11. Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
Creed
I nfuriating woman.
I sit on the edge of the bed, monitoring the live feed from downstairs.
The camera angle is perfect, a downward view, wide enough to catch the entire cell, tight enough that every movement is accounted for.
Julianna lies curled on the mattress, breathing slow, almost meditative.
The blanket is wrapped around her hips, exposing the bruises on her thighs, the collar of my t-shirt riding up over one bare shoulder.
She’s beautiful like this, undone, unfiltered, stripped of every defense but her mind.
Even in sleep she doesn’t surrender. I watch the tiny spasms in her left hand, a neural twitch she’s had since childhood, according to her medical file.
I have read every word of it. I have memorized the patterns of her breath, the architecture of her scars, the ways her body betrays her despite the discipline she worships.
The monitor is silent, but I hear her anyway. I know the pitch and frequency of every sound she makes, from the low moan she gives when dreaming to the guttural curses she spits when fighting the chain. I log it all, every data point, every variable.
I have not slept. There is no need.
A vibration in my pocket irritates me and snaps me out of my reverie. I answer on the first ring.
“Noah.”
Static, then a breath, then the voice, tense, clipped, pushed through a jaw clenched tight. “You need to get down here, Creed.”
I don’t respond.
“There’s a guy at the lodge,” Noah says. “Not a guest. Says he’s a doctor. He’s been asking about someone named Julianna Whitmore.”
The name hits like a low-grade electrical shock. I make no sound, but my grip on the phone goes white-knuckled. The hand holding the phone is steady. The other, clenched against my thigh, is not.
“Is he law?” I ask.
“He’s not saying. But he knows too much for a regular civ. Pulled up last night, hung around the edge of the property. Checked out the cabins from the overlook before coming inside. I tried to shake him off. He’s not going.”
The tension in my jaw migrates to my neck, a ribbon of heat winding through the muscle. I stand and move to the window, eyes trained on the line of woods beyond the clearing.
“What does he look like?” I ask.
Noah answers immediately, as if he anticipated the request. “Blond. Early thirties. Wears glasses. He’s got soft hands and broad shoulders. Drives a white Tacoma, rental. Medical, maybe. Or pharma. He’s got a badge, but it’s buried in his pocket.”
There is a pause, a hesitation just long enough to mean something.
“He says he won’t leave until he see’s her,” Noah says.
I process this in silence. This wasn’t supposed to happen. How the fuck did I slip up?
I glance at the monitor. Julianna is awake now, propped up on one elbow, looking directly at the lens. Her eyes are the same blue as before, but there is a new clarity in them, a brightness, like she is finally coming around to the idea of being owned. Possessed.
Noah is still waiting on the line. I draw out the moment, weighing every angle.
“Did you tell him anything?” I ask.
“No, Creed. Why the fuck would I do that,” Noah sighs, exasperated. “Does this have to do with that woman you brought up?”
My control slips, just a fraction. I exhale, slow and even, but it isn’t enough to cut the edge. “Shut the fuck up and keep him there,” I say, voice flat. “I’ll be down in forty.”
Noah doesn’t argue. He never does. The call ends.
I set the phone down and study my reflection in the black glass of the monitor. For a second, I don’t recognize the face staring back; jaw tight, eyes ringed in shadow, every line carved deeper than it should be.
I am off-balance. I hate the feeling. I want to crush it.
My hands move before my mind gives permission.
I strip off the shirt, toss it to the bed, run a cold palm over my chest. The heartbeat is fast, not quite arrhythmic, but close.
I savor it, the way it disrupts the usual order.
I want to bleed off the energy, but there’s no time.
Grabbing a crisp white shirt, I slip it on. Just going to talk.
For a moment, I let myself imagine the future: the two of us alone here, the world shut out, every threat neutralized. A bubble universe, hermetically sealed, pure.
But the past always finds a way back in.
And right now her past is about to find himself on a one-way swimming excursion.
My fist slams into the wall, shattering the silence. The crack is loud enough to echo. I clench my fists until the ache subsides.
Moving to the corner, my knife gleams. Grabbing it, I put it in my pants. Just in case.
The last thing I do before leaving is check the feed again. Julianna is still sitting on the bed, legs crossed, arms around her knees. She doesn’t look afraid.
She looks… expectant.
Sorry kitty, you’re going to have to wait. We have an uninvited guest .
I kill the feed, lock the system, and head for the door.
As I step onto the porch, the cold hits harder than before.
The wind carries the faintest scent of smoke from the main lodge.
Noah is probably in a whole fucking mood because the little bitch can’t stand a deviation in plans.
The gravel crunches under my boots, every step precise, calibrated.
But the world feels off-kilter, like the axis has shifted a degree and no one bothered to inform me.
Setting off on a brisk walk, I power my way down the path, hitting the lodge in record time.
Inside, the lodge is empty except for the faint sound of coffee brewing and the soft tick of the grandfather clock by the main entrance. Noah is waiting by the fireplace, hands folded behind his back, eyes tracking every movement as I enter.
He nods, gestures toward the lounge. “He’s in the dining room. Looks like he hasn’t slept. Won’t take his coat off.”
I nod once. Noah understands the plan: don’t escalate, don’t let him leave, keep him contained.
This is a place of business and as much as I have little respect for him, a man never fucks with another mans business.
I step past the bar, noting the angle of the security camera over the liquor shelf.
It’s pointing at the exact spot where the man sits, hunched over a mug, his blond curls flattened by the hood of his parka.
He looks up as I approach. The eyes are green, bloodshot, rimmed in red. He’s been crying, or maybe he’s just hungover from whatever nightmare brought him here. Either way, he’s soft.
I sit across from him, the table a narrow gulf.
He doesn’t offer a name, so I don’t ask.
“Why are you here?” I say, direct.
He sets down the mug, fingers trembling just a hair.
“Who the fuck are you? You know what? Nevermind. I’m looking for someone.
Julianna Whitmore. She was last seen in the city two nights ago.
Her vehicle is still at her house, and her cell last pinged at an off-grid location about fifty miles. I… I work with her. I’m her resident.”
I watch him. He’s nervous, but not scared. Driven, but not reckless.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” I say. “You must have been misinformed.”
He shakes his head. “No. She’s here. Or at least, she was. I tracked the license plate from the vehicle I saw her in from the hospital footage. I know it’s registered to this place.”
“What makes you think she’s in trouble?” I ask.
He looks up, meeting my eyes for the first time. There’s a fury there, white-hot and desperate.
“Because Julianna doesn’t just… vanish,” he says, voice breaking a little. “She doesn’t take time off, doesn’t go off-grid. Her life is work, work and more work. She hasn’t shown up to shift and we’ve had to reschedule all her surgeries.”
Little fucking stalker.
I hold his gaze, let the silence stretch. He doesn’t flinch.
Leaning back, fingers drumming on the table as I try decide how the fuck to deal with this. The anger in my chest has cooled to a pointed calm.
Noah stands at my left, just watching. His girl is fiddling with some napkins at a table nearby.
I look at the doctor, and in his eyes, I see something familiar. The same obsessive loyalty that drove me here, that made this entire world possible.
I stand.
“If I see her, I’ll let her know you came by,” I say.
He doesn’t move. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” I say.
He laughs, hollow. “Bullshit. You’re not going to help me. You’re just going to keep lying.”
I nod once, a concession.
He stands, puffing up his chest.
“I can walk you out,” Noah says.
The doctor hesitates, then nods. “If you can set me up in a cabin, I’d like to stay a few days.”
The silence between us stretches. Noah’s eyes cut to mine, and he gives me a look, flat, unblinking, “deal with it.”
The doctor’s hands shake a little, but he keeps his posture forward, shoulders squared.
“Is this where you threaten to call security?” he asks, jaw clenched. “Because if so, I can make a lot more noise.”
I smile, slow and deliberate. “You seem very concerned about Dr. Whitmore.”
“She’s the only surgeon on call for two transplant kids tonight,” he says. “If she doesn’t show, two children are going to die. So yeah, I’m concerned.”
I let that hang. I picture her in the cell, wild and defiant and fucked half out of her mind, and the need to own every part of her surges up through my chest.
“She’s not here,” I say, “and even if she was, she wouldn’t want to see you.”
He snorts. “I don’t care what she wants. She’s got a contract, and she’s got patients. Bring her out.”
Noah shifts his weight, clearing his throat. The sound is pointed.
The doctor’s focus flickers. He looks at Noah, then back at me. “You realize,” he says, “if something’s happened to her, this is going to go way above you? There’s a very short chain between the hospital and federal marshals.”
“You think I care about federal marshals?” I say, low.
“No,” he says. “You don’t look like you care about much, except yourself.”
That earns a laugh from Noah, who steps closer, arms crossed. “He’s got a point.”
The doctor glances back and forth. He’s weighing his odds. “I know you’re holding her, or you know where she is. You could have dumped her anywhere along the route, but you didn’t. So either you’re cocky, or you’re sentimental.”
“Or both,” Noah mutters.
I ignore him, step forward until there’s only a foot of air between me and the doctor. He doesn’t flinch.
“You want to see her?” I say.
He’s surprised, but tries not to show it. “Yes.”
I nod once. “Come with me.”
Noah’s eyebrow goes up, but he says nothing. The doctor hesitates for a half-second, then falls in behind me. I walk him through the staff corridors, down the service elevator, past the boiler room and the prep kitchen. Before us is the door to the lower level.
In the basement, I open a side door to a tiny conference room. Table, four chairs, whiteboard with nothing on it. I gesture for him to sit. He refuses.
“She’s not in here,” he says.
“She’s not,” I agree. “But if you want to talk about her, you’ll sit.”
He weighs the order, then sits, arms folded. I take the chair across from him.
I keep my voice level. “She’s alive. She’s safe. She’s not going anywhere for a while.”
He’s silent.
“You’re worried she’s being held against her will,” I say. “That she’s in danger. But you don’t actually know her.”
He leans forward, elbows on the table. “I know she’s stubborn as fuck, and that she doesn’t miss work unless she’s been shot or sedated. I know she has no one. No spouse. No kids. No family. So what the fuck did you do to her?”
I savor the question.
“She’s complicated,” I say. “And she’s mine.”
He lets out a slow breath. “You sound like a psycho. Or a stalker.”
I smirk. “Probably both.”
He shakes his head. “If she doesn’t show up in eighteen hours, they’re going to start looking. With helicopters, with dogs. You can’t keep her off the grid forever.”
“I don’t need forever,” I say. “Just long enough for her to see what’s real.”
He stares at me for a long time. The room is so quiet, I can hear the distant hum of the water heater behind the wall.
Finally, he says, “If you’ve hurt her, ”
I cut him off. “She’s in better shape than you.”
He absorbs this, then stands. “I’m not leaving until I see her.”
A dark chuckle escapes me. “No one said anything about you leaving.”
I leave him in the room, close the door, and lock it.
Noah is waiting in the hall.
He arches an eyebrow. “You gonna kill him?”
“Not yet,” I say. “But keep him contained.”
Noah nods, then moves to guard the door.
I walk away, back to the main level, up the staff stairs, and out into the open air. I walk past the lodge, through the trees, back towards the cabin.
My phone buzzes. I answer.
“Creed?” The voice is sharp. Knox. “What’s the situation? Noah told me you got an issue.”
“There’s a visitor,” I say. “He’s motivated. He won’t let go.”
“You want a cleanup?”
“Not yet,” I say. “Just eyes on. Tell Slade to monitor the lines. Any leak, any chatter, I want it shut down.”
“Copy that.”
I hang up.
The walk back to the cabin takes forever but finally I make it. I step inside, lock the door behind me.
The bedroom is as I left it. Cold, ordered, silent. I sit on the bed, open the feed, and watch her.
Julianna is still in the cell, pacing slow, a predator in a cage. She’s untouched by the chaos above. Untouchable.
For now.
I watch her for a long time.
The world is always trying to break in.
But this is my domain.
And no one leaves without my say.