Page 123 of Creeping Lily

“I wouldn’t hurt you, Lily,” Bentley says. His tone almost fools me—it’s softer, almost human. Maybe he even believes it. But I know better. Monsters never see themselves as demons.

“I’m a loose end,” I whisper, the realization slamming into me. “I’m the part of your history you can’t risk anyone finding out about.”

I know exactly what he stands to lose if the truth surfaces. I could ruin him without even trying. One word from me and his political career dies before it’s even born. And Bentley has always craved power more than anything else.

“I won’t hurt you,” he repeats.

“You already have.”

My voice is low, choked, like it’s clawing its way through water. He hurt me, and I buried it. I moved on. I was living my life. He never should have come back.

I turn to Linc. “Is that why you came back?”

He nods, slow and certain, his gaze drifting from me to Bentley, then back to me, carrying a quiet promise.

“I came back because I knew he would,” Linc says. “I knew he’d make a move. Bentley Walker doesn’t leave loose ends. You’re the wild card.”

“That’s why you told me to stop digging into the Walkers.”

“I don’t want you anywhere near that family.”

“We’reyour family!” Bentley roars, the sound cracking like a whip. “You fucking traitor! Everything we’ve done—everything—was for this family, but you… you had to fuck it all up and turn yourself into a goddamn serial killer!”

“You’re the one who fucked this up, Bentley!” Linc’s fury is a living thing now, clawing its way out of him. “Sitting up there on your high horse, thinking you could get away with what you did to her! How many other girls have you ruined, you worthless piece of shit?”

I’ve never seen him like this—deranged, vibrating with pure rage. He lifts his gun, aims it at his brother without hesitation. Bentley mirrors him, and suddenly they’re locked in a standoff that makes the air feel heavy and dangerous.

“Lily, come here,” Bentley orders, his voice sharp enough to slice skin.

“Lily, don’t,” Linc says, all steel and warning.

I stay frozen, halfway between them, my heart hammering. I am the grenade in Bentley’s perfect little political war room, the one thing that can collapse his entire house of cards. He’s not here to mend anything—he’s here to erase me. Linc, on the other hand, is burning himself alive just to keep me standing.

“Lily.” Bentley’s voice drops into something feral.

The gunshot is an explosion.

The sound rips the air apart. The smell of gunpowder slams into me, acrid and sharp. My ears ring as I drop my hands to my head, too late to stop the sound from cutting through me.

Then comes the thump.

I turn in time to see the red spreading across Linc’s chest, the bloom too dark, too fast. His hoodie drinks it in greedily, and my stomach twists.

The pain in my chest is instant and blinding, like my ribs have been split open. My legs lock, refusing to move toward him even as every nerve in me screams to.

His eyes find mine. There’s no fear there—only something fierce, almost defiant. He spreads his arms wide, like a man offering himself up to the blade. Then his knees hit the floor, and he folds forward, face-first into the hardwood.

“You shot him,” I breathe, though it’s barely sound at all. My lungs form a scream that refuses to leave my throat.

I can’t look away from him. From the stillness that’s replaced all that fire. I’m split open by too many shocks at once—seeing him alive after believing him dead, unmasking the man who’s stalked me from the shadows, and now… watching him bleed out at my feet.

62

LILY

“Get your fucking hands off me!” I scream, the words ripping up from my chest until my throat burns. It’s not just rage—it’s grief, sharp and feral.

Bentley doesn’t flinch. His fingers are iron around my arm, crushing bone and muscle as if he means to leave his mark there forever. He drags me down the narrow cellar passage, the air thick with the stench of damp stone and decay.