Creed

Chapter Five Winner Takes All

Present day…

I opened my front door and smelled garlic.

Fuck.

Seriously?

I turned, tossed my keys on the table beside the front door, pulled my gun and holster out of my belt at the back, set it on the table and moved to the left into my living room.

A huge, tan leather duffle was sitting, gapping open on my couch.

Fuck.

Fuck!

Seriously?

My eyes moved around the room and I saw the ashtrays had been cleaned, the beer bottles and dirty dishes cleared away and even the throws on the couches folded. My eyes moved up and I noted the wonky, hot pink, star-shaped fairy lights I had wrapped around my mantelpiece in disarray had been straightened and artfully draped.

They looked awesome.

Shit.

I stalked the other way, through my dining room, which still had the mess of magazines, newspapers and mail that had accumulated for the last month (maybe two) on the top of my dining room table. I stalked through the room even though, over the opened bar that delineated it from the kitchen, I saw Creed at my stove, his back to me.

“Uh, partner, I’m thinking I missed a memo,” I stated.

He twisted at the waist to look at me.

“You feed your cat once a day?” he asked and I stopped opposite the bar and planted my hands on my hips.

“Yeah,” I answered.

“She says two,” Creed informed me.

Shit. He spoke cat. This was not good. Gun knew all my secrets.

“Don’t let her bullshit you,” I ordered. “Though, if she’s been good, when I get home she gets five cat treats.”

“What constitutes bein’ good?”

“She’s breathing.”

He threw back his head and burst out laughing, the heady gorgeous sound of it filling the space, bouncing off the walls, slamming into me so hard, it made my legs get weak.

Therefore, I stalked to the fridge to get a beer.

“You like ziti?” Creed asked as I yanked open the fridge door.

“Yeah, I like ziti,” I answered, closed the door coming out with a beer in my hand and went on. “What I don’t like is your bag on my couch. What’s the deal?”

He continued to stir sauce as his eyes came to me. “The deal is, we got a job to do and to do it we gotta get close with zero time to find that. So we gotta find the time to find that.”

“How ‘bout I eat your ziti and we put together a puzzle and find it before you leave and find a hotel room?”

“Too late,” he replied. “Went over to meet Charlene and the kids, tell them I’m here, gonna be here awhile, I know about her situation and I’m on call if she needs anything. She seemed excited and not just ‘cause she needs the help. Apparently, she’s worried about your way of life and thinks you’re gonna die lonely. Also, her bathroom faucet is dripping. Something’s rattling in her car. And that motherfucker who left her didn’t switch the storm windows out to screens before he hauled ass, it’s hot and she can’t afford to run the air conditioning. So tomorrow, I’m gonna be busy.”

I stood completely still, staring at him and waiting while I made the superhuman effort to keep my head from exploding.

This took a while and Creed kept stirring the sauce even though his eyes didn’t leave me.

Once I ascertained my head wasn’t going to explode or, more aptly, I wasn’t going to attack and indulge in an attempt to break his neck, I whispered, “That was not cool.”

“I work and I don’t fuck around when I do. There is no cool and uncool in a job. You do what you gotta do,” he returned.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I shot back but did it still whispering.

“I disagree,” he replied.

“Explain, exactly, how that was okay.”

“This was Arizona, you’d be deep in my life. You know the shit I care about, the people that mean something to me, you’d do what you can to make certain I didn’t get taken away from any of it. That’s how it’s okay. You had a partner, his wife and kids are still a part of your life. You get me,” he told me.

“I have your back. You have my word on that so you don’t need that shit.”

“Now I have your back for more than the fact I don’t wanna see anything happen to you but it’s deeper. Way fuckin’ deeper and you know exactly how. They’d suffer and they’d suffer huge if you weren’t there in the morning. So, shit goes down, no matter what it is, I’ll bust my ass to make sure you’re there in the morning.”

Fuck.

Fuck!

He made sense. It was Asshole Invasive Sense (yes, meriting capital letters) but it was still sense.

Jesus.

I put the bottle cap edge to the counter, slammed the butt of my palm on it and the cap went flying. I ignored it and threw back a hefty pull.

When I dropped my hand, I knew he knew he’d won because he asked, “Anything on Nick?”

I gave in by answering, “Nothing except I’m shocked to find Nick Sebring is boring.” I rounded the bar, putting needed space between Creed and me. “His brother could be sitting and writing a letter and he’d be fascinating to watch. Nick. No. He’s got a desk job, works it, went home, made dinner, put on the game. That’s it.”

“So I take it tomorrow you’re switchin’ to Nair,” he surmised.

“Fuck yeah,” I confirmed, my eyes to a pile of folders on the edge of the counter that I not only didn’t put there, I had no idea what they were.

He saw what I was looking at and I knew this when he invited, “That’s everything I got on Nick, Nair and this investigation. Take it, read it, I’ll cook. When I’m done, I’ll bring you your food, we’ll eat and while we do, I’ll answer any questions you have.”

I looked up at him and said quietly, “You’re not staying here.”

“I’m not leaving,” he said quietly back.

We locked eyes.

I tried again. “There’s no reason for you to stay here.”

“Way you tell it,” he fired back instantly, “no reason for me to go either.”

Fuck.

Fuck!

I had to get back on my game. He was screwing me at every turn.

I broke eye contact, sucked back more beer, grabbed the folders and stalked through the kitchen to the back.

My house was shit. The bathroom suite was pink, put in during what I was guessing was the ‘50’s and the tub and basin had rust stains. The carpet was shag. There was wood paneling from the ‘70’s in every room and my kitchen appliances were all avocado.

I didn’t care. I made decent money but in my job, early retirement was necessary. You couldn’t carry on doing what I did for eternity. You had a brain in your head, you quit doing it before the age of fifty hit your life’s horizon. So I lived small but still content and socked back everything I could. The house was sturdy. It had personality that was mostly my mess, my cat and me, I spent very little time there and thus it worked.

It was the back room that sold me on the place.

It wasn’t a walled in patio. It also wasn’t not one. It had big windows so it seemed outside even though it was inside. Narrow, it had concrete floors I’d strewn with thick, bright, braided rugs. There was an old, slouchy, comfortable as all fuck couch that had tons of big, slouchy pillows on it. Two wicker chairs angled across from it, more slouchy pillows on those. A big upright chest at the wall to the side of the door from the kitchen that had everything you needed in it, corkscrew, bottle opener, lighters, cigs, extra ashtrays, condoms, the shelves covered with green, trailing, brightly potted plants that even I couldn’t manage to kill and I forgot to water them frequently.

I loved it back there. If I was home, I was back there. I even had two space heaters back there so when it was winter, I could still be there.

So I went back there, grabbed a pack of smoky treats, a lighter, ashtray and camped out on the couch with my beer and the folders.

What seemed minutes later but I knew by how much I’d read wasn’t, Creed came out with a plate of food that smelled divine in one hand and another cold one in the other.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” he muttered, handing me the plate and setting my beer on the table in front of me.

“You shouldn’t either,” I threw out my guess and his eyes caught mine.

“That’s why I know you shouldn’t do it,” he replied, confirming my guess and moving back into the house.

I looked at the ziti. It was baked. There was tons of cheese, some of it baked brown. It reeked of garlic and I knew at a glance it would be delicious.

I set the plate aside, put the file that was open on my lap on the low, rectangular table in front of me, grabbed the plate again, nabbed the fork stuck in the food, sat back and commenced eating. Upon my first bite it was confirmed. It was delicious.

Creed joined me, sitting in the wicker chair furthest from the door, putting his booted feet up to the edge of the table and his eyes to me.

He shoved a big fork full of ziti in his mouth and asked through it, “Questions?”

I didn’t have any. He was thorough. He didn’t miss a trick. This was added proof he was skilled, talented and experienced.

“You did a shit ton of work and got a month of nothing,” I told him something he already knew.

“This is why I know the ride’s gonna get bumpy,” he replied then shoved more ziti in his mouth.

I shoved more in mine, chewed and swallowed.

“So, no questions about the file, let’s get this closeness crap outta the way,” I suggested and he grinned while still chewing.

Then he invited, “Shoot.”

“Arizona?” I asked.

“Phoenix,” he answered.

I shoved more ziti in my mouth, buying time to find it so I could ask it.

Then I found it and asked it, “Married?”

“Divorced. Six years.”

Six years, divorced. His oldest child was twelve. I wondered how long he was married before the divorce. In other words, his first child was born four years after he left me so I wondered how long it took for him to replace me.

I didn’t ask this. It was clear we had to talk about our pasts, get to know each other. There was no avoiding it. But there were places we weren’t going to go.

I nodded then continued, “You work out of state often?”

“If the job feels good and the pay is right, yeah.”

“How long you been in state?”

His eyes held mine even as he shoved more ziti in his mouth, chewed and swallowed.

He was preparing me.

He didn’t have to. I was already braced.

Then he gave it to me. “Left Kentucky, went to Michigan. Moved from Michigan to South Carolina. Met Chelle there. Her parents moved to Arizona, she got pregnant, wanted to be close, we moved there.”

“Chelle?”

“Ex.”

“Right,” I muttered, leaned forward, grabbed my beer, sat back and took a swig before I looked back at him. “See your kids often?”

“Often as I can.”

“Close?”

His eyes grew sharper on my face before he answered but when he answered, with the words he said, this warning would be lost on me.

“Yeah, with both. Kara’s gettin’ to a stage, doesn’t get along with her Mom so I try to be around and if I can’t, I’m a phone call away. Something she takes advantage of so it’s good for me since I connect with her often though it sucks why she feels the need to do it. Brand’s all me, top to toe to heart to mind, all my boy.”

His casual, yet careful, words pierced through me like spears and I froze in an effort to contain the pain.

Then the pain engulfed me and I couldn’t contain it anymore.

As it swallowed me into its dark, fiery pit, I tossed my plate of ziti on the table. It went skidding across the files and flew over the other side as I drew my other arm back and brought it forward in a sidearm slice, releasing my beer so it sailed past him and shattered against the low wall under the windows at his back, foaming beer spraying in wide spatter all around.

His feet came off the table and I knew by his eyes, he knew.

He knew.

He didn’t forget.

That motherfucker knew.

“Sylvie, let me –” he started.

“You named her kids my names,” I whispered, my breaths coming heavy.

“Sylvie –”

Shit, fuck, shit.

I couldn’t take it.

We’d talked about it. We’d talked. Frequently. Talked. Dreamed. Planned. Frequently.

I told him, we had a girl, she’d be named Kara. We had a boy, we’d name him after his Dad.

Those were my names.

My fucking names!

“You named her kids my names!” I screamed then attacked.

Launching myself over the table, I hit him in the chest. His chair slammed back, taking us and his plate with it, ziti smushed between us but I did not give one, single, solitary fuck.

He named another woman’s children my names!

That fucking motherfucker!

I shot up to straddling him, my knees in the back of the chair, my arm coming back in preparation to land a blow and he shot up with me, arms coming around me, effectively taking away my target. He pulled me to him, rolled the both of us free of the chair then kicked it and I heard it slide and crash against something that stopped it.

I’d learned early and quick that my size was a major detriment to pretty much anything, especially if it was physical. I was in shape, no doubt about it, but I was small, thin and a woman so I had to aim true, be willing not to fight fair and be smart, fast, ballsy and sly.

I was so pissed, I lost sight of all that and Creed immediately gained the advantage. If I didn’t pull my shit together, his weight, height and power would have me defenseless in seconds.

But there was no way in fuck he was winning this.

No way.

No fucking way.

Therefore, I lifted my head and sank my teeth in his neck so hard, I tasted blood.

“Fuck!” he ground out, reared back and I went with him, using his momentum to take him to his back. I shot up, straddling him again and didn’t delay in pulling back an arm and landing a fisted blow to his cheekbone.

He grunted and his head shot to the side.

I didn’t get a second one in. He got his hand around my wrist and rolled me to my back, him on top of me.

I got my boot planted in the floor and rolled him so I was on top. I grabbed both sides of his head and lifted it in preparation for a head butt when he came totally up, knifing at the waist. I automatically held on, my hands fisting in his hair.

“Calm the fuck down and let me explain,” he growled.

“Fuck you!” I shouted, let go with one hand, brought it low, shoved it up the back of his shirt and scored my nails through his flesh.

“Jesus,” he hissed, shifted to his knees and immediately fell forward so my back slammed into the edge of the coffee table before it went skidding. Then my back hit floor and Creed’s body pinned me.

Not good. I had his weight on me and his hips between my legs so I couldn’t get a knee to his crotch. He reached back and pulled my arm from around him, his other hand going to my other wrist and yanking my hand out of his hair. He pulled them around and between us, locking them there.

We grappled, pushed, pulled, shoved, both of us growling, grunting and hissing, me rocking my hips and planting my feet, arching my back, nearly rolling him but not succeeding.

Fuck, he was going to win.

Fuck, I had to fight dirty.

I lifted my head, he reared back to avoid my teeth but couldn’t get back fast enough. I got my mouth on him and didn’t use my teeth. I used my tongue.

The element of surprise worked.

He stilled instantly.

It was a tactical error.

Not on his part, on mine.

He smelled good. He tasted good and fuck me, he felt good.

The pain of his further betrayal, one even more unforgivable than the last, still consumed me and it had to go. It had to go and I knew only two ways to stop it. Two ways I’d blindly turned to over the years. Two ways that didn’t work for long but they worked for a while.

Without thinking, to dull the pain, I needed one of those ways.

So I went for it and licked up his neck to below his ear and God, God, the scent of him, the feel of him on my tongue, the taste of him…

God.

Suddenly and instantly, something altogether different consumed me.

I bucked my hips, put my weight into my foot on the floor and rolled him so I was on top. I went right in, my teeth to the collar of his tee, my fingers curling into it, I used both until I got the tear then my mouth went away and I ripped it all the way down.

His hands curled in at my waist. “Sylvie –” he murmured but I bent. My mouth to the sleek, muscled skin of his chest, I liked the feel of him against my lips so much my tongue snaked out.

Oh yeah. So good. Fucking beautiful.

I took more, across his collarbone, down, to his nipple I sucked deep and his hands slid from my waist to become arms wrapped tight around me.

“Baby –” he whispered and I jerked up, slammed my mouth down on his and darted my tongue between his lips.

He took it and let me take, hard, deep, fuck, fuck, he tasted of beer and ziti and Creed. I remembered that taste, could swear it tipped my tongue countless times for going on two decades. I missed it and I loved it.

Loved it.

The kiss went wild, his hands went into my hair, holding my mouth to his then he took his turn to take from mine.

I gave him a taste then shafted up. His hands fell away from my hair. My hands went to my tank and ripped it off.

He had one second to take in my torso before I bent back to him and it was done. Even if I had the strength to fight it, I wouldn’t have tried.

We tore at each other’s clothes, shoes, tossing them aside, rolling, hands everywhere, mouths, tongues. I couldn’t see. I couldn’t think. I could only taste and feel.

I eventually got between his legs and didn’t hesitate, didn’t play, didn’t fuck around. I sucked his hard, thick, long cock deep, the head hit the back of my throat and my lips hit hair.

“Jesus,” he groaned then angled up. I lost purchase only suddenly to be flying through the air, twisted, brought down on his body facing his crotch, rolled and yeah, oh fucking yeah, he was over me. His mouth was between my legs, his knees at either side of my head, he was voracious, rabid, eating fierce, his tongue thrusting deep, his mouth sucking my clit hard.

God, so good, so goddamned good, nothing better. No. Not nothing. No one. No one fucking better.

I lifted my hands to his ass, pulling myself up and taking his cock in my mouth. He didn’t make me work, his hips moved under my hands and he fucked my face as he ate me and his mouth worked me harder. He went down to his forearms beside my hips, shoved his hands under my ass and pulled up so he could devour me. My knees cocked, thighs spread wide, I opened them wider and took his cock as he took my pussy until it built so huge I couldn’t take it anymore. I released his cock, dropped to my back on a low whimpered moan and I lost his mouth.

I rolled to him instantly, hands on him, vaguely watching him reach for his jeans, yank out his wallet.

“Creed,” I whispered and even I heard the depths of my need.

His big hand fanned against the side of my face, gliding back into my hair as he looked down at me, his face hot, hard and fucking beautiful.

“Two seconds, baby,” he whispered back, his hand went away, the condom came out and I spread my legs in preparation.

He positioned on his knees between my legs, I watched him roll on the condom then I knifed up, curving my arms around him and he didn’t delay. His torso pressed into mine, I fell back, bringing him with me and he slid inside.

My neck arched and my knees lifted, my thighs pressing deep into his hips as I moaned, “Fuck yes.”

He moved. I rounded him with my limbs, righted my neck, lifted my head and ran my tongue soothingly along the angry bite where I’d marked his neck.

I shifted my lips and in his ear whispered, “Harder.”

“Soft, slow,” he whispered in mine.

“Fast, hard.”

“Soft and slow, baby.”

I squeezed with three limbs as I squeezed him inside and dug my nails in his back, running them up.

“Fuck,” he groaned and went faster and harder.

“Yes,” I breathed and he went even faster and harder.

“You like the taste of you?” he asked, his breath coming fast.

“Is it on you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then yeah.”

“Fuck,” he groaned again, lifted his head, I turned mine and he took my mouth.

I took his.

I tasted me on him and I whimpered into his mouth.

He fucked me harder and faster.

I pulled a leg from around him, shoved my foot into the floor and rolled him to his back. Then I rode him, even harder and faster, concentrating on giving it to him, to me, so he took over taking my mouth.

His lips broke from mine and, his big hand at the back of my head, he shoved my face in his neck and growled, “Harder, baby.”

I went harder.

Faster.

He kept growling. “Fuck, need more. I gotta fuck you.”

“I fuck you,” I panted, my breaths hitching, my blood singing.

It was building. Again.

Yes, it was building huge.

“Gotta fuck you,” Creed ground out then he flipped me to my back and took over, hips grinding and that felt so fucking good, so deep, so rough. It was so goddamned beautiful, my mouth opened slowly, my head gliding back, exposing my throat and his lips and tongue took it.

His hands went to my hips, yanking me up to take him deeper.

“Yes,” I whispered.

His hands slid up the sides of thighs to my knees and up, swinging my calves in. I dug my heels in and held on tight as his hands moved to my arms, lifting them up over my head. He circled my wrists, pressed them into the rug and I froze, my head righting, my eyes locked to his face.

My voice was ragged and not with sex when I demanded, “Don’t hold me down.”

His head was tipped down, his eyes to our bodies but at the sound of my voice, my tone, they shot to my face and his hips stilled on an inward thrust.

“Creed, don’t hold me down!” I snapped and he let my wrists go as a flash shot through his eyes.

He moved one hand to the side my face, his eyes also moving over it and his voice was ragged too, not with sex, not with what had been in mine but the emotion ran just as deep when he whispered, “Jesus, baby.”

“Fuck me, Creed,” I demanded and his gaze came to mine.

“Let’s slow it down,” he said gently.

“Fuck me,” I repeated.

“Sylvie, baby –”

I lifted my head and took his lower lip between my teeth giving it a nip. I released it and, face close, eyes all we could see, I bit out, “Creed. Fuck me.”

We held each other’s eyes.

Then he moved, gathering me in his arms, he got to his knees then to his feet. His cock still deep inside me, he took two long strides then I was back to the couch and he was fucking me.

He went for my mouth but I turned my head and shoved my face in his neck, holding on with my arms and legs, tight. Tipping my hips to meet his thrusts, I erased everything from my brain but what was going on between my legs. I searched for it, reached for it and found it, my head rearing back into the cushions as I cried out my release. The pleasure, as it always did, driving away the pain.

Only bigger. Better.

Much bigger.

Way better.

I kept tight hold of him, burying my face back in his neck and keeping it there until Creed found his.

I gave him time, counting the seconds, waiting until his breath started to even then I ordered, “Get off me.” His head came up and I felt his eyes but I kept mine to his throat and repeated, “Get off me.”

“I think what just happened proves we need to talk, Sylvie,” he said softly. At his words, I heaved, twisted, he slid out and I took him to his side, back to the back of the couch.

I reared away but not so far that I couldn’t plant my hand in his chest and shove hard.

He got up on a forearm, his other hand circled my wrist tight and held mine to his chest as his eyes kept mine captive.

“You’re a total asshole,” I hissed.

He didn’t reply, not for long seconds then he said quietly, “I had you but in the end, you checked out. I was just a cock.”

“They’re all just cocks,” I retorted.

He shook his head and his fingers tightened around my wrist as he leaned into me. “I had you.”

“No one has me.”

“I had you.”

I leaned into him and snapped, “No one ever has me.” I ignored the flash in his eyes and I ignored how easy it was to read, how hard it was to see that in his eyes. I ignored all of it and yanked at my hand.

He didn’t release me.

“Let me go,” I demanded harshly.

He let me go.

I jumped off the couch and moved to my clothes. I pulled on the tank and my jeans and left my panties, bra, socks and boots where they lay.

By the time I turned back, he had his jeans up and half buttoned.

I looked from his crotch to his eyes.

“Guest bedroom is a pit but, you dig deep enough, you’ll find a bed. You look hard enough, you’ll find sheets for the bed. I’m going out. Sweet dreams.”

I moved toward the door trying to decide if it was a bourbon or tequila night.

“I couldn’t have you, I’d have that.”

His words made me stop dead but I didn’t turn. I didn’t move.

Years passed.

Then he spoke again, quieter.

“I never thought I’d see you again. I couldn’t have you, I’d have that part of you. That part of us. Kids named what we agreed so every time I said the names of the kids I loved, I’d remember you and I’d have that part of you with me.”

Jesus.

He could not be serious.

Jesus.

Someone kill me.

I turned then and looked him straight in the eye.

“You are so full of shit.”

“I am?”

“Yeah,” I clipped.

“You believe that, I’ll give you her number. You call Chelle. Ask why she divorced me.”

I hitched a hip just as I put a hand to it and asked flippantly, “That’ll be interesting, Creed, what’ll she tell me?”

“That she filed for the same reason you lost your mind tonight. She filed when she found out why I insisted on naming our kids. She filed because of why I named our kids those names. And she filed because she was done bein’ married to man who was in love with a fuckin’ ghost.”

It took effort but I just managed to ignore his verbal blows pummeling the breath clean out of me.

“So you’re an equal opportunity asshole, doing that to her at the same time you did it to me,” I noted.

“Yep,” he agreed. “Still don’t give a fuck which is why it’s good she’s shot of me. Decent woman. Never should have done it to her. I got them, I got her part of them and I got you in them. The way I saw it, I had a lifetime of livin’ without what I most wanted, made certain I got all I wanted outta that. I like it like that and I’d do it again.”

Seriously, this dickhead could not be believed.

“You are an asshole,” I bit off.

“Didn’t deny it. Live with it every day. You don’t have to repeat it.”

“How’d she find out?”

“I told her. On your birthday seven years ago. The one day she never got. The one day every year I’d get shitfaced hammered out of my mind, all alone, just me. Difference that year was she didn’t let me be. She pushed it. So she got it. All of it. Best thing that ever happened to her. Finally meant she could be free of the asshole that’s me.”

“Lucky her, now she probably celebrates my birthday.”

“No,” he shook his head. “For me it was you. For her it was me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

I ignored that and stated, “I wasn’t a ghost, Creed.” I motioned to myself with my free hand. “As you can see, I’m alive and well.”

“You were a ghost to me.”

“Your choice.”

“No it wasn’t,” he returned immediately. “Dig deep and you know it.”

I felt my eyes narrow, I leaned in and hissed, “I don’t know shit.”

“Know this,” he growled and turned his back to me. It was a move so surprising, I didn’t have a chance not only to retreat but even to brace.

At what I saw, I couldn’t control it. I sucked in a sharp, audible breath.

I’d drawn blood on his back as well as his neck and you could see other scratch marks.

None of them marred the tattoo that spanned the entirety of his skin.

A pier.

A lake.

A horizon.

The sun shining.

And along the pier a name spelled out in flowers up the indent of his lower spine.

“Sylvie”.

He turned to face me again but my eyes stayed at the wall of his chest, the vision of his back burned in my brain.

“I been back not even a whole fuckin’ day, Sylvie,” he went on and my eyes cut to his face. “And we’re fuckin’ on the floor of your back room amidst a pile of fuckin’ ziti.”

“You fucking motherfucker,” I whispered.

He ignored me and asked, “You get yet that we need to talk?”

I shook my head and ignored the pit in my stomach.

“We’re not gonna talk.”

He tore a hand through his hair and bit out, “Fuck, Sylvie.”

“We are not gonna talk,” I repeated with added emphasis.

His hand swept out in an arc indicating the couch and the floor. “So, that’s not gonna happen again?”

“You’re really fucking good at giving head so, no. I won’t say that. I’ll take seconds. Even thirds.”

His brows shot up and his escalating anger slithered through the room. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“I’m not.” I tilted my head. “Unless it wasn’t good for you. If it wasn’t then I’ll take my attention elsewhere.”

His anger gathered, grew, built, filled the room.

We held each other’s eyes in silence.

Creed broke it by asking something that wasn’t his to have.

“Why don’t you like to be held down?”

It wasn’t his to have but still, in a way, he deserved it so I gave it to him.

“He held me down. He also tied me down. I didn’t like it.”

His hard jaw got harder and a muscle ticked there.

Then he whispered, “You didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t like anything he did to me.”

His entire face got hard and the muscle moved to leap in his cheek.

Then he remarked, “So now they’re all just cocks.”

I jerked up my chin. “Yup.”

“And you want me to be one of them.”

“Uh… Creed, hello?” I swung out an arm to indicate the room. “You already are.”

He shook his head. “No getting in there?”

I shook mine too. “Nope. Not you. Not anyone. But especially not you.”

“You won’t dig deep,” he said quietly.

“I know what’s buried there so no. No fucking way. I leave that be.”

We both went quiet again.

He broke it again.

“It was good for me.”

I nodded. “Glad I’m not losing my touch.”

His eyes went cold but his lips said, “I’ll take seconds and thirds and whatever you’re willin’ to give me.”

“That was hot, baby, so it’s good to know this partnership has all sorts of advantages,” I replied.

He crossed his arms on his chest but didn’t for a millisecond release my eyes as he whispered, “Baby, just you wait and see.”

“Oo, exciting,” I whispered back sarcastically.

“You bet your ass,” he returned.

“Are we done?” I asked then carried on. “See, something else to learn about me, when I’m done, I’m usually done and either he goes or I do. Since we’re both staying I’m still ready to go. So are you through with me?”

“Not even close.”

“Good news,” I retorted. “But just to be clear, I’m up for seconds. You seemed pissed. Angry sex works for me but I’m guessing you’re beyond that. So, what I’m asking is, for now, you through with me?”

“Yeah,” he jerked up his chin. “For now.”

“Best get supplied, baby,” I warned. “That was just a teaser. I get in the mood, I can go all night. The emergency condom in your wallet isn’t gonna cut it.”

“Drugstore just got scratched on our itinerary for tomorrow. First stop.”

“Works for me.”

“Right. You done bein’ a bullshit badass?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

“Good. But don’t lose the bullshit smartass. She makes me hard.”

“I’ll keep her at the ready.”

“You know the beauty of this?” he asked cuttingly.

“No, handsome, tell me,” I invited mockingly sweet.

“This was exactly how your father and stepmother talked when they weren’t fighting. Remember? You told me all about it.”

His aim was true.

Right through the heart.

“I see,” I whispered. “We’re not fighting fair.”

“Nope,” he confirmed and made his point by lifting a hand and touching the tips of his fingers to my mark on his neck. He dropped his hand and went on, “All’s fair. No rules. No holds barred. Winner takes all.”

My shoulders straightened, I wrapped my arms around my belly and I kept my eyes locked to his when I said softly, “Six years, Creed, six years, every day, every minute, every second, I lost whole pieces of me. After I got loose, I made certain I don’t ever lose. Not fucking ever. You just entered a game you cannot win.”

“You got loose, you get any of that back?” he asked.

“Not that first fuckin’ piece.”

“So you’re tellin’ me my Sylvie is gone.”

His Sylvie.

Motherfucking asshole.

“Long gone,” I verified.

“Right,” he muttered like he didn’t believe me.

“Right,” I repeated firmly.

“So who was that who smiled big at that Down’s kid this morning like he started her day and touched her forehead to his making him look like she started his?”

No way I was going to let him get to me.

“That was Adam’s Sylvie.”

“You ran across the yard like you’d just received a bomb threat, baby, not like you were five minutes late to help your girl. You don’t miss a day even if you have to haul your ass over there hungover. You dropped a job when Josh got sick and your dead partner’s wife had to work so you could look after him. She doesn’t know it but it’s you that puts red and white roses with a blue ribbon on his grave every fuckin’ Sunday. And you took me on just so you could take Knight’s back. That wasn’t Adam’s Sylvie. It’s not Charlene’s Sylvie. It’s not even Knight’s Sylvie. It’s just plain Sylvie. The one I knew. She’s not gone. She’s standing right in front of me.”

“You hold onto that, Creed, you’re gonna get fucked.”

“Jesus, I hope so.”

I clamped my mouth shut.

Then I unclamped it to declare, “I feel the need to get drunk. We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“You need a ride home from the bar, you just call me,” he invited.

“Handsome, you’ll never hear from me. To get down to your name in my phone, I’ve got two whole letters.”

It was his turn to clamp his mouth shut.

I took that as my cue to go.

So I did.

I stopped in order to glare at Gun who was curled up in the seat of a dining room chair fast asleep. My glare was for her being in the mood to nap and thus deserting me in my hour of need. However, since she was snoozing, she missed my glare. Still, it made me feel better.

I also stopped to yank on another pair of socks and boots and grab my keys.

But me, my jeans, tank, boots and socks, commando and braless, walked right out the door and, like we had many, many times before, we took on the night.