Page 50 of Creep (Vulture Hollow MC #2)

Creed

I’ve been away for only a few hours, and I already miss Angel so much it’s like an ache deep inside me. I was sure I’d always be a loner in one way or another, but he’s changed everything. He’s even given me my name back.

In the morning we picked up food from the canteen but then brought it back home for a lazy breakfast. He even brewed me some tea and added a protective mark as he was mixing it in. I don’t really understand how it works, but I appreciate his efforts regardless.

Angel sat in my lap as we talked, and I can’t get over how natural it feels to be touched by him. Instead of agitating my anxieties, he soothes them.

He’s invited me to be a part of his life in so many ways already and wears the property vest so proudly.

We’ve talked about moving to a bigger cabin in the future, together with my spider.

I was embarrassed at first when Angel pulled out the zip lock bag in which I stored his hair, but he then carefully put it into a decorative bottle closed with a cork, so it can be displayed on a shelf.

He doesn’t think I’m creepy. He sees and accepts all of me.

Eventually, Angel had to go deal with a hairdressing appointment as it’s important for him to establish himself in Vulture Hollow.

I ended up bringing some of my books from the cave, and it was so strange to revisit the space that’s been my home for years and look at it with fresh eyes.

I used to consider it cozy and comfortable, but I see now it lacks the warmth Angel bestows on everything around him.

Only a week ago, I feared I would miss my cave if I moved out, but there’s no comparing this dwelling to the home Angel and I are weaving together.

Besides, I can keep using it as my literal man cave.

I was about to fetch another backpack of my belongings when Prophet asked me to take a delivery of magic mushrooms to a town two hours away.

It’s some kind of new business venture brokered by Brigid with one of her esoteric friends, but it’s not my place to question my prez.

Prophet knows what he’s doing, I’m just the delivery man.

At least it kept me busy. Throughout the day, I texted Angel when I was off the bike, but he’s at work, so I didn’t push when he stopped answering late in the afternoon.

I did end up picking up some wax for his candle-making efforts from the store belonging to the addressee of the magic mushroom package.

The woman told me she’s starting an artisanal psychedelics business—whatever that might mean—but all I care about is making my Angel smile when he unwraps my gift.

He was very excited after helping Brigid produce a batch of candles and claims he wants to experiment on his own too.

I love to see him happy.

Which is why I’m a little annoyed that I don’t get to see his smiling face upon my return to Vulture Hollow.

Not with him really, just with life getting in the way of me being inside him 24/7.

But I understand he has a job, and that job means his hands are often busy in people’s hair, so he can’t answer texts whenever he feels like it.

Still, I walk around our cabin, unsettled that it’s taking so long.

When I can’t take it anymore, I head over to the cabin he’s claimed as his salon.

I peek in through the windows and make a mental note of needing to renovate it for him, but something isn’t quite right.

The lights are off, and the door is locked.

Strange.

He could have gone to the canteen. He could also be chatting to new people, since he’s social like that, but then… he would have answered me already. He’s made a point of telling me that it’s important, so I can’t imagine him ignoring me on purpose for so long.

I hope I’m not being too needy when I call him, but he doesn’t answer.

Even when I call again.

And again.

A cold, uncomfortable feeling settles in my stomach.

I rush over to the small parking lot where everyone leaves their cars. His is gone.

He might have wanted to go into town for some reason, but wouldn’t he have told me? There are a million explanations for his absence, so why do none of them feel right?

I know others would write off my worries as paranoia, or mock that I’m like a barnacle that can’t exist without the rock it’s settled on, but I don’t care.

My feet move of their own accord as I march toward Prophet’s house while checking my phone.

Evening is already approaching, and we talked about seeing each other in the afternoon.

Angel’s no flake. I’m sure something has happened but also dread the possibility that it might be more serious than a broken phone.

I want to rip my claws into the invisible threat to my precious lover.

Any hurt done to him might as well be a stab at my heart.

I climb the wooden stairs leading up to Prophet’s two-storey house built around an old tree.

He calls it a tree house, but it’s more of an observation tower-slash-stylish bachelor pad.

I’ve not been inside since that painful day when I brought Angel over, because the memory of it makes my stomach clench with shame, but I’m not about to feel sorry for myself when Angel might be in danger.

I knock on the door with my fist, hoping the force behind it communicates my urgency. I’m ready to just barge in, but I want to give Prophet the chance to open.

“Fuck off!” Is sadly all I hear from the first floor window, where his bedroom is.

Sadly for him , because I’m most definitely not giving up. Prophet gave me the key himself, so he can now suffer the consequences. I walk in and pay no attention to his mess before climbing the winding stairs. At the landing, I’m spat out straight into his sprawling bedroom.

I’m about to speak when I spot two women in his massive bed, both covering themselves up and scowling at me. One has tattoos all the way up her arms, and the other, blood red hair.

Prophet’s in the middle and sits up, staring at me like he’s considering which ancient torture technique to utilize on me.

“What?” he snarls. “If you’re here to stare, should have climbed a branch, because I’m not giving anyone a show!”

“I… No. It’s Angel. I need to talk to you .” I hope it’s clear that I mean alone .

Prophet rubs his face, messing up his beard, but then climbs out from under the covers, naked as the day he was born. He turns to the women with a smirk, walking backward toward the balcony doors. “I will be back.”

They end up laughing and shaking their heads, then whisper something to each other, but I couldn’t give less of a damn about Prophet’s love life. I open the balcony door so we’re out faster. If he wants to risk flashing all of Vulture Hollow, that’s not a problem for me.

He grabs a pack of cigarettes off a hand-carved chair and closes the door behind us. There’s a chill in the air, but Prophet doesn’t seem to mind as he lights his cig.

“Nasty black eye there, Creep.” Prophet cocks his head at me, arms crossed over his chest. The occult tattoos are on display like a protective sigil. “It’s not his work, is it?”

“No. Of course not. Angel wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

I stand closer, so we’re not overheard, even though it does make me uncomfortable that he’s dressed in only body hair. At least this means he really doesn’t give a shit whether I’m gay or not.

“What is it then? And it better be good,” he mumbles, pointing at the door to his bedroom.

“Angel’s gone. His car is gone. He’s not answering his phone.

It’s not like him. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

I wouldn’t come to you if I didn’t think it was serious.

” I tap the banister, unable to contain the anxiety swallowing my chest. It’s like a black hole I’m falling into, a new crevice opening in the caves, and I’m tumbling ever deeper, scraping my nails on the wall in helpless terror.

Prophet narrows his eyes. “You think he ghosted you?”

“No,” I say instantly. The very idea is absurd. “He wouldn’t . We said—” My throat tightens around the words. “He’s not that kind of person. He accepted my patches.”

Prophet’s expression changes, and something flickers behind his eyes.

As if he’s waking up to what I’m saying with every inhale of smoke.

“Creep, he’s… I’ve only known him a while, but he’s a gentle soul.

You have to take into account that yesterday’s fight might have spooked him. The biker life isn’t for everyone—”

I slap the cig out of his hand and push him at the railing in fury.

The wood creaks when he hits it. “You’re not listening!

I know Angel better than I know my own soul.

Call it fucking psychic if you want. It’s like he disappeared into thin air, slipped into darkness and I’m on the edge of it, clawing at the shadows, because I know he needs me.

I can’t reach him, Prophet.” My voice cracks, and I can’t even be embarrassed because I’d crawl naked over broken glass if it got me closer to Angel.

Prophet looks straight into my eyes, holding onto the balustrade as if he expects me to hurl him over it. “Okay. I hear you, brother.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, and I’m surprised how calming that feels. “What are you saying happened? Where do we start looking?”

The “we” in that last question makes me feel less alone. I won’t have to dig through the dark with bleeding fingers all by myself. As I wrack my brain for clues, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass doors of the balcony.

“Domino,” I whisper, his name like bile spilling over my tongue.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this but I have to.

Domino’s his ex, and he’s not taking rejection well.

He’s obsessed with Angel, and yesterday, he found out where he is and with who.

You must keep this a secret until we’re sure, but he could have taken Angel.

He knows this area, and wherever Angel went, Domino could have followed him.

Fuck!” I can’t keep my voice down as I kick the innocent wooden chair.

“He took him. He must have. I should have been there. I should have—” I cover my head and scoot down, once more falling into endless darkness when I remember Domino’s hand on Angel’s neck.

Prophet crouches beside me, then exhales through his nose, calm as always. “We don’t panic. We act.”

I drop my hands to look at him, slouched and curled up as if I’m no longer human but some creature from the caves. My vision’s still shaking at the edges. “You believe me?” I croak.

He meets my eyes, and his hand is back on my arm, warm and grounding. “I believe the look on your face. You’ve never come to me like this. Never asked for special treatment. If you say someone took Angel, I’m going to believe it until I’ve got proof otherwise.”

The calm force in his voice cuts through the screaming panic in my head, and I can see again.

He stands and reaches down to haul me up.

“But I need your head on straight now. If you spiral, we lose time. Domino’s their road captain, a core member.

I’ll arrange a meeting with the Butchers that requires him to be there in an instant.

If he has Angel, he’d have to either bring him or leave him on his own.

I’ll get some of our guys to be the eyes on his house, but if he took Angel elsewhere, we’ll be able to follow him after the meeting.

One of our guys is good at stalking.” Prophet smirks, and I’m so overwhelmed it takes me a moment to realize he means me.

I nod.

“We’ll find him,” Prophet says and pulls me into a quick bear hug. It’s a rare thing to happen, but for once, I don’t stiffen and instead pat his back too.

Muffled laughter and whistling reaches us through the balcony door and I spot the women in his bed giggling as they watch us, which reminds me Prophet’s naked. I pull away awkwardly, but he’s already going back inside.

“Sorry, babes, will need to head out after all. You know where the beers and snacks are if you want to stick around.” Prophet turns to me as he grabs his phone. “Go rally the guys. I’ll meet you in fifteen by the garage.”

I stumble out of his house dazed but with a purpose beneath the fog in my head. I now regret being respectful and not putting a tracker on Angel’s car.