Page 118 of Creeping Lily
She nods, sharp and quick, and moves. Bare feet whisperagainst the wood as she heads for the bathroom. My ears are tuned to every creak of the cabin, every shift of air.
She’s halfway there when the front door explodes open.
The wood slams against the wall with a crack, the fading daylight spilling in like blood, and the world shrinks to the silhouette filling the frame.
Bentley Walker.
With a gun in his hand.
60
TITAN
Bentley fucking Walker.
The name hits me like a bad taste in my mouth. My teeth clamp down and every muscle in my body hums with anger. He stands in the doorway, eyes flicking from me to Lily and back again like he’s calculating how this will play out. The gun in his hand is casual but deliberate, and when he lifts it toward Lily, it’s like a hook meant to drag her across the floor to him.
She freezes halfway between us—caught, suspended. Her chest rises and falls too fast, her gaze darting between our faces as if she can stitch together the jagged edges of whatever this moment is supposed to be.
“Lily, come,” he barks. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command—like he’s calling a dog.
“Lily, don’t,” I growl, the sound low enough to rattle the air between us as I inch forward.
She throws up a trembling hand, warning me back. She’s torn, I can see it—the history between them bleeding under her skin, but I’m the devil she’s already danced with.
“I followed you here,” Walker says, not looking at me, noteven blinking. His eyes stay locked on her. My gun is aimed at his chest; his is aimed at mine. We’re one twitch away from ending this in blood. “I knew this psychopath would try something, so I tracked your phone.”
And there it is—the answer to how he found us. Not through me, but through her. My gut twists at my own oversight. I should have thought of it, should have cut that thread before he could pull it. Too late now.
“You tracked my phone,” Lily whispers, her voice cracked and searching for something she can’t quite grab hold of.
“I’m taking you home,” he says, voice softening in a way that makes me want to put a bullet between his eyes. “I won’t let him hurt you.”
“Why?” she asks, chin tilting in defiance. “Why would he hurt me?”
She’s digging for the answers I’ve refused her, and I can’t blame her. But she doesn’t run to him, and that’s all I need to know. If she really thought I was a threat to her, she’d already be behind him, using him like a shield.
“Because that’s what he does,” Walker snaps. “He hurts people. He kills. He maims. He’s not like us—he’s a monster.”
“How do you know that?” she presses. “You saw him that night we went for pizza. You saw him—but you didn’t know him. So how do you know what-who-he is?”
Good girl. Keep asking.
Walker grits his teeth. “This man is a killer. I’m here to help you.”
Her head tilts, uncertain, her mouth tightening in thought.
“Why don’t you tell her all the ways you can help her, Walker?” I say, voice flat as I steady my aim. My trigger finger is restless.
I catch the flicker in his throat when he swallows, trying to mask his nerves. But instead of moving toward him, Lily takestwo steps back from both of us, her eyes scanning for something—anything—that makes one of us less dangerous than the other. Truth is, she can’t trust either of us. But I’m not about to let her figure that out now.
“He’s a hired gun, Lily,” Walker says, chin jutting toward me. “He kills for a living. That’s what he does. He kills people!”
Her head snaps toward me, her lips parting in shock.
She edges closer to him, and he senses it—like a predator catching the scent of blood in the water. His gaze locks on me, unblinking, relentless, as if he’s zeroing in on the perfect kill shot.
“I might’ve believed Michael’s accident,” he says, voice cold and measured. “But when Mackenzie supposedly killed himself? Oh no. They called it a heart attack—because the Somers couldn’t stomach the scandal. But I knew better. That bastard didn’t have a suicidal bone in his body. Narcissists don’t end their own lives—they love themselves too much. That’s when I started hunting for you.”
