Page 23 of Creed

Creed smirked when he handed me my phone then took my keys from my hand.

“Can I at least have the house key?” I held my hand out. I would be lying if I said his dominance wasn’t a tad bit sexy. The fact that I was turned on by those eyes and that smirk just confirmed I was losing my mind. Never in my life did I ever knowingly allow anyone to dominate me. He was still smirking when he took the Suburban key off my key ring and shoved it in his pocket before handing me the rest of my keys.

I remembered what Patrick told me about paying women to service them, and the words escaped my lips. “No wonder you have to pay for sex. You treat women like we should be bowing at your feet!” My mouth slipped.

He raised a brow. “What the hell did you just say?” He growled.

“You heard me right! I know about the women who stay over at your stupid motorcycle compound. I’m not one of them and you have no right to treat me like I’m some sort of property!”I turned and opened my car door to grab my charger and the other few things I had in the vehicle.

“I know your type, Miss Rossi. You’re used to having other people do everything for you. I know your reputation and the way you treat people, so you’re the last person that should judge anyone.”

I slammed the car door and turned to face him. “My type? My reputation? Oh, so you’ve heard exactly what the media wants you to know about me. You’re a fool if you believe the bullshit they spew! I do everything I can to protect my family and friends. Did the media you listen to ever say that I only grant interviews with news outlets that haven’t thrown my family and friend’s to the wolves? That I only ask for respect in regards to my father after one outlet said he molested me? Another one that called Callie a charity case, and of course the one that said my mom was cheating on my dad? What about the tabloid that snapped a photo of me and my high school boyfriend after a dance and said he raped me? Let’s not forget the time a photographer ran Tristan and I off the road. Oh, or maybe it’s because I refuse to attend after parties because there’s drugs and a hell of a lot of mistakes made at those things. Maybe I don’t want my drink spiked, ever thought of that? Maybe it’s because I refused parts with actors that are struggling with addiction. I don’t like Hollywood, and they don’t like me anymore. It’s not exactly something that leaves me heartbroken. So, shove your ego up your ass and leave me alone!” I stormed by him and ran up the steps then into the store. All eyes were on me when the bell rang and I internally groaned. I didn’t even need to be in that store since there was no way I was going to be able to take lunch to my uncle.

Even Mrs. Hoffman was staring at me. I took off for the back to clean up in the bathroom. Once in there I realized how much of a mess I was and started the water. I had black stuff on my hands, my face, my shirt, and my shorts. It felt like it took forever to scrub off my hands. I even had dried blood on my finger from breaking my nail. I sighed, the fingernail meant I needed to take a trip to Louisville to have my nails done. Hell, I needed an entire day of pampering just from one encounter with Creed. What an asshole!

I was pissed, but not as pissed at him as I should have been. I was mostly pissed at myself. What kind of person was I if his dominance was a turn on? His preconceived notion that I was a snotty brat was a turn off, and I might have been a little spoiled with the money I made, but that was the point. I made the money I had, and it wasn’t just handed to me. I had worked in freezing cold temperatures, did my own stunts, worked in the desert heat, and the bruises in a lot of my films were real. I really did get injuries at times. I gained weight for roles, lost weight for roles, built muscle mass, worked all night and all day. Just because I wasn’t a war veteran didn’t mean I didn’t know a day of hard work. I’d admit there were plenty of people that worked just as hard or harder and made a lot less money than me, but it wasn’t handed to me. I got my first job when I was six years old! I bet he didn’t have a job when he was that little. After washing my hands, I washed my face and dried off with a paper towel. I wasn’t wearing much makeup, thankfully.

Once I was done, I composed myself and walked out to the dining area where everyone paused and looked at me. One of the bikers looked at me, then to one of my movie posters where I was wrapped up in satin sheets, then looked at me again and smiled. Mrs. Hoffman was the only one that looked concerned.

“It was just a flat tire, I changed it, and it’s over now. Not a big deal.” I glared at all of them.

“Sweetie.” Mrs. Hoffman approached. “Come have a seat. I’ll get you that pop you always like and a sandwich. Here take a seat with Creed.” She tried guiding me to the only seat left open and Creed sat there with a shitty smirk on his face as he kicked the chair out for me. I sat, but not because I wanted to see him, but because Mrs. Hoffman made the best sandwiches, and I was hungry. With my arms crossed, I looked everywhere but at Creed. That meant I saw all the movie posters. There was the one where I was wrapped up in red satin sheets, the one where I was wearing a princess tiara, the one where I was walking like a badass next to Ashton with a gun and badge on my belt, and of course the one with me in white lace lingerie from playing the billionaire’s submissive. I never regretted that role from that last poster until that particular moment. There was a room full of bikers looking from me then to that damn movie poster. A few winked at me and I suddenly felt my face turn hot. I had nowhere to look except down to my broken nail.

None of them knew I wasn’t some sort of sexual deviant. That I had only slept with two men in my life, and they probably had me confused with the role I played in that movie. I sensed Creed leaning forward just before he whispered. “Nice posters.”

My eyes darted up to his and he was glaring at me. “Your image as a little sex kitten is splattered everywhere but you actually expect men like these to treat you like you’re not the spitting image of the roles you’ve played?”

Suddenly, the heat I was feeling on my face went from being caused by embarrassment to anger. “I was playing a role for a job and I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Hmm…kind of like the women you accuse me of paying for sex? Don’t they play a role as well? They’re no different than you, sweetheart.”

The anger building in me only grew as I looked at him. What the hell was his problem? Why I didn’t hate him by that moment was a mystery to me.

“You’re an asshole!” I scooted my chair back and went to stand, but he grabbed my hand to stop me.

“Sit down.” He gave me a stern order.

“Fuck you!” I ripped my hand away. Nobody had ever managed to annoy me more than Creed. I looked at Mrs. Hoffman as I walked toward the door. “I’ll take my lunch outside.” The bell rang on the door when I opened it then the spring loaded screen door slammed behind me. I went straight to the picnic area where families usually enjoyed their after dinner ice creams and plopped down on the picnic table seat.

At least in Hollywood people never confused me with my characters. I made so many movies that it seemed like people would have stopped confusing me with a certain character. I had more than two decades of work behind me, so those men were all idiots. I made six movies with nearly nude scenes, but they focus on those more than any other role I played. I was perfectly aware that real life wasn’t like a movie set too. Mr. Asshole Creed could stick it up his ass. How dare he treat me the way he did? He didn’t know me. Hell, most of the world didn’t know me. He was the exact reason I only let certain people in close enough to know me. Nobody could be trusted, and most would have loved to get the scoop on me and run to the tabloids. Not that I had anything to hide, but I always felt protective of those who were close to me. If word ever got out that my best friend was married to an abusive asshole it would have hit the tabloids. If anyonecaught wind that my little brother was a man whore, that would hit the tabloids as well. God forbid my little sister be exposed for her college shenanigans. It was almost impossible to have interpersonal relationships. I didn’t feel as if Creed was the type to run off to the tabloids, but he was an asshole. I might not have been as innocent as some of my characters but I sure as hell wasn’t as promiscuous as some of my characters either. Not that it was anyone’s business anyway. I was fuming as I sat with my arms crossed, watching each car as they drove by the store and also wondering how I was supposed to get home. The asshole was having my new rental dropped off to his shop.

I refused to look up when I heard the bell on the door ring, knowing it had to be Creed or one of the other biker jerks. My eyes stayed peeled on the country road ahead of me, at first thinking it was Creed but realizing I didn’t feel the sensation of goosebumps chasing each other along my skin. I looked over to see Josh Magnus as he took a seat next to me. He didn’t say a word, just sat there with his arms crossed watching the road with me. It was awkward and like usual I couldn’t just ignore him. My mouth opened against my brains protest.

“What is wrong with that man?”

It was quiet for a moment, and I glanced over to Josh and the slight breeze moved a few strands of his dark hair. Josh was always handsome, but as a grown man he was gorgeous.

He drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Creed is a complicated man. He’s a good man, but we never really know what goes on in that mind of his.”

“What is all this, Josh? The biker club, the lake, and why is he friends with my uncle? I’ve never known a biker gang that is actually friends with the cops.” Maybe understanding what theclub was would help me understand Creed. Not that it mattered, I didn’t like the guy all that much.

He finally turned his head to look at me. “It’s a club, not a gang. We don’t run drugs like the Devil’s Rejects. We’re just a group of guys that like building bikes.”

I knew a lie when I heard one. “That’s bullshit, Josh. It’s a heavily gated community with a bunch of bikers that won’t allow outsiders on their property. I’m not an idiot.” It was the lie that pissed me off most.

He sighed then scratched the beard on his chin. “Creed, myself, and a few others were a part of Delta Force, we were special forces and extremely elite. The kind of missions we took will change a man, Morgan. Retiring was necessary but it would have been impossible for us to live like regular people. Many of us have little to no family and we all have our demons. We build bikes, and we needed a lot more than regular citizens could give us. We needed a sense of family, privacy, and also a sense of security. Creed’s Lake is like an Army base. It’s just not military.”

“There’s more than just a few of you and how does a few veterans afford such a huge amount of land and to buy that lake?” It made no sense.

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