Wicked as Sin

by Black, Shayla

  “Can I see him?”

  She shook her head. “I’m afraid not yet. We’re running some tests…”

  The doctor went on, explaining the preacher’s condition. The only words Brea seemed to hear were bypass surgery, probably in the next few hours. Gaping, she pressed a hand to her chest as her face went sheet white and she wobbled on her feet. One-Mile steadied her.

  The doctor addressed him. “Is she prone to fainting? Has she eaten today?”

  He had no fucking idea. “I’ll take care of her.”

  The woman nodded grimly. “It’s likely going to be a long day. She’ll need her strength. We should be finished with all the tests in about an hour.”

  That gave him enough time to see to Brea since she was too worried about her father to even think of herself.

  When the surgeon disappeared down the hall again, he turned Brea to face him. “Talk to me. Did you eat breakfast?”

  “Oatmeal about six this morning.” She blinked up at him. “What if he doesn’t make it?”

  The terror on her face hurt him. “The fact he’s conscious and talking is a good sign. She wouldn’t perform the surgery if she believed he’d never pull through. I know you’re afraid—”

  “You don’t understand.” She wrenched from him.

  “Then help me.”

  As quickly as the fight had filled her, it left. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. You’re very kindly letting me lean on you.”

  “I’m also the only one around to hear your fears and frustration. So let me have it. I’m a tough guy. I can handle whatever you need to dish out.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re like a bottle of soda someone shook up. I can see you bubbling under the surface. Yank the lid off and spew.” He tried to smile to lighten the mood. “I’ll help you clean up the mess when you’re done.”

  “I don’t let loose like that. Ever.”

  “Maybe you should, pretty girl.”

  He couldn’t push her anymore if she wasn’t ready…but someday she’d pop the top on all that repressed tension. Then, watch out. Brea with her hair down and her gloves off would be a sight. One-Mile hoped he was there for that.

  Hell, he hoped he provoked it.

  For now, he led her to the cafeteria, got her a sandwich and a salad, then encouraged her to eat.

  “Thank you for staying with me,” she said as she pushed away the rest of her turkey on wheat. “You didn’t have to.”

  “I did.” He would be here for her as long as she wanted him. Probably longer. She just didn’t know that yet.

  “You barely know me.”

  He shrugged. “I want to know more.”

  But now wasn’t the time. In fact, his moments alone with her were likely ticking away. Soon, the parishioners, Mama Sweeney, and probably Cutter the asswipe would show up. Brea would feel obligated to give them her attention and support. Then he’d be in her way. He had to maximize his time with her now.

  “Later,” he added. “Focus on your dad today.”

  “You know it will never work between us.”

  “Besides the sex thing, which I already answered, why not?” One-Mile was expecting a lot of blah-blah and bullshit about Cutter and their budding love or whatever the fuck she thought they shared.

  “I don’t know you.”

  “We can fix that. I’m game. How about you?”

  She shook her head. “I know what you do for a living.”

  She didn’t like it, but she also didn’t understand that he was doing the world a goddamn favor by offing scum. “Good. Then we won’t have to have that awkward conversation. What else?”

  “You scare me.”

  He had to give Brea credit; that was honest.

  One-Mile took a risk and held her hand. “I said I’d never hurt you. I meant it.”

  She squirmed in her seat. “Not that kind of scare.”

  So he made her heart race and her female parts tingle, huh? And she’d never felt that before? Cutter must be a literal wet noodle in the sack, but that wasn’t his issue. Getting her to see a future without the Boy Scout was.

  He dragged his thumb back and forth across her so-soft palm. “It’s the good kind of scare.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “Are you this adamant with every woman you pursue?”

  It was a fair question. “No. But I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  “You really don’t know me.”

  “I know my gut tells me that I shouldn’t let you get away.”

  “Pierce…”

  “One-Mile. Pierce was my father.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  It wasn’t good, but she loved her dad, so she’d probably never comprehend the bleeding asshole his had been. “Having someone else’s name can be like wearing a too-tight jacket.”

  She seemed to weigh his words. “At least it’s a nice name. And you could make it your own. But I can’t, in good conscience, call you something that celebrates another person’s death.”

  Of course not. She only saw the loss of life, not the fact that if he hadn’t pulled the trigger for that fateful one-mile shot, a terrorist had been prepared to blow up a marketplace filled with women and children simply because American servicemen had been there. Still, now wasn’t the time to push her more.

  “If Pierce makes you more comfortable, fine.” He’d rather her call him Pierce than not call him at all.

  “Why don’t you and Cutter like each other?”

  “Are you asking me questions to take your mind off your worries?”

  She sent him a faint smile. “I might be.”

  Reading people could sometimes be the difference between life and death. “Try not to worry too much.”

  “I don’t think I can stop it.”

  One-Mile palmed her crown, feeling the softness of her hair as he pulled her closer. “Think positive. You done here, pretty girl?”

  She looked at her half-eaten sandwich and nodded. “We should get back to the ER.”

  He’d rather linger where it was unlikely anyone—especially Cutter—would find them, but Brea would feel better if she were closer to her father. “Let’s go.”

  Sure, she could find her own way through the hospital, but he couldn’t resist settling his palm on the small of her back and guiding her to the crowded room that smelled like antiseptic, puke, and fear. When they arrived, a tall man who looked like an older version of Cutter and a tiny woman who shared his eyes headed straight for Brea.

  She bolted for the woman. “Mama Sweeney!”

  “Oh, baby girl…” The older woman hugged her fiercely. “We’re here for you and your daddy. Try not to fret.”

  “That means the world to me.” Brea turned to the other man. “Thanks for coming, too, Cage.”

  One-Mile hung back, gritting his teeth as the other man folded her into his big arms.

  “Of course,” Cage assured. “I don’t have to be back in Dallas and on duty until midnight. I’m sure my little brother will turn up long before then.”

  “Most likely.” Brea’s stilted smile didn’t quite mask her worry.

  “I left him a voicemail on our way over. But you know Cutter isn’t the sort to disappear all night without a word. Of my two boys, he’s the good one,” Sweeney teased as she elbowed her older son.

  Cage rolled his eyes. “You only think that because he’s better at fooling you.”

  Brea’s boyfriend had been out all night? And his family wasn’t even trying to reassure her that Cutter hadn’t danced the mattress tango with another woman?

  Maybe they thought he was working. One-Mile knew better.

  “Hush,” Sweeney scolded Cage before she settled Brea into the nearest chair. “Honey, sit down before you fall down and tell us the latest from the doctor.”

  Brea did, looking alarmingly pale by the time she glanced his way. “Did I forget anything?”

  “No.”

  Cage zipped a cau
tious stare his way. “We haven’t met.”

  “Sorry.” Brea jumped to her feet. “Cage, this is one of Cutter’s peers, Pierce Walker.”

  “I prefer One-Mile.” He stuck out his hand to Cutter’s older brother.

  As they shook hands, nothing on Cage’s face said he’d heard the name before. “Good to meet you. Which branch did you serve?”

  “Marines. Sniper.”

  Understanding dawned as Cage nodded. “Hence the nickname. Hell of a kill shot, man.”

  He’d rather not talk about it with Brea listening. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a cop in Dallas.”

  It fit. Cage had that sharp, gritty edge he never saw on a salesman or an accountant. “Glad you could come before you have to get back for your shift.”

  “Always. She’s like my sister.” Cage stared him down. “You a friend of Cutter’s?”

  He and Bryant would become pals on the twelfth of never as hell was freezing over. “We just work together.”

  Cage’s face closed up. Obviously, he’d read between the lines.

  Brea tugged on Cage’s sleeve. “You don’t have any idea where Cutter is?”

  “I don’t. He dropped you home after the party, and we went out for a beer. I left the bar when they shouted last call. He stayed to, um…talk to some folks.”

  Folks who were female, no doubt. That lying motherfucker was covering his brother’s ass. Was Brea too trusting to believe her boyfriend was cheating? One-Mile wanted to strangle Cutter. If Brea ever gave him a chance, he wouldn’t dishonor her like that.

  “I hope he’s not hung over. I got concerned when he didn’t show up for church this morning. I’d planned to go by his apartment after my errand, but then Jennifer Collins called…”

  Cage slid into the seat beside her and gave her hand a squeeze. “He’ll turn up.”

  Yeah, hopefully not smelling like skank. Oh, he’d love Cutter to do something stupid enough to prompt Brea to sever their relationship, but she didn’t need the stress of finding out her boyfriend was a two-timing douche today.

  She squeezed Cage’s hand in return. “I know.”

  “Brea,” a familiar deep voice called from the sliding double doors.

  Speak of the devil…

  As Cutter strode toward them, heads turned. Cage and Mama Sweeney looked relieved to see him.

  Brea stood. “You made it.”

  “As soon as I got Mama’s message.” When Cutter reached her, he enfolded her in his arms, lifting her off the floor and against his body while she buried her face in his neck with a sob. “I saw you’d called. Why didn’t you leave a message?”

  “You might have been busy, and I didn’t want to be a bother.”

  Was she kidding? She should expect her man to drop anything—everything—when she needed him. He sure as hell would if Brea belonged to him. Had Cutter given her a reason to think he’d put her last?

  “Bre-bee, you’re never a bother.” He set her on her feet and cupped her face. “I’m always here for you. I always will be.”

  She gave him a shaky nod, rife with thanks.

  That was it? She wasn’t going to ask the bastard where he’d been all night and why he hadn’t answered the phone until three o’clock in the afternoon?

  No one else seemed to think it was odd, either. Sweeney hugged her son. Cage gave his brother a shoulder bump. Then they updated him about her dad’s condition.

  “I’ll be praying for him,” Cutter assured with a nod, then marched One-Mile’s way, cutting a scathing look in his direction. “Why are you here?”

  “She was in no shape to drive herself.”

  “You were with her when she got the call?” Cutter demanded, brow raised.

  One-Mile didn’t see the point of stating the obvious.

  “Would y’all mind giving us a minute?” Cutter asked his family. “Maybe get me a cup of coffee. I could use one.”

  “Whatever you want, little brother. Let’s go, Brea.” Cage took her arm.

  Brea twisted from his reach. “I’d rather stay.”

  Cutter scowled. “You don’t need to hear this, Bre-bee.”

  “I’m not leaving. The doctor might return with an update.”

  “Let her stay, son,” Sweeney implored.

  “All right. But One-Mile and I are going to have a man-to-man talk.” Cutter jerked his head toward the door. “What I have in mind is probably best said outside.”

  Did the fidiot think he was going to beat him up in the parking lot? It would be hilarious if he wasn’t so annoying.

  As Sweeney and Cage exited for the cafeteria, Brea propped her hands on her hips. “You will not speak a cross word to Pierce, do you hear me? He got me here in one piece. He fed me and took care of me and—”

  “Ask yourself why he’d do all that,” Cutter fired back. “It wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, Bre-Bee. I guarantee he’s focused on the desperation behind his zipper.”

  One-Mile hated being run out by the prick, but the last thing Brea needed right now was to be in the middle of their bickering. “I’ll just go, pretty girl. I wish your father the best.”

  “But—

  “It’s fine,” he cut into her objection, then pinned Cutter with a glare. “Bryant, maybe you should try getting your filthy mind out of the gutter.”

  As One-Mile headed for the exit, the asshole followed. “I have a few things to say before you go.”

  The moment they were out of Brea’s earshot, he whirled on Cutter. “I’m not obligated to listen to your annoying-ass lecture, especially when it looks like you spent the night cheating on your girlfriend. So fuck off.”

  Bryant pointed a finger in his face. “Brea is off-limits to you, asshole.”

  “That’s for her to decide. She’s a grown woman.”

  “Who’s too naive to know who you really are, so—hey!” the Boy Scout yelled. “Don’t you walk away from me.”

  As he headed to his Jeep, One-Mile gave Cutter a one-fingered salute before he revved out of his parking spot and lurched toward the freeway, Brea Bell still on his mind.

  * * *

  Friday, August 8

  Brea hustled up the walkway of the surprisingly well-kept mid-century modern home in Lafayette, questioning her sanity for the tenth time in as many minutes. Loud rock music throbbed behind the front door as she clutched the plastic food container in one hand. With the other she rang the bell, her fingers shaking—along with the rest of her body.

  What the devil was she doing here? Courting danger. Pierce Walker was more man than she could handle. She was likely to get herself in over her head.

  But Brea owed him her thanks. And, okay…she was dying to see him again.

  What could five minutes alone with the man hurt?

  Suddenly, the volume on the music dropped under a dull roar and heavy footfalls got louder as they headed her way. Then the door whipped open, and Pierce stood on the other side of the threshold, scowling.

  He was covered in nothing but ink, body hair, and bulging muscle from the waist up. Well-washed jeans hung low on his hips. He dangled the neck of a half-empty beer in one hand. His bare feet were built like the rest of him—big and overwhelmingly masculine.

  Brea sucked in a silent, shaking breath. “Hi.”

  “Brea.” His scowl disappeared. “This is a surprise.”

  How was it possible that his eyes had been on her a handful of seconds and she somehow felt naked?

  “Sorry to drop by. I-I just wanted to thank you.” She held out the container to him.

  He took the dish from her hands. “For what?”

  As Pierce propped himself against the doorframe and stared, she nearly lost herself in his fathomless black eyes. She forced herself to blink, but her wayward gaze wandered down his body. A Marine crest tattoo covered his right pectoral. More dark ink enveloped both shoulders, emphasizing every ridge and swell of his sizable physique. Well-washed denim cupped the substantial bulge between his legs.


  And she utterly forgot everything she’d planned to say.

  “Brea?”

  His deep voice jolted her. She jerked her gaze from places it didn’t belong and cleared her throat. “Um…helping me get to the hospital the day Daddy collapsed. And for bringing my car to me afterward. It was very kind of you.”

  “No problem. How’s he doing now?”

  “Recovering. His surgery went well. Since you thoughtfully left me your contact information in my console, I meant to come sooner to tell you how much I appreciated your help, but I’ve been taking care of him. I finally got a few minutes, so I-I brought you these cookies. Since I didn’t know what you liked, I baked a few different kinds…” She dropped her gaze to collect her thoughts and stop rambling, but her stare glued itself to him again, this time fixating on his ridiculously delineated twelve-pack abs. “But you don’t look like you eat many.”

  He laughed. Pierce Walker was menacing when he scowled, but when he smiled he was stunning. Something wild and reckless quivered in her belly, urging her to put her hands on him, press herself against him, beg him to somehow stop this breathless, fluttery yearning she’d only ever felt with him.

  “Because I don’t have anyone baking me cookies.” He peeled the lid off the top and peered down. “These look good.”

  “I baked the chocolate chip without nuts. I didn’t know if you were allergic.”

  “I’m not.”

  “I also included checkerboard, cinnamon sugar, and gluten-free almond wafer.”

  “Thank you.” He curled his fingers around her shoulder. They burned like a brand as he scooted her breathlessly close to his naked torso and locked the door behind them. “Why don’t you come in and let me get you something to drink?”

  “I shouldn’t stay. I would never want to interrupt your…” Goodness, what had he been doing? It was a Friday night. Maybe he was getting ready to go out. Or heaven forbid, planning to stay in…with female company.

  “Game of pool. You’re not interrupting. Stay. Like a lot of things, it’s a lot more fun when you’re not playing alone.” He winked.

  His seemingly suggestive words sparked a reaction low in her belly. “I-I’ve never played.”