Page 10 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Angel

I can’t believe I’m zip-tied, gagged, and blindfolded again, but at least we’re on the move.

The faked illness is a low blow, but if I’ve learned anything from true crime documentaries, it’s that the longer a person remains in captivity, the smaller the chance of them ever resurfacing again.

And as gentle as Creep seems, I’d rather not risk remaining his cave-mate forever.

Still, I expected him to see right through me, but he fell for the lie, not once questioning my words, almost as if he were… naive.

He’s in a biker gang. He killed Adam with no remorse. Snapped his neck as if he’s done it many times before.

But he looks at me like I’m a precious butterfly and if he handles me too roughly, my wings might break. It’s endearing, even though it shouldn’t be.

I’m led through the tunnels, and at this point, I don’t even try to remember the maze of twists and turns.

I have to depend on him with every step, so his sturdy presence is strangely soothing.

He smells of fresh pastries, which is also reassuring.

It makes me feel like there will be light at the end of this long and dark tunnel.

I know we’re out when my foot hits what has to be grass, and I barely keep myself from crying.

Fresh air. Grass. Sun on my skin. I’m out of the caves.

Away from wild vultures that might hunt me down for killing their young.

Once again, saliva is dampening my chin, but this time I know my captor plans to help me, and that makes the terror of being deprived of my words and sight less terrifying.

I make sure to keep breathing as if I’m about to have a panic attack.

There I was thinking this whole idea was pretty much a fluke, but he keeps slowing down and stroking me as we go over soft terrain.

I recognize moss, leaves, and ground. An owl hoots somewhere above, and I lean into him, because the lack of vision is so disorienting I worry it’s about to fly straight into me.

But my flawed hero shushes me gently just as I notice a familiar noise from someplace close.

Music? A mix of folk and metal?

“We’ll be taking the stairs now,” he whispers, and this time I panic for real, because I’ve got no idea where we are or where I could fall if I lose balance. Are there railings on these stairs? Not that I’d be able to grab them.

I try to communicate with a helpless mumble as he guides my leg forward.

“Okay, okay, how about this, hm?” Creep asks, and picks me up without waiting for an answer. I hook my zip-tied hands behind his neck. If we go down, we go down together. “That’s it,” he says, not at all unhappy about my move. “We’re almost there.”

Now I can hear the music loud and clear. Is that… Aerosmith? Surely, after what I’ve told him, he must have brought me to someone with a medical licence…

Wooden steps thump softly under our combined weight, but it seems we’ve reached the very top at last, because Creep exhales, and then, a loud ring cuts through the air,

“Yeah, yeah,” comes a low male voice from somewhere behind a wall.

Creep steps back when we hear someone approach, then a door opens and—

“The hell?”

Creep groans and strides into… wherever we are so abruptly my foot brushes against the man. “I’m sorry, Prophet. I fucked up. I need Parker, but I know I have to clear it with you first. He has a heart issue, might need an IV.”

Is the choking sensation in my chest guilt?

I really didn’t think he would take me this seriously, but now the weight of my lies is crushing, because he sounds so distressed. People don’t usually care for me with such sincerity.

“What the fuck? No. Why is he tied up and gagged? Goddess…” Prophet mumbles as Creep sets me down and maneuvers his head from between my arms. “Take those rags off him!”

My mind screams Yes, please , but there must be a reason why Creep chose to keep me in the dark about where we’re going. What if seeing Prophet’s face means I can never ever leave?

Creep (because it must be him) strokes my hair as if to calm me. “I said I fucked up, okay?” This is the first time I hear him raise his voice. “He saw me do… shit, and I had to take him with me. But he’s got a delicate heart—”

“Okay, okay!” Prophet says and by the sound of steps, he approaches me. “I will take out your gag, but only if you promise not to scream. And to be clear, screaming wouldn’t help you anyway, understood?”

“I’ll do it myself!” Creep… growls?

It should not make me excited.

Prophet groans. “Fine, just do it.”

I tremble when he strokes my damp lips, but then the string keeping the gag in loosens, and Creep pulls the piece of fabric out with gentle fingers.

I want to speak, but when it’s finally possible, nothing comes to mind. I just stand still, alone and deserted in front of a faceless stranger.

“Creep?”

He strokes my hair again. “It’s okay, you can talk to him. He’ll call a doctor for you.”

Prophet sighs deeply. “So, kid, is the heart issue made up?”

Creep’s hand is off me, and there’s some kind of thud. “The fuck are you saying to him?”

I feel like I’m about to fall off a cliff, because each of the roads I can take from here could lead to my end.

Creep already trusts me, but if I admit I’ve been lying, he might forever see me as a traitor who used his conscience against him.

Prophet on the other hand is an enigma, someone I’m not sure I should trust, but when silence hangs in the air, I hang my head.

“I’m sorry.”

Neither of them will believe me, but it comes straight from the heart.

The silence is so deafening even the music feels like ringing in my ears. I wish for Creep’s hand back on my head so I know I’m safe, but why would he touch me again now that he knows I deceived him?

“Okay,” Prophet says. “I’ll now take off your blindfold, because if you’ve seen Creep and know his nickname, then the anonymity ship has sailed.” The fabric covering my eyes comes off and I meet a pair of intensely green eyes. The man smirks. “I get it, pretty face.”

“It’s not like that!” Creep snarls from the side where I see him slouch. He won’t even look at me.

Prophet is tall. Several amulets glimmer on his naked chest as he’s only wearing jeans. He’s covered in a mix of occult tattoos and I swear I recognize several protection sigils. His dark beard and long braid make him look like a Viking about to grab an axe.

But his place appears deceptively normal. Maybe even cozy, flooded with light coming from many large windows, and all I see outside is forest.

The walls, the floor, and all the furniture are made of pale wood.

The building seems small, with a living room big enough to house a leather sofa, a wall-mounted TV, and a narrow bookcase.

The kitchen starts behind a spiral staircase wrapped around a thick tree trunk, but I only see one of its walls from where we’re standing.

He just shows Creep his palm, all attention on me. “How long has he kept you?”

I whip my head to glance at Creep. “Has he done that before?” I ask in a small voice. The question immediately makes me feel less special. And I hate the fact that it bothers me. “I don’t know how much time passed. It was dark.”

Prophet’s features get more serious when he stares at Creep. “How long? Did you… hurt him? You know we don’t tolerate that shit.”

“I didn’t. Two days,” Creep says through his teeth.

To make matters worse, there’s a knock on the door, and another man comes in.

He looks about fifty, he’s ginger, and while his legs are kinda skinny, his chest and arms look massive.

The guy can probably lift his motorcycle.

When he frowns, all the freckles on his face seem to shift. “Hey prez, I… Fuck. Bad time?”

Prophet shakes his head and spreads his arms. “Hi Harvey. Nah, we’re just trying to work out why Creep abducted this guy and didn’t tell me about it.”

The middle-aged biker frowns, curling his lips until they resemble the pinched skin under his nose. “You did what? I told you this was coming,” he adds, raising his voice as he glances at Prophet.

“Nothing happened,” I mumble, but both men ignore me.

Prophet starts pacing around the room, his bare feet setting a rhythm to this intensifying clusterfuck. “No, you said he’ll bring over someone weird. This guy looks perfectly normal, even if zip-tied.”

Harvey shakes his head at Creep who retreats into the darkest corner like a kicked dog. “This is not normal.”

“He’s a witness,” Creep repeats.

Prophet takes a breath so deep his whole chest seems to expand. “What’s your name?” he asks me, and continues when I introduce myself. “So, Angel , there’s two paths for you right now. You either learn how to keep your mouth shut for life about whatever you saw him do, or—”

Creep jumps to his feet and pushes Prophet. “Don’t fucking threaten him!”

Harvey whistles and meets Prophet’s gaze with a smile. “Young love. Ain’t that cute.”

If this were directed at me, I’d probably joke around, but Creep’s getting redder, and his eyes dim as he focuses on the floor as if he wishes to memorize the exact pattern of the wood. I step closer, still zip-tied, still with a damp stain at the front of my shirt.

“I didn’t do it against you. I’m sorry I lied,” I try, feeling like a complete and utter idiot. Because why would I apologize to the man who abducted me, just because I’m feeling sorry for him? Stockholm syndrome has arrived early at Station Angel.

Creep ignores me, but Prophet addresses him regardless. “Did you clean up?”

Creep nods.

“We will talk more about this. It’s not ‘love’, Creep, if he doesn’t want to be here, understood?”

“I… hoped he’d want to stay,” Creep mumbles, breaking my heart.

I really shouldn’t care that much.

Harvey rolls his eyes. “So you zip-tied him? Get a grip, man…”

“He just needed time to think,” I say, stepping closer to Creep. “It’s fine. We all make mistakes, right? Like I gave a copy of my keys to the wrong person, and that’s why we’re all here.”