Unfinished Hero 02 Creed (44 page)

Richard bled out in minutes. I watched. It seemed his life flashed, then gone.

Not Creed.

Not Creed.

That was
not
going to happen to my Creed.

Fuck, God, please don’t take Creed away from me. Not again. Not again.

Not ever again.

I bent over him, my hand leaving his chest, I held the pressure to his neck with my other as I vaguely heard the gunfire die out, running feet around us and I put my lips to his ear.

“Come back to me,” I whispered. “Come back to me.” Tears hit my eyes, spilling over instantly as Creed didn’t move. “Goddamn it, Creed,
come back to me!
”

“Jesus, baby, calm down,” he wheezed and I blinked.

Then I jerked up and looked down into his opened, beautiful, stunning, amazing, beloved blue eyes.

He sucked in another breath and knifed up to sitting. Automatically I sat back on my calves to give him room and my hand dropped from his neck as his hands went to his chest. He tore open his awesome shirt, buttons flying everywhere then reached in and yanked. I heard Velcro tear as he unstrapped his stealth-fit bulletproof vest.

When had he put on a vest?

And how had I not felt it?

“Fuckin’ hell, that hurts like a goddamned mother,” he bitched breathlessly.

I stared.

He sucked in another breath then another one before he lifted up his hand, put it to his neck, took it away and stared at the blood.

His eyes came to me. “Flesh wound.”

Before I told my hand to do it, and, mark me, if I had my head together, I
still
would have told my hand to do it, I lifted it and slammed it, hand flat, into his chest. I ignored Creed’s pained grunt and jumped to my feet.

Pointing down at him, I screeched, “
You’re getting a job as an accountant!
”

Creed blinked then grinned.

Blood roared in my ears.

“Fuck, thank God Gwen isn’t a badass,” I heard Hawk mutter, referring to his wife. “I would not tolerate shit like that on a job.”

“I hear you, brother,” Jorge muttered.

I looked to cargo pants, boots, skintight Under Armour wearing, dark haired, intense black eyed, hot guy commando Hawk Delgado, got a load of his two phenomenal dimples telling me eloquently he found me amusing and I spat, “Shut your fucking trap, Hawk.”

He lifted his hands in surrender but, I noted, his dimples didn’t go away.

Fuck me.

It was time to save face.

As Creed pushed to his feet, I looked around and asked sarcastically, “Is everyone enjoying the show? Or is anyone thinking maybe now’s a good time to rescue the two dozen women locked in a wooden freight crate? Or is that just me?”

“The DPD and Feds are seein’ to the girls,” Hawk informed me.

“Well, that’s good,” I returned.

“And seriously, Sylvie, you got great aim, babe, but you make a mess,” he continued, indicating the dead men scattered around.

I didn’t look at them, refused to look at them. They had ceased to exist until I got back to my therapist.

But I did shrug.

Hawk grinned.

Then he finished, “And, just FYI, personally, I’m enjoying the show.”

I glared at him.

“Me too,” Mo, who was also standing around and watching, added.

Someone kill me.

Creed threw an arm around my shoulders.

I stepped sharply away from it and jerked my head back to look up at him. “I’m not talking to you and you’re not touching me until I’m not pissed at you anymore.”

His brows shot together. “Beautiful, why the fuck are you pissed at me?
I
didn’t shoot me.”

“Grab the wrist, yank it out, head butt to the chin, spike heel into his foot, Creed,” I snapped. “I know how to get away from being held at gunpoint. You didn’t need to open fire.”

“I had on a vest and I got fuckin’ good aim,” Creed shot back.

“You also had another shooter on the approach,” I returned.

“You think I didn’t see him?” Creed asked, sounding insulted.

“I think
I
didn’t see him since my back was to him and I had other things occupying my attention like, say, the gun being held to my head,” I retorted.

“And
I
think I got a partner who knows what the fuck she’s doin’ so even though he nailed me, Sylvie, clue in, two dead guys are lyin’ on the floor ten feet away, one with his face blown off. I knew, I covered you, you’d cover me and I was right. I covered you, you covered me.”

Wow, that was nice.

I didn’t say that.

I said, “You might want to use your words like, say, calling, ‘
Shooter!
’ You think? Maybe?”

“I reckoned, when he shot me, you’d get there was a shooter.”

Oh my God!

Really?

“When did Grandpa turn into Take His
and
My Life in His Hands Maverick Hot Guy?” I asked.

“When I took my first job, and Sylvie, warning, another Grandpa crack and your bare ass feels my hand.”

Shit, that got a tingle.

I ignored the tingle and snapped, “Get shot again and you won’t see me naked for a week.”

“Baby, it was under control,” he replied.

I pointed at the blood dripping into his suit coat and shirt. “Yeah? Really?” I asked mockingly then went on to inform him, “This I know, I’m not taking that to the dry cleaners and I do
not
sew buttons back onto shirts.”

“Seriously?” he asked back. “Are we having this conversation?”

“Yes, we seriously are,” I clipped my answer.

“Yo, Bogey and Bacall, it may be a flesh wound but it’s still bleeding so will you two wind up this bullshit bickering and maybe we can get our man some medical attention?” Hawk asked fake politely and I turned my scowl to him.

Hawk withstood my scowl with no apparent effort so I gave up, crouched down, unbuckled one shoe, stood up, slipped it off and threw it overhand into the warehouse. I repeated this maneuver with the other shoe but grabbed Creed’s gun on the way up.

Then I cut a frown through all the men and started to stomp away.

As I stomped away, I heard Creed say, “Favor, Delgado, send a man after those shoes. I’m gonna need them later.”

To which I heard Hawk reply, “I hear you, man. Consider it done.”

Which meant, as I stomped away, I did it rolling my eyes.

But I also did it thinking Creed would probably get creative, me in those shoes and, on my back or knees, they probably wouldn’t hurt too much. Or, alternately, me lying over his thighs getting my first spanking.

Then again, if any of those scenarios occurred, I’d be feeling other things so my mind wouldn’t be on those fucking shoes.

This meant, my thoughts having turned pleasantly, when I exited the warehouse at the same time I felt Creed’s big, warm hand catch mine and hold tight, I wasn’t pissed anymore.

I was smiling.

Dreamweaver

Present day, two days later…

I felt the crack of Creed’s hand on my ass, my body jumped and fire shot between my legs.

“Spread,” he growled and, instantly, I did as he said.

I was draped belly down over his thighs, naked except my bronze sandals and Creed was spanking me. This was after he spent some time doing other delicious stuff to me.

No sooner had I opened my legs than Creed’s hand dove in. His fingers scored through the wet, rasping across my clit and since I was beyond ready, my head flew back and I came.

Hard.

Still coming, suddenly I was flying through the air. Creed lay back on the bed, his legs still over the side, feet on the floor and suddenly I was on top of him, my pussy to his face, his hard, thick cock right in front of me.

“Suck me off,” he ordered, voice thick and I moved, lips latching around the tip, immediately I sucked deep.

He lifted his head, buried his face in my pussy and groaned against me.

Then, his hands at my hips yanking me down, he commenced eating me. My head bobbed, sucking, stroking, I engaged my hand and gave him everything I had as he devoured me.

I came in his mouth.

Creed returned the favor.

After, coming down, he lapped. I licked.

He let this go on awhile before I was up again, Creed repositioned so we were righted in the bed, my head no longer at his crotch but at his throat and he settled us down, him on his back, me partly on him, partly pressed to his side with his arm around me.

“You take it up the ass. You like to be spanked. And you swallow. Seriously, Sylvie, you were born for me,” he muttered.

I lifted my head and looked at him. “That was hardly hearts and flowers.”

Creed grinned at me. “A man finds a woman who swallows, that alone, for a guy, is totally fuckin’ hearts and flowers.”

I rolled my eyes.

Creed kept talking.

“Add gettin’ off on bein’ spanked, we’re talking rainbows and pots of gold.”

Again, I rolled my eyes.

“Takin’ it up the ass and beggin’ for it every time, baby, seriously, you and your body, slice of heaven.”

“Not sure any of that will make it into poetry books, hot stuff,” I informed him.

“If badasses read poetry, it’d be a bestseller.”

I couldn’t argue that.

“I just came hard twice, stop annoying me,” I ordered.

He transferred his gaze and grin to the ceiling, muttering, “Anything for my Sylvie.”

That got me a tingle, not the usual one, but a great one all the same.

I settled in, cheek to his chest and saw the still ugly, livid, blue and purple bruise edged with yellow that marred him where the bullet hit his chest.

I tipped my head back, my cheek sliding against his skin and saw the bandage that covered the stitches at his neck.

That would make another scar.

My arm stole around his gut as I righted my head and sighed.

If I asked, he’d become an accountant (or something) for me. I knew it. All I had to do was ask.

But then he wouldn’t be Creed.

“I’m okay,” he said quietly, reading my thoughts.

“I know.”

“You’re okay,” he went on.

“I know.”

“We’re together, we’ll always be okay, Sylvie. Always. It’s when we’re not together that we’re not. You with me?”

“Yeah,” I said softly, giving his gut a squeeze.

I was with him. I was
so
with him.

Gun jumped up on the bed, looked at me, looked at Creed, understood who her chances were better with and said to Creed, “Meow.”

She was right.

Creed moved, sliding out from under me, muttering, “Be back. Getting Gun some treats.”

I looked at Gun and shook my head.

She didn’t spare me a glance.

She pranced out of the room behind a naked Creed.

I rolled to my back on the bed and stared at the ceiling realizing my ass burned a little.

It was then, I smiled.

* * * * *

Seven days later…

“Your round, Pip,” Live declared, grinning drunkenly at me.

“It was my round last time,” I replied, staring soberly at him thinking it was seriously unfun being out with the guys and not drinking.

“I know. You’re leavin’, you’re not gonna be around. That means you gotta get ‘em in before you go,” Live returned.

“That makes no sense, Live,” I informed him.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Tiny put in.

I glared at Tiny then declared, “I’m not even drinking so I’m definitely not buying another round.”

“You’re supposed to stop drinking
after
you
know
you’re knocked up,” Live educated me. “Not when you
think
you are.”

“Man, were you not there when I explained my history with Creed? I’m not pushing my luck,” I shot back.

He swung his beer around, slurring, “Mishin’ out.”

He was wrong. I’d so take a healthy baby over a drunken night out with the guys. Absolutely.

“Go home.”

This came from behind me and I turned, looked up and saw Rhash standing there.

“What?”

“You got a long drive tomorrow, it’s after midnight, you aren’t drinkin’ and these guys are three sheets so, in about ten minutes, they won’t even know where they are much less why they’re here. So go home,” Rhash answered.

“Do I have to give out hugs?” I asked.

“Fuck, no. You hugged me, I might puke,” Live answered the question I asked Rhash and I turned back to him.

Tiny grinned stupidly at me. “You can hug me.”

“I’m not hugging anyone,” I declared.

“Aw, come on, Pip. Give me a hug,” Tiny encouraged, lumbering toward me.

“Tiny, stand down,” I ordered, retreating.

“A little one?” Tiny asked.

“Fuck off,” I snapped.

He lifted his hand with his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “A teeny, eeny, one?”

Jesus.

I put my hands to the massive wall of his chest and pushed. “Fuck off, Tiny, or I’ll shoot you.”

His hand shot out, curled around my neck and his face was suddenly all I could see. “I’ll miss you, girl.”

As fast as it happened, he turned and lumbered away.

Live caught my eyes and tipped up his chin before he looked away, swallowed and jerked his chin up again at the bartender to order another beer.

My eyes slid through the guys and I got more looks, chin lifts and then they turned away.

They were all going to miss me.

I felt a lump form in my throat.

“Go home,” Rhash said quietly from beside me and I looked up with him.

“Right.”

He held my eyes.

I lifted a hand and placed it on his chest.

“Quality, Pip,” Rhash was still talking quietly, “you are pure quality.”

I pressed my lips together, pressed my hand in his chest and jerked up my chin.

Then, before I lost it, I said not a word, turned on my boot and left.

As I was walking to my girl in the parking lot, I saw it.

A shiny, black Aston Martin.

My lungs started burning.

For over a week, Knight hadn’t returned my calls. At first, this was unsurprising. It happened often, he was a busy guy. Then it got kind of annoying.

Then it hurt.

He knew Creed took off a few days ago to get back to life in Phoenix and prepare for me to join him there.