Page 140 of Creeping Lily
“T…Titan…”
The word is broken glass dragged across my soul. It’s not a name anymore. It’s a plea. A memory. A ghost of something she used to believe in.
Justin curses under his breath and lunges for the door. The metal rattle and she flinches, shrinking in on herself like even the sound of help is too much to bear. He shakes the lock, jaw tight, before ripping his pick set from his pocket. His hands work fast, desperate, the small click of metal against tumblers like frantic heartbeats in the silence.
But before hope can breathe, a voice slithers out of the dark—cold, amused, dripping venom.
“Well,” he drawls, low and venomous. “Isn’t this touching.”
Bentley.
He fills the doorway like evil incarnate, a gun loose in his hand, his smile cruel. The light behind him distorts his face, painting him less human and more monster. His eyes don’t even bother with Lily at first. They find me. They find the scar he carved into my chest and linger there, greedy, savoring it.
“You just can’t stay dead, can you?” His tone simmers with hate. He glances at the crimson soaking my shirt, and his smirk widens like he’s already savoring the next hole he’ll put through me. His finger twitches against the trigger, hungry.
Justin raises his gun, steady, steel in his voice. “Let her go.”
Bentley laughs. The sound isn’t laughter—it’s hollow, jagged, humorless. “You call this a rescue mission?” He spreads his arms, the gun dangling carelessly like an afterthought. “This is my kingdom. And you—” his eyes slash back to me—“you’re just a ghost trespassing on my throne.”
“You can have your fucking kingdom,” I snarl, stepping closer, hand hovering near my knife. “But Lily comes with me.”
For a flicker, his smile falters. Rage seethes in his eyes before the mask snaps back into place. His lip curls, teeth bared in a parody of amusement. “Always so righteous, Lincoln. Pretending you’re the savior. But you’re not. You’re filth, just like me. Broken. Selfish. You don’t save women—you hollow them out until there’s nothing left.”
His gaze finally drags to Lily. And that’s when he twists the knife.
“Isn’t that right, Lily?” His tone is poison in my ear. “Tell him how many times you begged me to stop whispering his name in your ear. How many nights you cried because I reminded you that no one was coming. That he left you. That he forgot you.”
Lily folds in on herself in the corner, her body trembling. Her hands clutch at her hair like she can claw his words out of her skull, but they’ve already rooted there. Her lips part soundlessly, her eyes glazed over, drowning in old torment. She doesn’t deny him. She doesn’t have the strength left to.
Something inside me snaps.
“Maybe I am broken,” I growl, my voice splintering under the weight of fury. “But at least I bleed for the people I love. You? You destroy everything you touch.”
Bentley’s smirk tears away, replaced by raw madness. He jerks the gun higher, voice cracking with obsession. “Sacrifices! You don’t know what I gave up for her. For all of it. You’ll never understand what it costs to keep a kingdom!”
“The only thing you’ve sacrificed,” I spit back, my throat raw, “is your soul.”
The room ignites.
Bentley fires. The gun’s roar is thunder in the stone chamber. But I’m already moving, knife flashing silver in the dark. Justin slams into him with bone-breaking force. The gun clatters to the ground. Bentley snarls, ripping a blade from his belt, slashing Justin’s arm open, blood spraying.
Lily screams. The sound shatters, her voice shredded. It isn’t just fear—it’s grief and despair and years of torment breaking loose.
“Get her out!” Justin bellows, wrestling Bentley, blood pouring from his sleeve.
But I can’t. My body’s failing, vision narrowing, but rage drags me forward. Bentley doesn’t see me until my boot collides with his face. Bone crunches. His head slams the floor, skull cracking against stone. His body slumps, limp.
The silence that follows is merciless. My chest burns, blood soaking me, dripping from my boot where it crushed him.
I lean down, close enough for him to hear me if he’s still clinging to consciousness. My voice is a blade pressed to his throat.
“Don’t you dare die yet,brother. Open your fucking eyes. I want you screaming when I carve the debt from your skin. You haven’t even started paying.”
71
LILY
Bentley is the one shackled now. The mighty Walker heir, the tormentor, the king of his own madness—reduced to a wreck bolted to stone. His face is a ruin, swollen and split, blood leaking from the cracks like ink from a shattered pen. One eye is swollen shut, the other stares glassy but alive, and for once he doesn’t look untouchable. He looks human. Pathetic. A grotesque canvas painted by Titan’s fury.
