Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
MACKENZIE
T he second Creed bursts into my apartment - uninvited – as usual, I know something’s wrong. His shoulders are tense, his jaw locked so tight I can see the muscle tick from across the space.
I set my glass down on the coffee table and cross my arms. “What happened?”
He doesn’t answer right away, just drags a hand through his already messy hair and lets out a slow breath through his nose. Whatever it is, it’s bad. I can feel the weight of it pressing against my chest before he even speaks.
“The containers are gone.”
I blink. “What?”
“They’re missing. My men were supposed to be returned to St. Jude’s tonight, but when they got there, it was already gone.”
A cold wave of fury washes over me. “If you expect me to believe that—”
“I’m telling you the fucking truth, Mackenzie.” His voice is sharp, but it’s not the kind of anger that comes from being challenged. It’s the kind that comes from disbelief, from the realization that something impossible has happened.
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to gauge whether this is some sort of game, some kind of ploy, but Creed isn’t playing. He looks like a man whose world has just tilted on its axis.
I let out a bitter laugh. “So they just magically disappeared, huh? No trace? Do I look stupid to you? I’ve stalled enough, the Guild is running out of patience.”
His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t snap back at me. Instead, he goes completely still, his expression blank.
Then his whole body goes rigid, his breath catching for just a fraction of a second. His gaze shifts, unfocused, as if he’s running through every possible scenario in his head, and then his eyes land back on me. Wide. Disbelieving.
“It was Linc.”
It’s not a question. It’s a realization.
I frown. “Your 2IC. Would he do that?”
Creed shakes his head once, like he can’t make sense of what’s right in front of him. “The only person I told about the return. The only one who knew exactly when and where it was happening. We keep our men pretty much in the dark until the last second. There is no-one else who could have planned this.”
“Creed, you think your own people double-crossed you?”
“I don’t fucking know,” Creed mutters, his jaw clenching. “I don’t want to believe it. He’s one of the few people I trust. But who else could’ve done it?”
Silence stretches between us. Heavy. Suffocating.
Creed starts to pace. I can tell he doesn’t want to accept it. Doesn’t want to even consider that his own brother-in-arms could have fucked him over like this. But deep down, I know. I have seen it happen so many times over the years. The question is why?
* * *
Flynn leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, his gaze drilling into Creed like he’s waiting for him to crack. Jenson and Larken exchange a glance, but neither speaks. The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. The weight of it presses against my ribs, making it hard to breathe.
Creed stands rigid in front of the most dangerous men I know, his posture rigid. He’s walking a fine line between control and eruption. I wish I could say I know what’s going through his head, but the truth is, I don’t.
“You expect us to believe that?” Flynn finally speaks, voice calm but razor sharp.
Creed’s jaw flexes. “I don’t expect shit, but it’s the truth. Diego has the containers and one of my own men stabbed me in the back.”
Flynn exhales slowly, shifting his attention to me. “And you believe him?”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first. Do I? Every instinct I have is screaming at me to be careful. St. Jude’s doesn’t tolerate weakness, and right now, aligning myself with Creed could make me a liability. But I also know him. I know when he’s lying, and I know when he’s barely keeping himself together.
“I believe that if he was lying to us, he wouldn’t be standing here telling you about it.”
“Or he’s playing the long game,” Larken mutters.
Creed lets out a dark laugh. “Yeah? Then tell me, what the fuck do I gain from losing those containers?”
Larken shrugs. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
The tension in the room sharpens like a blade.
“Where are Linc and Diego now?” Jenson asks, his voice even.
Creed shrugs. “Linc should be at the compound if he thinks I’m not onto him. Diego is supposed to be flying back to Mexico tonight.”
Flynn’s lips press into a thin line, his eyes dark with calculation. “Then we’ll find him. And we’ll deal with it.”
Something flickers in Creed’s eyes. For all his anger, I know what this means. Linc was a friend or at least someone he really trusted. If Flynn is telling Creed that the Guild will deal with it, he means eliminate him. No trial. No explanation. Just a bullet in the skull.
Creed shakes his head. “I’ll handle it. He’s my man and this is my business.”
Flynn leans forward slightly. “And if you don’t? Those containers are worth billions. You understand that?”
The unspoken threat hangs between them.
Creed doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is steel. “I will handle it.”
Flynn studies him for a long moment, then nods. “Good. You have twenty-four hours.”
Creed turns on his heel and stalks toward the door. I hesitate for only a second before following. The moment we’re in the hallway, I grab his arm, forcing him to face me.
“What the hell are you going to do?” I demand.
His jaw is tight, his eyes dark. “I’m going to find Linc.”
“And if he really did betray you?”
Creed exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Then I’ll do what needs to be done.”
But there’s something in his voice—something raw. “Linc and I built this empire while I was behind bars, Mackenzie. We both made enemies and sacrifices along the way, so he knows the price for betrayal.”
That last line carries so much weight—Creed isn't just talking about business, he's talking about loyalty, about the kind of bond that doesn't break without blood.
His phone rings. “I have to take this,” he says, not walking away. “Yeah!”
Whoever is on the other end starts talking and the color seems to drain from Creed’s face. “Who? Just tell me who the fuck it was?” he asks, the venom in his voice is unmistakable.
He looks at me and I get a sinking feeling something awful has happened, something worse than a shipment of containers.
Creed’s grip tightens around the phone, his knuckles going stark white as he listens. His breathing changes—sharp, uneven. The muscle in his jaw ticks, his eyes darkening with something far more lethal than anger. It’s fear.
I step closer. “Creed?”
He doesn’t answer. Just stares ahead, frozen in place, like if he moves, the world will shatter.
Then he exhales, long and slow, and I watch him force himself back into control. When he finally speaks, his voice is deathly calm. “Say it again.”
Whoever is on the other end must repeat something, because I watch the last sliver of restraint drain out of Creed’s face.
He doesn’t wait for them to finish before he barks, “I’m on my way!”
I don’t even realize I’ve stopped breathing until my lungs burn for air. My heart slams against my ribs, my stomach knotting so tight I feel sick.
Creed’s eyes flick to me then, and the sinking feeling in my gut turns into a full-blown freefall when he ends the call and stares at me.
“Gabriella?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. I have no idea how I know, but I do. I feel it in my bones.
His fingers flex around the phone. “Gabriella’s been taken.”
The words don’t make sense at first. They hover in the air like smoke, weightless and impossible. Then they sink in, crashing down like a hammer to my chest.
“What do you mean, taken?” My voice is sharp, disbelieving.
His nostrils flare, his body vibrating with tension. “Someone got to them. Pulled them over. Michael was shot. He’s in surgery now. Mia—” He shakes his head, like he can’t process it. “Mia’s at the hospital. They beat up my driver pretty bad but probably left him to convey the message.”
The world tilts. Gabriella is gone. Michael is fighting for his life.”
I swallow down the bile rising in my throat. “Who would do that? Who would take her, Creed?”
Creed is already moving, pulling out his phone. “I don’t know. But I will find out.”
He makes a call, his voice is like a blade slicing through the air. “Gather the men. Now.”
Jenson is beside me. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head, and without me having to ask, he walks out with us. “I’ll drive,” he says.
My pulse is hammering in my ears and I can just barely hear Creed filling Jenson in.
We need to find Gabriella.
And whoever took her, won’t live long enough to regret it.