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Though his words when he said that what was happening between him and me wasn’t like last time still confused me. Had he meant that we could work this time? Or had he meant that he didn’t want to get emotions involved at all?

Doubts, questions, and concerns flooded me all day. Earlier today, Ivy had taken Connor and Ollie to the park with the supervision of about ten members. Now they were passed out—like any normal people at this time. After all, it was nearly one in the morning, and Creed still wasn’t back.

My stomach twisted and tightened like there was glass inside, slowly cutting me up with nerves. I just had a very strong feeling something was wrong.

I was lying on my side, scrolling social media, when I heard the steel gates open. I threw the blankets back, and the fact I’m only wearing one of Creed’s T-shirts escaped my memory as I rushed for the door. I couldn’t explain it. It was as if I just knew he had done something.

Rushing up the hallway, I heard the clubhouse door downstairs open as I reached the staircase.

“Fucking leave it, Viper,” I heard Creed growl.

The stairs creaked as I walked down them.

“Nah, fuck that, mate, you need—” Viper’s gaze flashed, then he barely looked at me before looking back at Creed. “Don’t be a dick,” he said before walking around Creed.

Viper gave me a forced smile but avoided my eyes as he walked past me on the staircase.

I walked down the rest of the stairs, and my eyes remained locked on Creed’s back.

“Creed, what is going on?” I asked. My voice was low, but in the quietness of the clubhouse, it sounded like I had yelled.

Creed turned around. The glass that had been swirling around my stomach felt like it was now slicing my flesh to pieces. I saw the balaclava, the dark clothes, and his vest was missing. I knew that he’d done something that I would struggle to accept.

I felt like I was swallowing razor blades as I went to speak to him.

“What have you done?” I asked the question, but I wasn’t prepared for the answer, and he knew because he didn’t answer it. Instead, he walked to the bar, grabbing a bottle of bourbon.

“Leave, Holly,” he said the words, but I just knew he didn’t want me to. Yet I stood there, wondering if I could handle the truth.

“You killed someone tonight, didn’t you?”

I watched as his grip on the glass tightened. It was the shock in my voice that echoed through the room. I knew Creed. I knew the type of man he was, deep down, but I was beginning to wonder if this war would slowly drown the man I knew? Would the Creed that I knew survive this?

He brought the whiskey bottle to his lips, now answering my question, but I didn’t need him to.

I just stared at him, my mouth dropping because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I had seen that cold, distant, calculating, and haunted look on so many members’ faces before. Mainly my father’s after he…

“Don’t, Creed,” I said, my voice tightening. “Please don’t do it.” I looked at him as he slowly brought his gaze to mine. “Don’t lose your soul to ghosts,” I whispered, tears filling my eyes.

His gaze went back to the bottle before he pushed it away and got up.

That was when his eyes met mine.

“Maybe I never had a soul, to begin with,” he muttered, walking past me, and my eyes clenched shut.

I had seen it before, me shutting off their emotions to cope with what they had done. I felt the tears gripping me. Creed was withdrawing. I saw it—fuck, I could feel it in those moments.

My father said that some bikers could handle the ghosts, while others let the ghosts consume them. I wasn’t losing Creed to ghosts of souls that he reaped. I spun around on my feet, rushing in his wake. He was walking up the hall when I gripped his shoulder, forcing him to turn around.

I saw the confusion on his face as I forced him to turn around. He wanted not to feel. He wanted to hide from his emotions. He wanted to let the ghosts consume him, and I wasn’t going to let that happen.

My lips met his cold lips. He didn’t kiss me back, but I just kissed him harder. I wasn’t losing him to dead souls.

I took his hand, hanging at his side, and placed it on my heart. My eyes locked with his smoldering ash-gray eyes.

“Feel,” I begged, my voice breaking. I knew that what I was asking would cause him heart-breaking pain. I knew it would consume his thoughts, drive his fears to be louder, make him question if he was a good man, but he had to know I would be there, by his side, to remind him of the facts about him. And the strongest fact being—I loved him. Which meant he was no monster.

His tattooed hand spread across my chest, his gaze going to mine, and I cupped his cheek with my hand, going up on my toes.