Page 75 of Creed

“Bane is coming onto the campus to you. Keep running all out, Sophie.” Creed’s tone is urgent but not panicked, and I appreciate that because I don’t need anything to escalate me.

I want Creed so badly to be here with me. Not only because I know I’m safe with him, but because I know that, without a doubt, I’m his world.

This is my 'come to Jesus moment.'

Suddenly faced with men chasing me, my father probably wanting to use me for his gain, and a businessman revered as a saint but with a dirty agenda… I feel like a fool to have denied Creed and myself the happiness and joy we so clearly bring to each other.

Creed was devastated when it turned out I wasn’t pregnant. Not because he wanted to control me or because I was merely a vessel to give him kids, but because he wantedhisbabies to be withme.

A sob catches in my throat.

“It’s going to be okay, angel. Just keep running.” I hear the plea in Creed’s voice.

Then I hear the roar of a motorcycle and people screaming as it bursts into view, and they dive out of the way as it flies toward me.

“He’s here,” I choke. But I know from the shouts behind me that the men are still chasing me.

Will they open fire? Will there be a shoot-out? Will innocent people die because of me?

A huge guy riding a large black motorcycle with subtle silver flames hurdles toward me, like one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse. I recognize Bane from the picture Creed had sent. Seeing his grim face, one might think he heralds death, but all I see is a lifeline.

Smoke billows, and the smell of rubber on asphalt assaults my nose as Bane brakes and swings the bike around to face the other way. He pushes a helmet at me and aims a gun at the racing men behind me. It’s a warning as he doesn’t shoot, and the two men slow and hold up their hands, their chests heaving.

“Get on, sugar,” Bane rumbles.

“Thank fuck,” Creed grits through the phone. “Go, Sophie. Go with Bane, angel.”

I shove my phone into my back pocket, not disconnecting the call with Creed, and slam the helmet on my head, working the strap as I swing my leg over the bike. It isn’t a two-seater bike, but I won’t be prissy about getting up close and personal with the man, a total stranger, who just saved me.

The sicario and other guy have completely backed off, but Bane doesn’t waste time and peels out as soon as I’m on.

“Hold on to me tight and lean whichever way I am,” he shouts over the noise of the bike’s straight pipes.

Squished against his broad back, I do as he instructs, my legs hugging his hips, and my arms wrapping around his taut waist. Never having been on a motorcycle, I’m terrified of falling off. I’m also terrified of being shot in the back and realize Bane is zigzagging as he drives and keeps a watch in the rearview mirror as much as ahead.

A tremor runs down my spine, and I yell over the sound of the bike and wind as he races us off campus, “They gave up easily if they were coming for me, don’t you think?”

He nods, and I see the grim set to his stumbled jaw in the rearview mirror. As we get closer to the street, my musing and fears are actualized when I see the face of my father. He raises a gun out the window of an SUV.

“Gun, at ten o’clock!” I yell, and Bane immediately swerves, dodging us between vehicles as we launch off the curb.

I hold on for dear life as he throttles the bike, so we shoot forward and weaves us through traffic. Horns blare as tires squeal, and I don’t have to look back to know the SUV is pursuing us.

“Nice work spotting that. Keep your eyes peeled, sugar,” Bane shouts.

How he can be so utterly calm, I have no freaking idea—especially since it feels like we’re cans sitting on the fencepostjust waiting to get shot down. At least in a vehicle, you have some protection with the metal, fiberglass, glass, and seat stuffing, even if it isn’t bulletproof.

Bane drives like a maniac, barreling through traffic and gaining distance due to the bike’s agility that the bulky SUV lacks.

Vibrations reverberate and bounce off the buildings that encase the street. Bane takes a hard left, and I lean with him, clutching him tighter as the bike tilts toward the asphalt racing by.

The noise and vibrations escalate, and up ahead, I see something that makes me want to weep. Ahoardof bikers takes up the complete street and increases speed as Bane approaches. They part like the Red Sea, and Bane threads between them. I twist to look behind me and watch the gap close. They surround us, protect us—protect me—amongst them.

My eyes meet a biker with a scarred face, crooked nose, and white streaks through his beard. He epitomizes a hardened, raw man who lives big and rides hard. There’s a gap between his front teeth; one tooth is angled and broken off, but his smile is big, and he winks. I can’t help smiling back at him.

I can’t reach my phone in my back pocket because I don’t trust myself to shift my weight or let go of Bane; however, I feel comfort knowing that Creed is still on the line. Or maybe he isn’t because my phone disconnected the call or because he had to turn it off when their plane took off.

But I feel safer now. Knowing Creed has my back to protect me, even when he isn’t physically here. Somehow, he knew the threatto me before disaster struck. He had pulled out the stops to keep me safe.

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