“You’re pathetic,” I added, my heart racing but my rage for him overpowered my common sense because the fact that the roller doors could be opened had escaped me. “So, what, your plan is to lock me in the garage?”
“Seeing as you won’t have a real conversation with me, fucking oath I will.” He crossed his arms, his ripped muscles bludging—the tattoos on display that I once ran my fingers over. I could barely take in the new ink on his arms. All I could think of, over and over, was that he left. He fucking left. He never answered his phone. He never answered one of my million voice messages. He just left my life—completely.
“Holly—”
“Don’t Holly me!” My hands balled into fists at my side. “You got on that bloody bike and rode out. Not just out of town but out of my fucking life!” My frustration, my boiling red pain, flooded my body. “You never replied to a message, one of the many miss calls!” I scoffed. “Fuck, it wouldn’t even surprise me if you hadn’t even listened to the voice messages!”
So standing in a garage where Creed and I had spent most of our time together, I broke.
“Holly—”
“You nearly destroyed me,” I hissed, staring into his eyes, my voice cracking, and if he couldn’t hear my pain in those words, then he was as cold as I thought he was. “And now you want to have a conversation?” I scoffed, wiping tears off my cheeks. “Fuck, Creed, I can’t look at you—let alone talk to you—without wishing I had never let you in!”
When it came down to it, the anger I felt, the loathing—it was all directed at myself.
I felt my body trembling.
I felt my blood swirling with the cold truth.
I shook my head. “I take that back, Creed. You didn’t nearly destroy me…”
I stared into his smouldering ash-grey eyes. My eyes filled with tears, then blinking, the tears ran down my cheeks. The months after he left now replayed in my head.
“You did destroy me. But it wasn’t when you rode out, no—it was three months later.”
Was this what he wanted to hear? Was this the conversation he wanted? Well, it was the only one he was getting.
“It was when I was sitting in my father’s bar, feeling like a hollow mess. Not being allowed to be by myself. I had to be there.” I wiped my hands across my cheeks, inhaling sharply. “After I had spent the last three months praying to feel again, to want to live”—I took a step closer to him—“when a visiting club girl was boasting to Red that she had just locked down the VP of the North.”
I smiled, sickly, remembering how I felt at that moment.
“I listened to her go on and on about how much of a great guy he was. And how the sex was amazing.” I just continued to stare at him, feeling the hollowness I’d felt in those moments years ago flood me. “And that’s when I stopped praying for myself to feel something. That’s when I realised I wasn’t the one to be falling to my knees, praying. No.” I locked my gaze on him, the tears slowing. “After everything, Creed, I realised—you are the one that needs fucking help.”
He was staring at me, deadly silent.
I inhaled sharply.
“You are fucking toxic, and I doubt God can even save you from your ways.” I wiped the last tear away from my cheek and dropped my eyes. “I can barely control my monsters. The last thing I need is a toxic person giving them power and feeding them.”
My eyes flashed off the grease-stained concrete and back to him. Creed Winston. He didn’t have one emotion on his face.
“Do you want me to say I forgive you? Because I do, Creed.”
The rage I felt, it wasn’t under control, but I knew. Once I walked out that garage door, he wouldn’t want to have another conversation with me. This, right here, was it—the end of the line for him and me.
I let out a sigh. I felt exhausted.
That was when he did the last thing I would have expected. He took two steps towards me. My eyes flashed back to him.
There was nothing he could say that would undo how I felt back then, and now? No soft sweet words would smooth the damage.
I saw his mouth parting, and I knew he was about to speak—and that sent pure panic through me. Because what if his words did make me forget? What if he did change my mind? What if I were lying to myself saying I would never love him again?
Before a word came off his lips, I took advantage of the fact he wasn’t standing in front of the door, and I moved around him so quickly, it stunned him. I pushed open that steel door so fast that my head was spinning from my sudden movements.
I made a beeline for the house, basically running up the path. Why was I acting like this? Why was I panicking? Why was I nearly running in the opposite direction? Because I felt it. I fucking felt it again, even after everything he had put me through, after all the chaos that was him and me. I was standing there, looking into his smouldering ash-grey eyes just before he was about to speak, and my heart pulsed an emotion I didn’t want to feel ever again—especially not for him.
So as I pushed open my family’s front door, tears filling my eyes again, I had to face the fact. I still loved Creed Winston. What the hell was wrong with me? My heart was blinded to all the pain he had made me feel. I thought I had stopped loving him. Now I had to face it. I still loved Creed, even after the heartbreak, the endless nights crying, the hollowness that he cast over me, which suffocated me for months. It was undeniable. My love for Creed had caused insanity within me—because a sane woman wouldn’t feel what I felt for him.
So the fact was, I was insanely in love with Creed Winston. And if him breaking me didn’t stop me from loving him, then nothing would. He was toxic, and I was addicted, and that hit me as I slid down our front door, my head falling to my knees. What the fuck was wrong with me?
I was drinking at the bar, and it was barely fucking two in the afternoon. But I didn’t give a flying fuck. I couldn’t take it any more. I didn’t even last a few minutes handling the emotions. Instead, I walked from the garage to the bar and grabbed a bottle—not a glass—intending to drown her out.
“You all right, mate?” Kobra questioned, pulling up a stool next to me.
My eyes were locked on the burning cigarette between my fingers.
“Just fuck off, Kobra,” I said. I wasn’t in a mood to be nice. I needed to drown out these feelings. I lived a life at one speed, fast—accelerating through most of it.
“Noticed my sister disappeared.” He didn’t fuck off as I had wanted.
Putting the cigarette to my mouth, I took a drag and didn’t say anything.
“So you gonna tell me what happened, or you going to drown yer sorrows with a bottle like a baby?”
My eyes flash to him, glaring. “Fuck off, Kobra.” If he were smart, he’d listen.
He cracked a smirk. “Did my sister have her wicked way with ya?” He had a cockiness to his tone.
I scoffed. “She hates me. She even said I needed to pray to save my soul. Listed my every fuck-up, and you know what?” I glanced back at him. “She’s right. I am toxic.”
I don’t know why, but my words caused his expression to drop off his face. He stared at me as if I had just killed a woman or something.
“Wait, she didn’t fuck you?”
“No, Kobra! She doesn’t want anything to do with me. She didn’t even really let me have it. She didn’t yell at me as if she loved me. No, she made it clear that I was some dead thing to her, that she wanted nothing to do with ever.” I scoffed. “Fuck, if you asked her, she would say the devil wouldn’t even want me.”
He cursed. “Great. My sisters are fucking addicted to no good men.”
“You not hearing me? She hates me.” I turned to look at him fully. “She doesn’t even feel hate for me, Kobra. She made it clear.”
Kobra pulled out his cigarettes, tapping them on the bar, looking like he was having a meltdown.
“She’s scared.” He said two words that confused me. “I know ’cos I’ve felt it. See, us Kincaids, we are fucking backwards. Wh
en we feel love, we panic. I think we get it from the old man.” He pulled out a cigarette. “Do you know what scared her?” He glanced at me.
I just stared at him, completely lost.
“She thought that when she confronted you, and you argued, that it would end the feeling inside. You know, confirm to her that she was right, she doesn’t love ya.” He lit up a cigarette. “Instead, she felt something, and it scared her.”
“How the fuck would you know. You weren’t there, and you aren’t her.”
Kobra remained quiet. He cursed under his breath as if he was having this debate with himself. He glanced at me. “I’ve always had a problem with doing the right thing. Part of me always leans for the wrong decision. So…I’m gonna say this and then I ain’t ever mentioning it again.”
I continued to stare at him. Half wondering if I’d had too much to drink and that was why I thought I saw Kobra looking like he was in pain.
“You need to decide if you love her, Creed.” His eyes flashed off the pack of smokes to me. “I’m not saying this ’cos I like you. I’m not saying this ’cos I want her with you. I’m saying this ’cos I love my sister, and I’ll always put her happiness before my own.” He inhaled sharply and then shook his head. “And she fucking loves you so much it scares her. So if you want her, you need to patch back, or you need to get the fuck out of town and let her try to find something or someone else without being suffocated by feelings for you, who ain’t gonna love her back.” He pushed the bar stool back. “And for the record. When you leave and let her go, that feeling you’ll feel when you ride in the opposite direction of her, it won’t ever leave ya, and the what-ifs, they don’t ever go away. Take it from me, being a fucking coward weighs heavy on a soul at midnight.”
Kobra was as hard as his father—if not harder. When it came to expressing his emotions, even Hades loved. Kobra, he didn’t love anyone that didn’t have to love him in return. In those short moments, Kobra Kincaid showed me that he had regret, and as I watched him storm off, I wondered what her name was.
But before I could spend any more time thinking about Kobra’s regret, thoughts of Holly—and if Kobra was right—overpowered my mind. Did Holly still love me? But more importantly, was I willing to stick around to see if she did or didn’t?
I looked down at the whiskey bottle.
Should I be a coward, and as Kobra said, was I prepared for the sleepless nights and lying awake at midnight, wondering what if I had fought for her? What if I stayed and fought her to make her face her feelings for me? Or if she felt nothing for me, what if I fought till she felt something for me again?
Should I leave?
Should I stay?
Should I fight for her?
In the end, my decision was made. When I pictured her, married with kids to another bloke— Yeah, fuck that. So I pushed the whiskey bottle away, got up, and headed for the clubhouse door.
I didn’t know if deep down, she loved me or if I was fighting a losing battle. All I knew was she made me question everything. She had flooded my body with emotions that sure as fuck weren’t natural. Because it couldn’t be natural to feel the love I felt for this woman, even after not seeing her for two years.
She drove my mind and my body close to insanity, and as I stormed towards her family’s house, a part of me knew, this right here, was stupidity.
I loved her, and I was prepared for her to burn me, leave me to be nothing but ashes. I was willing to risk that because there was a chance that she would love me back, that she would fearlessly face a chaotic future beside me. And the thought of her beside me for the rest of my life made me take up the odds and, just like that, I took a life gamble.
I sat on the couch with my knees to my chest, breaking into tiny pieces. The fear was crippling. My anxiety was out of control. And as my arms firmly wrapped around me, it felt like my arms were the only thing keeping me together.
A pounding fist on the wooden front door caused me to jump. God, who was that? Then my blood ran cold. I knew no biker would be pounding on Hade’s front door like that. So, as I walked to the front door, I was ready to face the police.
I swung the front door open with a cold expression and the tears still on my cheeks. But instead of seeing the men in blue, I saw Creed.
I opened my mouth, ready to start another war of words with him when he stepped into the house. He cupped my face with his hands as his lips crashed on mine.
He wasn’t soft. But he never was. His lips claimed mine with aggression, pure angry and damn straight possession, and my reasons why this was wrong disappeared. My hands went to his shoulders. I knew I should push him away, and I knew this wasn’t healthy, yet I kissed him back just as furiously.
Furious that I loved him.
Furious that he had the power to hurt me, yet I still loved him.
He pushed me farther into the house and kicked the front door closed behind him. And his hands gripped my hips, lifting me. His mouth moved in perfect sync with mine. He was a flame, and right now, I was being pulled into the naked blue flame.
When I didn’t open my mouth immediately for him, he growled slightly and then bit my bottom lip. My lips parted. The familiar taste of whiskey and lingering mints suffocated me, flooding me with memories of us, but mainly, it was feeding the addiction.
He was the heroin to my bloodstream. The taste of him, the feel of my body firmly against his chest—I was overdosing on a drug I was in recovery from.
I linked my arms behind his neck as he backed me against the foyer wall, and I was bathing in the euphoria as he pulled back.
I was dazzled. My lips pulsed. My eyes slowly opened, and when my eyes locked with his, I couldn’t inhale. Instead, I froze.
“You said you were praying for me,” he said, his words deep, swirling with dominance as he kept staring into my eyes, his face so close. “You should start praying for yourself, Holly.” He paused, and I couldn’t inhale as fear slowly began to surface, fear of my lust for him. His mouth went to my ear. “It’s not if. It’s when you’ll be moaning my name. It’s not if you’ll love me again. It’s when you are ready to admit it to yourself. Start praying, baby girl, ’cos I’m back.”
He had a cocky smirk as he stepped back.
With those words said, his hands came off me, and I just stared at him as he opened the front door. I didn’t take a breath until it was closed.
Oh. Fuck.
I sat staring into the burning fire, watching the wood slowly crackle and burn. I had just closed the curtains. No one was home. I assumed Dad would be hosting another party for Creed’s chapter. Mum would be busy organising the food, and everything else that was involved with a full visiting chapter.
Hearing the front door open, I heard his footsteps before I saw him.
“Aunt Hols, Aunt Hols!” Connor came running around the corner, not coming to a halt till he was right in front of me. His bright blue eyes were wide with delight, and his normal cheeky grin was on his face. “Guess what I did today.” He was busting with excitement, “I go to owange pwace to see Dad!”
My eyes widened slightly. Fuck. I was quick to turn around to see Ivy. I could tell from here she wasn’t okay. Connor only knew prison as the “orange place.” Because Taron, Connor’s father, was currently doing three years.
I looked back at Connor. “That’s great! It sounds like you’ve had a big day, and if you are quick, I know for a fact there are chocolate chip cookies in the kitchen.” I watched Connor’s eyes go wide before he hightailed it out of there.
“Owwie not eat ’em all!” he yelled before leaving the room completely. I watched Ivy step into view and pulled back the blanket that was on my lap. She sat beside me, and I placed the blanket on her lap too.
She crossed her legs, focusing her eyes on the fire now.
I didn’t know what to say. I knew Taron and her, well, they had issues.
I watched the tears as they swelled in her eyes. And I put my hand on her knee. “Ivy, you’re doing a great
job,” I said just as the tears dropped onto her cheeks.
“Do you ever wish you could just leave this lifestyle?” Her words were low, and she tucked her shoulder-length blonde hair behind her ear. “Like all of it? Dad, Kobra, Satan’s Bastards… this town…” The tears rolled down her cheeks.
We were Kincaids. We were born into this lifestyle. Even though we were girls, we were still born into a lifestyle. Our love for our family extended to the club and could never be questioned. We would stand by it until it burnt to the ground. Till death took us, we would always be linked to this club.
However, that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about the what-if, just as Ivy was now. What if we hadn’t been born into this lifestyle. What if we had gotten a choice of being in it. What if we packed up our car and never looked back. In some ways, you’d think all our problems would be solved.
Ivy wouldn’t be worried about Connor becoming a member.
But the club ran through our blood. It was imprinted in our DNA.
Ivy dropped her head on my shoulder, and I wrapped my arm around her. I wished I could help her. But the fact was, the problems she was having all steamed back to one thing—she gave her heart to a biker. Whether she would admit it or not, she loved Taron.
Loving a biker felt like you gave up your soul and sanity. Because you’d easily trade your soul for them, but what was just as bad was how you were prepared to love them past the point of sanity. What they did in the name of the road and the greater good of the club—you accepted it, even if that meant ten years behind bars or never having a straight conversation with you, dodging details. More importantly, while they would always be first in your eyes, you would only ever be second in theirs. The club, their brotherhood—well, that came first.
So, when admitting you loved a biker, always be prepared to be second. You’d think no woman who had sanity would choose that. Hell, fall in love with a suit, a businessman. You could be the centre of their world, first in their eyes. Heck, the chances of them going behind bars were less too. When you sat down for dinner, the chances were they would tell you what really happened that day. Not dodging details or giving the classic line of “club business.”
Creed's Honor: Satan Bastards MC Book 1 Page 8