Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
MACKENZIE
S omething’s wrong.
Creed isn’t talking.
It’s not that he’s usually a chatterbox—he’s not—but this silence is different. It isn’t calculated or taunting, isn’t the usual push and pull of our fucked-up game. This silence is heavy, thick like smoke, curling between us in the dim motel room.
He hasn’t looked at me since I woke up.
Not really.
His jaw is locked, his body tense, his shoulders tight like he’s holding the weight of something too damn big for him to carry alone.
I shove the thin motel blanket off and sit up. “What’s wrong?”
Nothing.
He doesn’t even flinch.
I grit my teeth. “Creed.”
Still nothing.
A slow burn starts in my chest, rising up my throat. “I swear to God, if you don’t answer me, I’ll—”
“She was here when you were asleep.” The words are flat, lifeless.
I freeze. “Who?”
Finally, finally , he looks at me.
And I see it. My mother.
The thing I hadn’t let myself fear. The thing I never wanted to see in his eyes. Defeat.
My stomach knots. “Creed, what happened?”
He drags a hand down his face, exhaling roughly. Then, without any warning, he drops the bomb. “Your mother wants me to marry her.”
I laugh. It’s sharp, bitter, and humorless. “That’s not funny.”
His gaze is steady. “I’m not joking.”
The laugh dies in my throat. The room tilts, the air thinning. “Why? Why would she want that?”
He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because if I don’t, she’s going to make sure I don’t live long enough to regret it.”
I blink, my pulse hammering in my ears. “What? She can’t do that-”
“She has a recording, Mackenzie. From the study,” he says, cutting me off, voice is flat, controlled, but I hear it—anger, helplessness, something dark curling at the edges. “She has proof that I killed your father.”
The motel walls press in.
No.
No, no, no.
“She can’t—”
“She can .” He cuts me off, again, his tone razor-sharp. “She will.”
I shake my head. “It makes no sense. How is she going to spin what happened to my father? St. Jude’s will investigate. They have law enforcement in their back pocket.”
Creed exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “She already has a story. She’ll tell them your father was drunk, furious because she was planning to leave him for me. That he attacked her. That I stepped in, and in the struggle, the gun went off.”
A hollow laugh escapes me. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“That’s it. I marry her and she makes all this go away.”
I push off the bed, pacing the small space. My skin is burning, my chest too tight. “She can’t fucking do this.” My voice is shaking, and I hate it. “I was there. I may be a new member, but I am still part of the Guild. They know my father. They know what he was like. If I tell them—”
“I won’t risk that,” Creed cuts in, standing now, his presence crowding the room. “Not if there is any chance something could go wrong.” I hate the nagging feeling that he’s keeping something from me.
I whirl to face him. “So what? You’re just gonna let her win? Marry her and play house?” My voice cracks, and I don’t care. “What about this – us?”
His jaw clenches. “What the fuck do you think I should do? Huh?” His voice rises, rough and raw. “Tell me how I can fix this. Because from where I’m standing, I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes, you do,” I snap. “We can go to the Guild first. We can tell them the truth—”
“There is no truth,” he snarls, stepping closer. His eyes are cold, unreadable, but I see it in the way his fingers twitch at his sides. He’s barely holding himself together. “There’s only the version people believe. And Amelia has the proof to make sure they believe her.”
I shake my head again, even as the weight of his words crushes my ribs. “No. She can’t control us.”
“She already is.”
Silence presses between us, thick and suffocating.
I’m shaking, my nails digging into my palms. My mother has always been calculated, manipulative. But this? This is fucking war. Creed is mine. Mine!
I turn away, my breath uneven. “You won’t marry her.”
Creed lets out a bitter laugh. “You think I want to?”
I whip back around. “Then don’t, Creed. Fight this.”
His expression flickers—something raw, something wounded. Then it hardens again.
“I can’t.” His voice is quiet, resigned. “You just have to accept it.”
The words feel like a slap.
For the first time in my life, I feel powerless. Not the kind of powerlessness that comes from fear—but the kind that comes when you realize you can’t fix something you really truly want.
And I hate it.
I swallow hard. “Just go, Creed.”
Creed exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Mackenzie…”
“No.” I lift my chin, forcing steel into my spine. “Have it your fucking way.”
His gaze locks onto mine, something shifting in those dark depths. “I am doing this for us.”