Page 97 of Creeping Lily

We pass stretches of forest, the trees leaning over us like they’re trying to listen in on our non-existent conversation. Then, after what feels like forever, the road spills us into a small town center. A strip of closed shops sits under buzzing streetlights, their painted signs faded from years of rain and sun.

Titan pulls into a spot in front of a hardware store and kills the engine. The sudden quiet hums in my ears. Then he turns to me, leaning across the space between us until his presence fills the air.

“Your choice,” he says, voice low and unreadable. “Wait here, or come with me.”

I unclip my seatbelt, my answer automatic. “I’ll come with.”

Before I can move, his hand lands on my thigh—firm, hot, and high enough that heat blooms in my stomach. My breath catches. His grip tightens, just enough to send a rush of tension curling through me. The warning in his eyes is unmistakable, though there’s something else there too, something I can’t name.

“Behave yourself,” he murmurs.

I nod slowly, caught in the pull of his gaze. For a second, I wish he wouldn’t move his hand at all. But then it’s gone, and the night air feels colder without it.

Inside, the hardware store smells faintly of sawdust and metal. The harsh fluorescent lights buzz overhead, making the whole place feel too bright after the shadows of the car. I follow him down the aisles, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor.

He moves with purpose, grabbing items without hesitation: a coil of rope, a roll of duct tape, a pack of zip ties, thick work gloves. My eyebrows lift as I watch the collection grow in the basket he’s carrying.

It’s a strange list. Strange, unless you remember who you’re dealing with. Then it makes perfect sense.

Of course Titan would need these things.

The thought sends a ripple through me—half curiosity, half something darker.

When he catches me staring, he quirks a brow and lets the corner of his mouth tilt into a grin. It’s quick, sharp, gone almost before I can be sure I saw it. Then he pushes his hood forward, letting the shadow fall across his mask again, and keeps walking.

I trail after him, pulse thudding in my ears, wondering—not for the first time—what exactly I’ve gotten myself into.

Our footsteps echo against the emptiness, the sound sharp and hollow, like we’re walking through the ribcage of something long dead.

Titan moves ahead of me, broad shoulders shifting beneath his hoodie, his boots steady, unhurried. The faint clink of items hitting the bottom of his basket breaks the silence, each drop ringing like a warning I can’t quite read.

We round a corner, and he stops so abruptly that I slam into his back.

Before I can step around him, his arm shoots out, barring my way. A silent wall of muscle.Stay behind me. The command vibrates in the air without a word.

Peering past him, I see them. Four men at the far end of the aisle. Cowboy hats pulled low, shadows swallowing their eyes. The air changes instantly, thick and electric, like a storm is about to break.

One steps forward, boots pounding the floor—slow, deliberate, like a countdown. His smirk is small but razor-sharp, curling with cruel intent, and there’s something about it that makes my skin crawl.

My pulse spikes, pounding in my ears, louder than the buzzing lights. Titan doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even turn his head. His calm is almost worse than if he’d reacted.

“We’re just shopping,” Titan says evenly, voice so level it borders on bored. “Not looking for trouble.”

The man’s smirk widens, turning into something uglier. “Trouble’s looking for you.” He pulls a gun from his waistband, the metal catching the light.

The air snaps tight. I freeze. Titan only tilts his head, studying the man like he’s already decided how he’ll dismantle him.

I glance at the others—bigger, meaner than the first man. Four against one. My chest squeezes.

Titan’s hand rises to his hood. He pushes it back, shadows slipping from his mask. Under the sick light, it gleams, cold and unfeeling. A lock of brown hair falls across his brow. Then he smiles. Chilling.

It’s not a friendly smile. It’s a wolf’s smile. All teeth and malice.

“Oh,” he says, voice silky. “You brought a gun? How quaint. I prefer knives.”

The leader barely has time to scowl before Titan moves.

He shoves me back so hard my knees hit the floor, his basket already flying through the air. It smashes into the man’s wrist—gun clattering, a shot going wild into the shelves.