Brealyn. What. The. Fuck.”

  “I need you to trust me, Channing. I have to go. We need to get out of here now.” Her voice is rising and her eyes are shifting around in fear.

  Gently, I wrap my hands around her upper arms and I try to calm my inner need to yell at her. I want to shake some sense into this woman but I remember her lifeless body on the floor from just moments ago. I feel a huge amount of relief to have her standing in front of me.

  “Who was that guy?” I ask. Another Lone Walker…

  “Channing, any moment people are going to rush through that elevator, and we don’t need to be here when they do. If you have any love for me what-so-ever, you’ll get me out of here now.”

  “Hold up a god damn minute. We need to tell Brogan what happened here, Brea. He’s going to lose his god damn mind.” I shake my head adamantly as my eyes hold her to the spot.

  “Let me wrap my head around all of this first. We’ll figure it out, I promise. Please get me out of here.” She jerks at the lapels of my coat.

  “Swear it… You’ll tell us everything.” I ask. She nods and I move my ass to get the surveillance footage that I know has been captured.

  “What are you doing?” She asks.

  “Going to get the footage from this supernatural bullshit show.” I call back.

  chapter 31

  brealyn

  S
tanding in the middle of my butterfly house, my eyes scan over the lily pads that are floating aimlessly around in the centered fountain. My tears have turned this beautiful view blurry some time ago.

  This is my favorite part of this massive estate that Brogan bought for us. It was finally finished a couple of days ago. Brogan and I haven’t had the time to start filling it with the things we wanted. We ordered several butterfly bushes, but I was still uncertain about the various butterflies themselves. I’ve been studying so many different types.

  After today, I won’t be doing any of the things needed to see this project through. I won’t be here. All the projects that Brogan and I had intended to do together will be left unfinished. Moving over to the built-in maple wood benches, I lower myself down letting my purse fall from my arm, hitting the ground with a light thump.

  I stare out at the beautiful trifold cascades of flowing falls that spill over creating a blanket of water that sends out a foggy mist upon contact. The sound is tranquil in the open nothingness. The potential of what was to come but never will be hits me deep in the sternum. Or at least, I won’t be here to see it.

  Rubbing my palms against my jeans in a nervous motion, I look down and my brows crease together in thought. I fell so many emotions right now. Fear. Sorrow. Anger. Confusion. But the more prevalent passion that’s creating an expressive windstorm inside my heart is how grateful I am to be alive. Grateful my son is alive and safe.

  After we returned from Greece, I found out that I was pregnant. I was going to tell Brogan, really, I was. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way, or as far as Brogan was concerned, at all. The fact remains that I am. You can’t alter God’s will.

  Brogan’s declaration from Greece sounded out in my ears like a high-pitched warning as soon as my doctor told me that I was pregnant. When my OBGYN announced the happy news, I felt equal amounts of dread mixed with pure excitement. My anxiety over telling him has grown with every day that has passed by too.

  It’s funny how one conversation can have that kind of power over you, altering your experience, and ultimately leaving you to question everything. This is a miracle, our miracle. A gift that we were given before our trip to Greece. I refuse to see it any other way.