𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝟏𝟖+

| 𝟐.𝟏

—

"It's only illegal if I get caught."

—

Switching the light on, I wave the puff of dust in the air with a cough. The archives of many past patients sat in mountains of boxes pushed into shelves. Dumbly, I say hello aloud as if expecting someone to respond.

"Tough crowd," I mutter, blowing a strand of hair from my eye.

The room had several large shelves full of boxes and random files. I graze my finger across some as I move past, hoping for someone to stop my venturing. Stopping, I squint at the alphabetical signs and slap my forehead at my flawed plan. I need to find Creed's family name. I grab my phone and pull up his contact, debating texting him. Some of me hated being so genuinely curious, but I was determined to figure him out. I bite my lip to bypass the falling feeling in my stomach, wondering how to start the conversation.

Me
May I ask a question?

I raise my brows in suspicion when he answers seconds after as if Creed was waiting for it.

Creed
Shoot.

Me
What's your last name?

I wait in awkward silence for the next ten minutes and feel my lungs start to compress. Was it too blunt? Silent Creed isn't a nice Creed, and for all I know, he could be watching me right now. I wouldn't be surprised if he were in the room. When my phone rings, I jolt, almost dropping it. Gaping at the flash of his name, I watch it go past and drop, my heart pounding in my ear. I didn't answer the subsequent two calls, which was when I considered baking out, but before I could, my phone dings. He messaged me.

Creed
What are you doing, Jamie?

The sent trembles through my body, alarms going off in my head. I turn left and right, just waiting for him to pop out, but nothing happens. Gaping down at his text message, I realized this was a bad idea, but it was too late. Until now, I didn't take offense to Creed not referring to me the same way everyone else does, but now I know when he referred to me as Jamie; he's fuming. He only ever calls me Jamie when in his books, I've done something he doesn't like or during sex. In recent weeks, with particular events escalated, I've noticed I've been on thin ice with him, and I'm afraid of the day it breaks. I'm a lousy liar, and even Creed knows that. He could read me like an open book, continuous pages of unbeknownst knowledge. I decided to be blunt and throw the punch.

Me
I can't know the last name of the person who fucks me?

This may be a bad idea. This is how people in horror movies die by saying something utterly stupid.

Creed
Anderson.

That was almost too easy. Furrowing my brows in confusion, I don't respond and rapidly make my way to the A section. "Come on, where are you...."

My assumptions were high, and I hoped my senses were enough to pull me through. Creed was a man with secrets. Ones that taunted my brain like an addict sniffing coke for the first time in a while. Withdrawals began to go away, and the feeling of euphoric sparkles littered your chest like fireworks. A similar emotion in comparison was like holding your breath underwater until your chest began to cave, your heartstrings pulsating until you swam up.

I came across a box labeled Anderson, but upon opening it, multiple files and different first names appeared. "You've got to be fucking joking," I whisper shouted, wincing at the curse. I felt like I could feel moms breath on my neck. "Sorry, lord."

I spent the next twenty minutes searching and analyzing each file, only to find nothing related to Creed. I slam the box on the ground with a huff, irritation burning my skull. But the light at the end of the tunnel beamed at me as I gazed at an unopened folder with faint lettering. Grabbing it, I slid my fingers over the hard to make out Anderson on the front before flipping it open.A few pages of paperwork was what it took to get to an info page. My eyes meet the rusted grey ones of a woman, brown hair and unsmiling. She seemed to be glaring at me, and it chilled me to the bone. I trail my gaze from her haunting eyes and find her name Grace Anderson, just as I assumed she was brought here after being found in the woods.

"Alive?"

The description says she was found bleeding out with several wounds around her torso and navel. She suffered a significant concussion and was brought here under supervision before being transferred. My grip on the file tightened as I read on. She had been in and out of a coma for several months before being transferred for better treatment. There were traces of rape and extreme trauma to her body as well. I unintentionally started mumbling a Spanish prayer I remember my mother saying a lot during dinner or church. The room's capacity was shrinking and seemed to darken despite the bright lights. Clearing my throat, I eventually find several addresses. One for Creed's house, this hospital, and another, but it was in Seattle. "What are you hiding, Creed?" I whisper, putting things back as they were before rushing out of the room and to the parking garage.

I swallow my nerves, something itching the back of my neck in warning. Pacing to my car, I hop in and lock the doors, putting the car in motion. As I reversed and looked through my car camera, I screamed. A woman was standing in my way. I don't roll down my window as she walks to the driver's side and knocks. Before I could cuss her out and peel off, she pressed pictures against the window. My eyes widen at the sight. One was of Creed rolling the hitchhiker into the pond while I watched, standing over him. The other was of us in the shed; my head was thrown back in an erotic motion with my legs wrapped around him. Creed looked to have held me affectionately with his head buried in my neck as he fucked me senselessly. I gap between the pictures and the random women in horror. She smirks upon seeing my expression and gestures for me to unlock the car. I eye what is visible and glare into her honey eyes. Cracking the window, I say, "what do you want from me?"

"Let me in your car, and I will," she suggests, waving the photos.

I contemplate for a moment before shoving the door open, nearly knocking the woman down. Slamming it shut, I thrust my hands out and grasped her jacket, pushing her against the door. "We can talk out here. Don't think you can try to corner me over some fucking pictures," I grit, crossing my arms.

The woman raised her brow in surprise. Perhaps she was impressed. "I see why he likes you."

I roll my eyes in annoyance. Of course, she knows Creed, but if that's the case. "What type of threat is this? You know Creed for what he is. If you didn't, you wouldn't bother being here and at the police station instead."

"It's a friendly one. Creed is my ex-fiancé, and I know what he's capable of–I figure I could use you as my pawn for a few things."

"And if I don't want to?"

"Well, I can just take this evidence to the police and explain some things I know. Like how your grandmother is illegal and the obvious...you're fucking a murderer Jamilyn Caswell, and you're a coldblooded accomplice," she pressures, taking a step closer.

I hold my ground with a tremble. "What do you fucking want?"

The woman chuckles darkly, a menacing twinkle in her eyes. "You don't deserve to know until I feel like telling you. Just know that if Creed goes down, so do you, sweetheart. That's part of the game, and it was your choice to fuck the competition. You want to know how to win the game, Jamilyn?" she mumbles, standing a breath away.

I hold mine, clenching my fist at my sides, hoping to bring closure. I don't say anything, but she takes that as an excuse to finish, whispering next to my ear, "You kill the one that makes the rules."