Page 99 of Creeping Lily
I reach up, fingers brushing dust from its casing, and pull it down. It’s light, perfectly balanced, made for speed. I thumb the safety off and squeeze the trigger. The motor whines to life with a sharp, electric scream that fills the aisle, rattling in my bones. The teeth blur, hungry and fast.
The two still standing freeze. One swears under his breath. The other takes a slow step back.
I advance, the blade inches from the first man’s chest, its vibration humming through the air. Then I shift toward their leader—the one with the gun. He’s on his knees now, blood dribbling from his nose, eyes wide.
“Be sure to go back and tell whoever sent you…” My voice drops to something colder than steel. “…that Titan sends his regards.”
I grab a fistful of his hair and wrench his head back until hisspine arches. His breath stinks of fear. Blood pools under his chin, but it’s not enough. Not for the message I need to send.
I hold his gaze, make sure the others are watching, then lower the spinning blade. It meets flesh with no hesitation. A fine mist sprays across my mask, my hands, the shelves behind me. The chainsaw whines higher as I carve a straight, deliberate path from throat to gut. The smell of copper fills the air, thick and metallic, clinging to my skin.
The man’s body slumps, spilling onto the linoleum in a river of red. The two who can still run are already gone, their boots hammering toward the exit. The third—my knee-shot friend—moans and tries to crawl away. I let him. Every story needs a witness.
I drop the chainsaw beside the corpse and straighten, chest rising slow and steady.
Lily is still on the floor. Her eyes are huge, her skin pale, and she’s shaking so hard I can hear her breath hitch. When I reach for her, she recoils, pressing herself back into the shelving like it might swallow her whole.
The look she gives me is worse than any blade.
I lift her anyway, ignoring the way her fists push weakly at my chest. She’s nothing in my arms—light enough to sling over my shoulder without effort. Behind us, the store manager shouts something about damages, about calling the police, but I don’t hear him.
All I hear is Lily’s breathing. All I feel is the tremble of her body against mine.
I carry her out into the night, into the safety of my car, blood still wet on my gloves. And for the first time in years, I don’t know if she’s more afraid of them… or of me.
We’ve tradedthe Pontiac for a RAM—bigger, quieter, and anonymous enough to blend into backroads without drawing attention. The kind of truck nobody looks at twice. My muscle car sits two towns back in the parking lot of a sleepy shopping strip, tucked between a laundromat and a hardware store. I locked my phone in the glove compartment before I walked away. It’s safer that way. I hope I see her again—my car, not the phone—but I’m not counting on it.
We drive through the night in silence, headlights carving narrow tunnels through the dark. The road curves and dips through empty fields and forest, the kind of terrain that swallows you whole if you stray from the asphalt. My hands stay steady on the wheel, my eyes flicking to the rearview every few minutes. My skin is still tacky with blood; my clothes carry the iron-heavy stink of it. I don’t bother explaining, and Lily doesn’t ask—not at first.
It takes two hours before she finally speaks.
“You’ve made me an accessory to murder.”
Her voice is low, like saying it too loud might make it more real. She lifts her eyes to me, but they don’t stay there long. They drop to the dash, to her knees, anywhere but my face. Shame sits heavy on her features.
I glance at her. “You sound more like a lawyer than a journalist.”
“This isn’t funny, Titan.” There’s no shake in her voice now—just anger. “You kidnapped me. And I could’ve lived with that. Watching you kill a woman… maybe I could stomach that, if what you said she was doing is true. But killing a man…” Her voice falters. “Killing a man in cold blood and taking pleasure in it? That’s…” She exhales sharply, her lip curling. “…just fucked up on so many levels.”
I can’t help the grin that tugs at my mouth. Hearing Lily curse is new. I didn’t think she had it in her.
“Self-defense, Lily. Self-defense.”
“Only to stop him. Not to shred his body until his intestines—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head like she can’t believe her own words. “God, I can’t even say it.”
I almost laugh. Her phrasing has a twisted kind of poetry to it. “Kill or be killed. That’s how these people work. I wasn’t going to risk your safety.”
“Why?” The word cracks sharp. “Why is it so important for you to protect me? You don’t even know me!”
Her tone is defensive, and I know where this is headed. Defensive Lily gets caught in her own head, and when she’s there, I can’t pull her out. And I can’t lose her—not again.
“I know you, Lily,” I say, my voice low. “Better than you know yourself. And think what you want about me, but if the roles were reversed—if it was someone you cared about—you’d do the same thing.”
Her mouth opens like she’s ready to argue, but nothing comes out. She shuts it again, chewing on my words. She watches me in that long, heavy way that says she’s not just trying to understand what I said—she’s trying to figure out why I care at all.
“It’s late,” I say finally, pulling the truck into a dirt drive and cutting the engine. The keys click in my hand.
“What is this place?”
