Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64702 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 324(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Chapter Four
Addie
I stand under the hot spray of the shower, my hands pressed to my face, as I will myself not to cry. I’m more confused than I’ve ever been in my life. Seeing Creed again, worrying for him, and then hating him all over again is tearing me up inside.
I love him. I have always loved him.
And that is probably enough crazy to declare me insane.
His vow flits through my mind. I would die for you. I laugh bitterly into the water. As if that man doesn’t invite death to come for a visit every day of his life. I’m his duty. I was always some sort of duty to Creed. Exactly why falling for a soldier always equals pain. My mother had warned me, and she’d been right.
“Damn you, Creed,” I whisper, thinking of that day when we’d first crossed paths, that day by the elevator when he’d been so damn devastatingly hot. I should have walked away. I press my hands to my face again, and then mentally shake myself. I need to get my head on straight. The situation at hand, and as a whole, isn’t about me and Creed. It’s about protecting the world from Julian. How had I ever dashed off to Germany and pretended something so big didn’t exist?
I can only hope and pray that the accusations against my father aren’t true. He’s all I have left in the world. A little girl’s hero, one I’d felt I’d lost after the Area 51 nightmare. When I returned, I’d convinced myself he’d deserved a chance to mend the past, and I’d wanted to help. And I’d known then, as I do now, that the only way to right the wrong is to somehow contain or imprison the Zodius. They’re terrorists against humanity. But I’m not okay with torturing them. I will never be okay with torturing them.
In their own way, all the GTECHs, Zodius and Renegade, are victims of the government’s experiment. Unwilling ones, too. They were lied to and used. No, they don’t deserve to be tortured, and my father wouldn’t be a part of that. Yet, in the back of my mind, I admit to seeing glimpses of a power-hungry man, desperate to save himself and regain his position of authority.
Resolve forms as I reach down and turn off the shower. I’m getting on that flight this morning and copying that hard drive. If Red Dart’s details are on Brock’s computer, I can prove there was no torture mechanism. That easily. One hard drive copy. Then, the Renegades and the government can refocus together on defeating Julian.
I reach for my towel and start drying off when I suddenly freeze with a realization. I squeeze my eyes shut. My clothes are in the exterior room—with Creed. Which leaves me two options: put my bloodied clothes back on or walk out into the room to my suitcase with only a towel to cover up. Flashes of myself and Creed making love, our bodies pressed close, and the wildness we’d shared flicker in my mind. Oh no. The towel idea is not a good one. I need my robe. I’ll just yell out to Creed for him to grab it for me.
I make quick work of towel-drying my hair before I crack the door open. “Creed?” No answer. “Creed?” Still nothing. A fizzle of fear races through me. Has he collapsed? Fallen ill again? “Creed!” I yank the door open, holding the towel tight around my body, scanning the room, heart pounding a wicked beat against my breastbone. The sheets and blankets are gone; the mattress has been changed or maybe flipped.
My gaze sweeps the room, and still no Creed. The good news, I decide, is that he’s not lying on the floor dead or dying, but neither is he anywhere in sight. My breath lodges in my chest—an ache there I don’t name.
Is he gone without saying goodbye yet again?
Suddenly, the patio door opens, a gust of wind lifting the dark floral curtains, the sheers beneath fluttering wickedly. Creed steps into the room, and the wind goes still. In this moment, he looks more warrior than man—dangerous and primal. He’s also bared to the waist, but for the bandages I’d wrapped around him, his jeans low-slung, displaying sculpted abdominals. His feet are bare, his long, raven hair loose around his shoulders.
And despite the proof that he’s not Zodius, that I have no reason to fear him, I feel fear. So much that I can barely breathe. Fear of what I want in this moment. What I always want with him, which is too damn much. Fear of my inability to resist a man I know damn well will hurt me again if I give him the chance—a realization driven home as he casts me in a heavy-lidded inspection so intimate that my knees go weak.