Page 62 of Creeping Lily

TITAN

B entley fucking Walker.

The name hits me like a bad taste in my mouth.

My teeth clamp down and every muscle in my body hums with anger.

He stands in the doorway, eyes flicking from me to Lily and back again like he’s calculating how this will play out.

The gun in his hand is casual but deliberate, and when he lifts it toward Lily, it’s like a hook meant to drag her across the floor to him.

She freezes halfway between us—caught, suspended. Her chest rises and falls too fast, her gaze darting between our faces as if she can stitch together the jagged edges of whatever this moment is supposed to be.

“Lily, come,” he barks. It’s not an invitation. It’s a command—like he’s calling a dog.

“Lily, don’t,” I growl, the sound low enough to rattle the air between us as I inch forward.

She throws up a trembling hand, warning me back. She’s torn, I can see it—the history between them bleeding under her skin, but I’m the devil she’s already danced with.

“I followed you here,” Walker says, not looking at me, not even blinking. His eyes stay locked on her. My gun is aimed at his chest; his is aimed at mine. We’re one twitch away from ending this in blood. “I knew this psychopath would try something, so I tracked your phone.”

And there it is—the answer to how he found us. Not through me, but through her. My gut twists at my own oversight. I should have thought of it, should have cut that thread before he could pull it. Too late now.

“You tracked my phone,” Lily whispers, her voice cracked and searching for something she can’t quite grab hold of.

“I’m taking you home,” he says, voice softening in a way that makes me want to put a bullet between his eyes. “I won’t let him hurt you.”

“Why?” she asks, chin tilting in defiance. “Why would he hurt me?”

She’s digging for the answers I’ve refused her, and I can’t blame her. But she doesn’t run to him, and that’s all I need to know. If she really thought I was a threat to her, she’d already be behind him, using him like a shield.

“Because that’s what he does,” Walker snaps. “He hurts people. He kills. He maims. He’s not like us—he’s a monster.”

“How do you know that?” she presses. “You saw him that night we went for pizza. You saw him—but you didn’t know him. So how do you know what-who-he is?”

Good girl. Keep asking.

Walker grits his teeth. “This man is a killer. I’m here to help you.”

Her head tilts, uncertain, her mouth tightening in thought.

“Why don’t you tell her all the ways you can help her, Walker?” I say, voice flat as I steady my aim. My trigger finger is restless.

I catch the flicker in his throat when he swallows, trying to mask his nerves.

But instead of moving toward him, Lily takes two steps back from both of us, her eyes scanning for something—anything—that makes one of us less dangerous than the other.

Truth is, she can’t trust either of us. But I’m not about to let her figure that out now.

“He’s a hired gun, Lily,” Walker says, chin jutting toward me. “He kills for a living. That’s what he does. He kills people!”

Her head snaps toward me, her lips parting in shock.

She edges closer to him, and he senses it—like a predator catching the scent of blood in the water. His gaze locks on me, unblinking, relentless, as if he’s zeroing in on the perfect kill shot.

“I might’ve believed Michael’s accident,” he says, voice cold and measured.

“But when Mackenzie supposedly killed himself? Oh no. They called it a heart attack—because the Somers couldn’t stomach the scandal.

But I knew better. That bastard didn’t have a suicidal bone in his body.

Narcissists don’t end their own lives—they love themselves too much. That’s when I started hunting for you.”

Lily’s eyes follow the trail of his words until they land on me, pinning me in place—like she’s truly seeing me for the very first time.

“He was a bastard,” I rasp. “Like you said. And he deserved everything he got. They all did.”

“So you played executioner?” she screams. “How many bodies have you laid at my feet?”

“Lily,” Walker interrupts, pulling her toward him. She lets herself be guided, folding partly behind him, but still peeking around his shoulder.

My jaw locks so hard it grinds, a hot ache spreading up into my temples. Every muscle in my body goes rigid, my pulse thundering in my ears. The idea of him walking out that door with her—of his hands on her, his voice in her ear—makes something primal surge up inside me .

She’s mine to protect. Mine to keep safe. I’ve bled for that right, and I’ll burn the whole damn world before I watch her vanish into his shadow.

He takes one wrong step toward the door with her, and I’ll put him in the ground.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” he says to me, eyes cold. “You don’t belong in this world.”

“And you do?” I shoot back.

He smirks, but his grip on her tightens.

My free hand twitches with the urge to pull the trigger.

“Let her go,” I tell him, voice flat, deadly. “She has nothing to d with this.”

“She has everything to do with this,” he hisses.

Lily’s eyes cut to him at that, something sparking in her expression. She steps back from him, confusion pulling at her features.

“I won’t let you hurt her,” I snarl, but it rips from my throat more like a battle cry than a threat, my voice jagged enough to draw blood.

“Hurt her?” He scoffs, but his voice cracks in that almost-believable way con men perfect over a lifetime. Almost. I’ve seen him wear sincerity like a mask too many times to fall for it now. And she—God help her—she knows it too, even if she doesn’t want to admit it yet.

Lily steps out from behind him, the space between us shrinking but still a no-man’s-land. Her eyes dart between us—wide, glassy, and trembling like a deer frozen between two wolves as she tries to determine who is the safer option.

“Why did you come to Colt, Bentley?” she asks. Her voice fractures, a raw edge of disbelief cutting through it.

“Like I told you,” he says with that smug ease I want to smash out of him. “To check up on you.”

She doesn’t buy it. I can see it in the way her brows knit together, the way her jaw tightens as she rewinds the reel in her mind, pulling at the loose threads. The timeline is disintegrating in her head, and she knows it.

And then—he plays it.

His ace.

The wild card I prayed he’d keep buried, the one I never thought he’d be arrogant—or desperate—enough to use.

He jerks his chin at me, the movement sharp enough to slice the air. His eyes narrow into slits, glittering with malice.

“I knew there was only one person who’d spill blood for you, Lily. One person.”

He lifts a single finger, like he’s delivering some holy revelation instead of twisting the knife. His voice dips into something almost reverent, but it’s poisoned through. “And I knew exactly where to find him.”

Then his gaze locks on me—sharp, unblinking, predatory.

“That night on campus, in the dark?” His tone drips satisfaction. “I knew it was you. I felt it.”

Lily’s scream tears the air apart. “What the fuck is going on!?”

Walker’s smirk is slow and cold, like a wolf cornering prey. “Why don’t you tell her?”

The muzzle of his gun rises, the black eye of it finding my forehead.

The air turns heavy, every breath dragging like it’s been soaked in oil.

My fingers twitch around my own weapon, every instinct screaming to move—but I know.

This was always the road we were barreling down.

Always going to end with one of us bleeding out on the floor. I just wish it was on my terms.

I exhale, slow and steady, and lower my gun. My other hand drifts upward, palm brushing my throat. My fingertips find the edge of the mask—the second skin that’s kept my truth buried .

And then, with the world holding its breath, I start to peel it back.

The silicone clings like it was grown into my skin. Each pull rips at the seal, a soft tearing sound that feels louder than the pounding in my ears.

Lily freezes. Her eyes are locked on me, unblinking, as if movement might make the moment real.

I drag the mask lower—inch by inch—exposing the skin beneath. It’s red, raw, gasping for air after years trapped beneath rubber.

Her hands lift to her mouth, knuckles blanching. I can see the instant she recognizes what’s underneath, the second her mind puts my face back together with the boy she once knew.

The boy she loved.

The boy she lost.

The boy she mourned.

And now?—

The man who’s been stalking her from the shadows, the man she’s feared, the man she’s cursed in her head when she thought she was alone.

The final strip comes free, slick with sweat, and I let it fall from my hand. It hits the floor with a wet, hopeless thud.

Lincoln Walker stares back at her.

She staggers like I just landed a punch to her chest. I can almost hear the snap of something breaking inside her—the sharp fracture of trust.

Her lips move, shaping my name, but no sound comes out.

I see the war in her eyes. The rush of joy that I’m alive colliding with the raw horror of what I’ve become .

“You…” It’s barely a breath, but it’s jagged enough to cut. “…you’re him.”

Bentley’s arm is still locked around her waist, holding her upright, but she’s shaking so hard I can tell he’s the only thing keeping her from crumpling.

She looks at me like I’ve committed the worst kind of betrayal—not killing, not lying, but being alive without her knowing.

Every tear on her cheeks is a blade to my ribs, but I don’t look away. I want her to see me. All of me. The ruin. The scars. The man I had to become.

“Why?” The word comes out in a choked, shaking whisper. Not why I’m here. Not why the gun. Not why the years of shadows. Why I left her in hell while I walked free.

And she doesn’t even know yet—that the fire didn’t just burn my skin. It burned away every piece of the boy she remembers.