Dark Creed

Dark Creed CM Wondrak © 2023 Candace Wondrak All Rights Reserved. Book cover by Quirah Casey at Temptation Creations No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. No books by Candace Wondrak were created with the use of AI. Books by Candace Wondrak are only available at Amazon. If you are reading elsewhere, please note it is an illegal, pirated copy, uploaded without my permission. I, the author, nor the distributor received payment for the copy, and if prosecuted violation comes with a fine of up to $250,000. Please do not pirate books. Chapter One – Taylor Chapter Two – Creed Chapter Three – Taylor Chapter Four – Creed Chapter Five – Taylor Chapter Six – Creed Chapter Seven – Taylor Chapter Eight – Creed Chapter Nine – Taylor Chapter Ten – Creed Chapter Eleven – Taylor Chapter Twelve – Creed Chapter Thirteen – Taylor Chapter Fourteen – Creed Chapter Fifteen – Taylor Chapter Sixteen – Creed Chapter Seventeen – Taylor Chapter Eighteen – Creed Chapter Nineteen – Taylor Chapter Twenty – Creed Epilogue Chapter Twenty-One – Taylor Chapter Twenty-Two – Creed Chapter One – Taylor The night I left my dad’s house, I had no idea what I would do, the turns life would take. I was nineteen, a full-time college student with no job of her own, so it wasn’t like I could make it out in the world by myself—but I guess that’s the issue. Dad knew I couldn’t, and he wanted me to hurt like I’d made him hurt, so when he told me I wasn’t welcome back, he knew he had me. It wasn’t like we had much, not after my stepmom died. She’d been the cash cow to him. Maybe he’d loved her; I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter anymore. It’d been ten years since then, and so much had changed. So much, and yet nothing at all. Dad had probably hoped I’d graduate and land a fantastically-paying job, and instead of me leeching off him, as he often put it, he’d be the one to leech off me for the rest of my life. I didn’t know it when I was a kid, but that’s what my dad was: a parasite, someone who dug their claws into anyone they could and only let go when they drained them dry. Or they were ripped from his grasp before their time, like my stepmom. And my mom, I guess. Didn’t remember her at all; she’d died when I was a baby. So, when I stumbled from the house, wearing sweatpants and a baggy hoodie—what I always wore when I tried to attract no attention—I had no idea what I’d do or where I’d go. I’d managed to slip on a ratty pair of tennis shoes before stumbling out and down the front steps. I think I made it halfway down the driveway when I heard the door slam shut. I didn’t need to go back and check; it was locked. I kept my hands in my hoodie pocket, turning my back to the house, to my dad, who surely watched through the window to see what I’d do, where I would go. When I made it to the sidewalk, I attempted to slow my breathing; my heart beat so wildly in my chest that it felt like it was seconds from either exploding or popping out of my lungs and ribs and running away on its own. A tight, unrelenting pressure filled my chest cavity. This kind of stress wasn’t good for you. Dad wanted me to turn around. He wanted me to beg for his forgiveness for what I’d done, but after so many years of this… I’d taken all I could. I didn’t want to go back. Even though I had nothing to my name, I just couldn’t go back. And because I couldn’t go back, I turned and started walking. Where was I going? I didn’t know. Nowhere in particular was my answer; anywhere to get away from that house and the man inside it. A few minutes later, it started to rain. Just my terrible luck. I couldn’t remember if my dad had always been like this. A part of me didn’t remember much from my childhood, maybe because I’d blocked so much of it out. Only a few select memories remained in my head from when my stepmom was alive and we were one big, happy family. Maybe her death made him spiral, made him more controlling and cruel. Or maybe it was me. I didn’t think I’d been a bad kid, though. I wasn’t someone who partied it up, drank every weekend to the point where I passed out, and hooked up with any cute guy in my vicinity. I was just your average college student, commuting to class, still living at home to save some money. There was nothing remarkable about me. I skated under everyone’s radar. It wasn’t like I’d ever gone against Dad’s rules. I never threw tantrums… not until tonight, but a part of me didn’t want to describe tonight as a tantrum of mine. As if reminding me, the skin on my throat burned, and I tried not to pay any attention to it as I walked along. My right hand fiddled with my phone in my hoodie pocket; I bet Dad thought I was going to a friend’s house, or maybe back to campus where I could crash on one of the couches in the student union. I bet he thought I’d come back tomorrow—or this weekend, at the latest. I had a small circle of friends, other college students I’d met and clicked with freshman year. I wasn’t popular by any means. I’d only known them for a short time, though. None of my current friends had grown