Page 76 of Creed

Criminals came to my rescue. Creed's family used their resources and connections to protect me. Bane took a risk to rescue me. I'm a stranger to the Santoro family and Bane but there's been no hesitation. In the past thirty minutes, I've seen what has been role modeled my whole life by my grandparents—you help others.

Bane turns his head to the side. “You’re not out of the woods yet, sugar, but we’ll keep you safe until your man arrives.”

My chest clenches at someone calling Creed ‘my man.’ God, I want that so badly.

“Why do you keep calling me sugar?” I ask Bane over the wind.

He turns his head again, flashing a smile that, if I wasn’t absolutely and helplessly in love with Creed, it might make me swoon a bit. “Would you rather sugar tits?”

I choke, then half-croak, half-laugh. “No.”

His thick back rumbles as he laughs, too. “When I got your picture from Ash, I could tell you were a woman who would hate being called sweetheart, even though you’re dead-ringer sweetheart material. My nana’s name was Sophie, and I can’t bring myself to call you that, because as much as I loved Nana, she was a horrid old hag.”

“Well, I guess sugar is better than sweetheart or sugar tits.” I laugh.

He focuses on the road. “We’re going to break off from the group because we’re too easy to track.”

There’s comfort in being like a guppy in the middle of a vast school of fish, protected from the sharks. But Bane has a point. He pulls ahead in the group, starting to work toward the side, and I notice other bikes with females on the back.

Diversions or out for the ride?

I say another pleaded prayer for no one to die today because of me.

Is my father here for his own purposes, or is this cartel sanctioned for some reason?

The sudden, unbidden thought makes me shudder.

“You okay?” Bane calls back to me.

I nod because I can’t get words out at the moment.

Groups around us break off, and our smaller group takes a right, leading to a dark street and an underpass under a bridge. There’s a truck with a trailer parked up ahead, and Bane aims for that while the others keep going straight, each throwing up an arm in salute as they drive away, and Bane slows down.

A long-legged man, whom I could only describe as utterly gorgeous, gets out of the truck. A long-sleeve shirt is under his leather vest, and instead of jeans, he wears black cuffed pants that are half shoved into combat boots. He strides with the stealth of a wild cat to the trailer and lowers the ramp.

Without hesitation, Bane pulls up the ramp and parks his bike beside another one already loaded in the trailer.

I pop off, undoing the helmet Bane loaned me. He puts the stand out, swinging his long, thick leg over the seat, leaves both helmets attached to the bike, and hurries me out of the trailer.

“Sophie, Army. Army, Sophie,” Bane introduces us quickly as he ushers me to the back of the truck. “Get in and stay out of sight.”

I climb in, lying flat on the seat, and wiggle to get the phone out of my back pocket. “Creed?”

“Fuck,” he breathes. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

My eyes well with tears, but I fight them back, biting my lip. Now that the immediate threat has passed, I feel myself starting to unravel, but I resist, refusing to give in. I don’t want to show weakness to Creed or my rescuers. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as Bane and Army enter the truck.

“You okay?” Creed asks, concerned. “I know that’s a stupid question, but answer it, regardless.”

“Yeah. Thank you.” Then I realize I’m a thankless shit, and I half-sit up and touch Bane’s arm. When he turns to me, Isay, “Thank you for…” My throat closes, preventing me from continuing, and he nods.

“Anytime, sugar.”

Hearing Creed’s growl of dislike at that nickname, I chuckle.

“Your man hates the name.” Bane guesses, and I nod. “Tough shit, Santoro,” he says loud enough for Creed to hear. “That’s my payment for rescuing your girl.”

“Let me talk to him,” Creed growls.

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