Page 77 of Creed

I pass Bane the phone. He’s quiet as he listens to whatever Creed is saying, nodding solemnly, and I don’t think Creed is giving the biker shit about my new nickname.

“You have my word,” Bane finally says, then reaches back to give me the phone so I can speak with Creed again.

“Angel, I need to hang up for now. However, Bane knows how to get a hold of my pilot, so if you need anything, they can reach me.”

“Okay.” I lay down fully on the seat and close my eyes, suddenly feeling exhausted. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Sophie…” Creed pauses. “When I arrive, I’m not letting you go. Never again.”

My heart feels like it’s stitching itself back together with his words.

He’s always called me angel, and I finally fully embrace my fall from grace.

I speak the most honest words of my life. “I don’t want you to.”

“Good girl,” he rumbles, making my heart soar and my core clench. “Always my good girl. My angel.Mine.I’ll see you soon.”

Chapter 23

Sophie

Creed will land atthe airport in less than an hour. Bane and Army will drop me off, and I’ll load onto the Santoro private jet. Then…

I’m actually not sure what.

Creed said he wouldn’t let me go again, and I agreed, but what does that mean?

What would happen with my schooling? I’m here on a scholarship; I can’t afford school without it and don’t want to ask Antonio. And the cost of my schooling isn’t the only issue; if I’m not attending school, I have to leave the States.

Creed can’t expect me to forgo my goals and plans, right?

Will he make San Diego his primary place of residence?

Will I move into the penthouse?

My mind whirls with questions as I stare at the truck’s roof as Army drives. I don’t know where we’re going because I’m still lying in the back seat. I’m relying on them, trusting them.

Now that my adrenaline has leveled off and the imminent threat is removed, my mind races.

These men are criminals. Bikers. Part of a motorcycle club. They aren’t greasy or dirty, but they aren’t refined or polished members of regular society, either.

This line of thinking makes me recall Manuel Morales’s visits to my home community, where my grandparents always dragged us to whatever event he was featured at, flashing his big smile and touting all the benefits of his donation. He’s the spitting image of refined and polished. Yet, he’s a rival of Creed’s, who has been doing something to ‘hit at him,’ and he’s here in the city with my father. Anyone with connections with my father can’t be good, I’m sure of it.

The clothes and polished smiles don’t make the person. Nor does a rugged, rough-looking man mean they’re cruel or evil.

“You’re going to start a fire with all that thinking, sugar.”

My eyes swivel to Bane, who leans between the seats, looking at me.

He had put on what they call a ‘cut’—a leather vest. I noticed the patches on his and Army’s; they have Havoc Guardians onthe back above a logo of a skull with a halo over top and what looks like a trident spearing through it. Below that, it says San Francisco. The swarm of bikers had the same name and logo, but San Diego was on theirs. Bane’s front has a patch that says VP, and Army’s says Road Captain. Their club, or organization, or however they refer to themselves, definitely has some structure and hierarchy.

“Can I sit up?” I ask.

Army glances at me in the rearview mirror. “I’d rather not take the chance of any CCTVs catching you.”

“But they can see your faces.”

“We have blocks and protection in the system,” he states, “so our images are immediately deleted.”

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