Chapter 8

8

Creed

I park the SUV in the garage and lock it up with the harmless-looking roll of carpet in the cargo area before taking Zara up to my penthouse apartment.

She’s silent as we take the service elevator to avoid running into people because of my new stench and her lack of attire.

No doubt, she’s already second-guessing this decision.

I was stunned she hesitated to choose between death and marrying me.

The woman is a complete mystery. Some of my men wouldn’t handle a cold-blooded murder with her amount of composure. They sure as hell couldn’t throw out ideas as fast as Zara either. I have to admit they’ve been good ideas so far.

Still, it’s impossible to forget that she played a role in Carmine’s death, and I will never be able to forgive her. I can’t forget the threat she poses to me if she runs her mouth .

“You’ll sleep in my bedroom, so I can keep an eye on you. You’ll be free to move around the penthouse when I’m not asleep, but this is still a confinement for you. I don’t want to have to restrain you, but I will if you try anything.”

“Again, where would I go?” she asks. “I can’t go to the police, since I’m guilty here, too, and even if I didn’t hate Emilio, he would blame me for Izaiah’s death.”

“You don’t have any family in the city?”

“No. My parents live up in Pearl River. I haven’t seen them since I moved to the city seven years ago. I would rather die than ask them for a damn thing. And in case you’re wondering, I work twelve hours a day most days, so my only friends are the grocery delivery drivers.”

All right then.

“At least you won’t have to work twelve-hour shifts anymore,” I point out to her.

“That’s not exactly the benefit you think it is,” Zara replies solemnly. “The only time I’ve ever been even sort of free is when I’m earning a paycheck rather than depending on someone else to pay my way.”

I’m not entirely sure what that means. I want to ask as I unlock the door to my apartment, but I have company.

“Finally!” Dre’s voice announces from my living room. “Wake up, shithead. He’s home,” he says, I assume, to Tristan.

Zara and I turn the corner of the partial wall that blocks off the foyer. I give her a warning look over my shoulder, and she returns it with a single nod of understanding.

Fuck, I hope I can trust her. If not…well, I’ll do what I need to do.

And so much for adamantly refusing to marry a woman who doesn’t want to be in the same room as me…

“What are you two doing here so late?” I ask when we’re standing at the entrance to the living room. I was hoping to make this introduction tomorrow after I had a shower and sleep, but I guess that’s not going to happen.

Dre sits up from where he’s lounging on one of my sofas in his normal business attire, minus the shoes. He examines Zara carefully, from the messy curls on top of her head to the pink toenails sticking out of her flipflops. “We were waiting for you. Got worried when you didn’t show for our poker game or answer any of our text messages.”

“I didn’t know the game was still on,” I admit. Tonight would’ve been the first game since we lost Carmine. Maybe I just didn’t want to ask because I’m not ready to sit at the poker table without him next to me.

“Who’s your… friend , Creed?” Dre asks.

“This is Zara. Zara, these are my cousins, Dre and Tristan.”

She gives them a small wave and a forced smile. I’ve seen hostage videos with more enthusiasm. “Hi. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Finally?

Turning my back to the guys, I lift an eyebrow in question that they can’t see. Taking a step toward me, she reaches for my hand as if in answer. The warmth and strength in her sure grip feels so authentic that it makes me momentarily forget my line of thought.

We’re not a real couple. This is just a risky little arrangement I came up with on the drive home because I knew I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to kill her. I need her to think that I hate her enough to do it, though, if I want her cooperation.

Once we get married and share the news, everyone will be shocked.

Oh . That’s what she’s doing, trying to pretend as if we’ve been in a clandestine relationship for a while. One we didn’t tell anyone about.

The woman isn’t just drop dead beautiful; she always seems to be one step ahead of me .

“She’s naked.” Tristan sits up and stretches his arms overhead for a better look at her, causing Zara to clutch my suit fabric tighter in her free hand.

“She’s not naked. She’s wearing my jacket. And stop looking at her like that,” I warn him.

“But she’s naked underneath your jacket?” Dre chimes in. He tilts his head as if doing so will help him see up the jacket. “Who is she and why is she standing in your penthouse naked, Creed?”

“Stop staring at her!” I yell at the two of them. I really wish this introduction could’ve waited until Zara was fully dressed. I don’t like having anyone else get to admire the view of her beautiful body in my clothing. That pleasure should only be mine.

Not that she’ll ever let me touch her beauty…

“Whoa, boss. What the hell has gotten into you?” Dre’s eyes lower to the towel wrapped around my upper thigh. “Are you drunk? What the hell happened to your leg?”

I rub my forehead and start to think I’m in way too deep with a woman I shouldn’t trust and who will probably end up drowning me. “No, I’m not drunk and my leg is fine. It’s just a little cut.”

Getting to his socked feet, Dre pads toward us, sniffing the air. He stops abruptly about three feet away, his face blanching as he presses his fist to his nose. “Damn. What’s that god awful smell?”

“It’s been a long night. Can you two leave us now?”

Despite my warning, and the stink, Tristan gets up and moves closer, watching Zara fidget with the buttons on my suit. He’s gawking at her all bleary-eyed and slack-jawed, as if she’s the most fascinating creature he’s ever seen. “She’s a sexy little thing, isn’t she? I bet she’ll be worth every penny. Hell, I’d like to invest in that ass…”

One second, he’s ogling her, and the next, I have the side of his face pinned to the glass coffee table. Lowering to his ear, I say, “Repeat that for me. I must have misheard you. It sounded a helluva lot like you were insinuating she’s a whore. ”

“Fuck, Creed. It was a joke,” Dre grumbles from behind us.

“Does it look like I’m laughing?”

“Just tell us she’s off-limits before someone ends up dead,” he replies.

Dre has no idea someone already did end up dead for touching her. That’s how Izaiah signed his own death warrant, and why I made the rash decision not to hold off on getting revenge for Carmine.

“She’s off-limits,” I say through clenched teeth. Tomorrow they’ll find out just how off-limits she is when I tell them she’s my wife. Maybe this marriage idea is batshit crazy, but it’s better than the alternatives. “Apologize to her.”

“Yes, boss,” Tristan replies. “Sorry…ma’am.”

“Her name is Zara.”

“Sorry, Zara. I shouldn’t have assumed you were a whore just because of the way you’re dressed.”

“Fuck off.” I press down hard on his face before I release my grip on his scalp.

Tristan straightens to his full height and fixes his tee. “Honestly, boss, she could just as easily be selling thin mints instead of ass. How old is she? Legal age, right? Did you check her ID before she lost her…clothes?”

“Do you want me to throw you out a goddamn window tonight?” I ask him.

“What did I say now?” He looks between Dre and me as if he has no idea why I’m pissed off. “I don’t want you getting brought up on any new charges.”

“She’s not that young,” I assure him, although I can’t recall exactly how old the background report said she was. “Zara?” I ask, relieved that so far, she’s kept her mouth shut, but I hate that I’m blowing her whole plan of pretending we’ve been seeing each other in secret.

“I’m twenty-seven,” she answers .

“See. She’s twenty-seven. That’s only a nine-year age gap.”

“Well, I could say I’m twenty-nine, but that doesn’t make it true,” Tristan remarks. “That’s how they get you.”

“Get out,” I tell him. “Both of you.”

Thankfully, Tristan puts on his shoes and strolls over to the penthouse door with a smirk on his cocky face.

Once Tristan leaves, Dre slips on his dress shoes and asks, “You sure you’re feeling okay, man?”

“I need some sleep,” I declare, something I haven’t been getting much of the past week.

“Then I’ll go and let you get you some…rest.” After a long pause, he adds the last word while biting back a grin.

I let his insinuation go, since everyone is supposed to think we’re fucking.

“Call and tell Lorenzo to send someone over to stand watch at the penthouse door.”

Dre’s dark brow lifts to his hairline. “You want a man on that door?” He points to it.

“Yes. Nobody comes in or out without my approval. Have whoever is available text me when they’re in position.”

His eyes widen. “Wow.” Holding up his palms, he backs toward the door. “Nope. I’m not even going to ask. Good luck, Zara. I mean, good night.”

I flip him off in response, right before I remember doing the same to my brother just moments before he died.

“I’m sorry I missed the game tonight,” I tell Dre before he reaches the foyer. “We’ll pick it back up next week.”

“Yeah, next week,” he agrees.

After the door closes behind him, I lock up. When I return to the living room, Zara is still standing right where I left her.

“That was…fun,” she says. “And while I appreciate you making him apologize, that’s not the first time I’ve been mistaken as a whore. ”

“Sorry.”

“The funny thing is, getting paid for sex seems infinitely smarter than getting fucked over for free.”

There is so much to unpack in that last statement, but I can’t handle it all tonight. “We’re going to circle back to that comment tomorrow,” I assure her. “As soon as one of my men comes to watch the door, I’m getting a shower and going to bed.” I want to try to get a few hours of sleep before I have to get up, start making arrangements for a marriage ceremony, and expedited prenup paperwork.

That is, if I don’t wake up in the morning and realize marrying a woman I don’t know is a ridiculous idea. Or she doesn’t kill me in my sleep. I’ll need to lock my gun in the safe, along with both of our cell phones.

“I could use another shower too,” Zara remarks. For a second, I think she’s insinuating that she wants to join me. Then she adds, “I feel…gross.”

Right.

Just because she didn’t flinch when I killed a man doesn’t mean she wants to fuck me.