Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Jada

“Coffee?”

“It’s almost five o’clock,” I laughed. “I need to consume my caffeine before two o’clock, or I’ll never sleep.”

Creed shrugged. “Scone?”

I laughed and nodded. “Now you’re talking. Get me two so I can have one for breakfast. Tomorrow is my day off, and my only plans are to lay in bed.”

Creed nodded and pulled me into his arms. “Think I can join you?” he whispered.

“I was kind of counting on it. I’ve become kind of partial to the penthouse view.”

He pressed a hot kiss to my lips. It was long and passionate, his lips firm yet soft against mine, igniting a spark that spread through my entire body. His hand cradled the back of my head, pulling me closer, deepening the kiss until I felt light-headed. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were filled with need and desire.

“How about we head to the historical section?” he suggested, his voice husky.

The bell above the door dinged, and I stepped out of his arms. “Foiled by the bell,” I snickered.

“Raincheck?” he whispered.

I nodded. “Always.”

Creed walked out, and I couldn’t help but watch him, admiring his good looks. His strong, confident stride, his broad shoulders filled out his white button-down shirt, and his pants fit just right. I sighed, a content smile playing on my lips as he disappeared from view.

A group of teenagers walked into the store, their energy filling the space. They split off, some heading to the young adult section and others to the fantasy section. I tried to keep an eye on both groups, making myself available in case they had any questions.

One of the girls approached me, holding up a copy of ‘It Ends With Us.’ “Excuse me, do you have any other books by Colleen Hoover?”

“Sure do,” I said with a smile. “Follow me.”

I led her to the large display, showing her the rest of Hoover’s works. She picked out a few more, her excitement evident.

“Anything else I can help you with?” I asked.

“No, that’s it. Thanks!”

I returned to the counter, keeping an eye on the other teenagers. A few minutes later, they gathered around, their arms full of books. I checked them out, scanning each book and bagging them up.

“Is this all for today?” I asked, smiling at their enthusiastic nods.

“Yeah, we love this place,” one of the boys said. “Thanks for having all the good stuff.”

“Anytime,” I replied, handing them their bags. “Enjoy your reading!”

They left, chatting excitedly about their new purchases. The store felt quiet again, the buzz of their energy lingering in the air.

My phone beeped, pulling me from my thoughts. I picked it up, and my stomach dropped to my feet. A message from an unknown number flashed on the screen.

You made a mistake, Jada. Now it’s time to pay.

The phone fell from my hand, hitting the floor with a sharp clatter. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears as terror gripped me. A scream escaped my lips before I could stop it, the sound piercing through the stillness of the bookstore.

Tatum and Murphy rushed from my office, their expressions turning from confusion to concern as they saw me standing there, shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Tatum asked, her voice urgent.

Murphy’s eyes followed my gaze to the phone on the floor. He quickly grabbed it, his face darkening as he read the message. “Son of a bitch,” he growled. He looked around the store, eyes narrowing. “Where is Creed?” he demanded.

I couldn’t speak. My throat felt like it was closing up, and my mind was a whirlwind of fear and confusion. I was frozen, unable to process anything beyond the sheer terror that had taken hold of me.

“What is going on?” Tatum asked again, her voice rising with panic.

Murphy moved to the door and turned the lock, securing it with a swift motion. “Where is Creed?” he asked me again, more urgently this time.

I shook my head, trying to pull myself together. “Uh, he went to the coffee shop,” I managed to stammer out, my voice barely above a whisper.

My phone buzzed again in Murphy’s hand. The sound felt like a jolt of electricity running through me, snapping me out of my daze.

“What is going on?” Tatum screamed, her eyes wide with fear and frustration.

Murphy tossed her the phone. She clumsily grabbed it out of the air, almost dropping it before steadying herself. She read off the new message, “Who will make the sacrifice?” Her face went pale, and she looked up at us, her eyes full of dread. “What does that mean?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“I don’t know,” I said, my voice shaking. “But it can’t be good.”

Murphy pulled his phone out, his frustration palpable. “I am so done with this damn bitch,” he muttered, swiping a few times before putting the phone to his ear. He paced back and forth in front of the door, his agitation growing. “Answer your damn phone,” he muttered again, almost to himself.

“He’s just next door,” I called, trying to calm him down. “He should be back any minute.” At least, I hoped he would be.

The door rattled as someone tried to open it from the other side. “What the hell?” a voice called out.

My eyes lit up. “That’s Creed,” I exclaimed, relief washing over me.

“Thank fuck,” Murphy sighed, turning the lock. But before Creed could even step inside, three loud cracks sounded, and time stood still.

Tatum screamed shrilly, the sound piercing through the sudden silence.

Creed’s body jerked violently as the bullets hit him. The first shot slammed into his shoulder, twisting him to the side. The second hit him square in the chest, and he staggered, his face contorted in pain and shock. He collapsed to the ground, blood pooling around him.

Murphy quickly grabbed Creed’s body, pulling him into the bookstore. He stood up and pulled a gun from a holster at his side. “Call nine-one-one,” he shouted, his voice a mix of fury and urgency.

Tatum scrambled for my phone, her hands shaking as she dialed the emergency number and put it on speakerphone. “Oh my god, oh my god,” she kept repeating while she waited for someone to answer. “Help,” she shouted into the phone. “I’m at 1409 Michigan Ave. My friend has been shot. We need an ambulance; please hurry,” she pleaded.

Creed moaned on the floor, his eyes fluttering open. I dropped to my knees beside him, pressing my hands against his wounds in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding.

Murphy opened the door slightly and peered outside. Tires squealed, and a blacked-out SUV tore down the street, disappearing around the corner. He slammed the door shut and locked it again, his face set in grim determination.

“Stay with me, Creed,” I pleaded, tears streaming down my face. “Help is on the way; just hold on. Please don’t leave me.”

He looked up at me, his eyes filled with pain but also a fierce determination. “I’m not going anywhere,” he managed to say, his voice weak but resolute.

Murphy crouched beside us, his gun still in his hand. “They’re gone,” he said, his voice tight. “But we need to get him to a hospital now.”

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest. The operator on the phone assured Tatum that an ambulance was on its way, but it felt like an eternity.

“Hang in there, Creed,” I whispered, my hands still pressing against his wounds. “You’re going to be okay. You have to be okay,” I whispered.

Minutes stretched on like hours, but finally, the sound of sirens filled the air. Paramedics burst through the door, and I was pushed to the side as they worked quickly to stabilize Creed. I watched in a daze as they loaded him onto a stretcher and rushed him out to the waiting ambulance.

Murphy, Tatum, and I followed the ambulance in his car. The ride to the hospital was a blur of flashing lights and frantic prayers as Murphy stayed on the ambulance’s ass the whole way. When we arrived, Creed was whisked away to surgery, leaving us in the sterile, too-bright waiting room.

I collapsed into a chair, my body shaking with fear and adrenaline. Murphy sat beside me, his face a mask of controlled rage. “We’re going to find who did this,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And they’re going to pay.”

I nodded, unable to find the words. Tatum sat on the other side of me and gripped my hand in hers.

All I could think about was Creed, lying on that operating table, fighting for his life.

Hours passed with excruciating slowness. Tatum never left my side, her face pale and eyes wide with worry. We all sat together, waiting for any news.

Finally, a doctor approached, looking tired but hopeful. “Creed is out of surgery,” he said. “He’s stable for now, but the next twenty-four hours are critical.”

I felt a surge of relief but also a new wave of fear. “Can I see him?” I asked, my voice trembling.

The doctor nodded. “Briefly. He’s in recovery.”

I followed the doctor to Creed’s room, my heart in my throat. When I saw him lying there, hooked up to machines, his face pale and drawn, I had to fight back tears. I took his hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m here,” I whispered. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I love you, Creed. I think it happened that first day,” I sniffled. “I fell in love with you before I even knew who you were,” I ended with a whisper.

Creed didn’t move. The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a constant reminder of his fragile state. The rhythmic hiss of the ventilator punctuated the silence, its mechanical breath sounding far too clinical and detached. The IV drip clicked softly with each measured drop, all these sounds blending into a symphony of artificial life-support that kept him tethered to this world.

The next twenty-four hours were going to be critical, and I wasn’t going to be able to breathe until I saw Creed’s eyes and knew he wasn’t going to leave me.