Wicked as Sin

by Black, Shayla

  She waved to some of the townsfolk across the room, then stopped to admire Mrs. Jenkins’s granddaughter, who had just turned four yesterday. Cutter urged her along, his hand on the small of her back, until they finally reached the sidewalk.

  “I thought we’d never get out of there.” He wriggled like he wore a too-tight sweater.

  She laughed. “You like people as long as you’re protecting them. Heaven forbid you have to talk to them.”

  He grinned. “You know me so well.”

  “All my life.” She bumped shoulders with him. “That’s why you’re my best friend. What are you doing today?”

  “Mama is working. Cage got off duty a few hours ago, so he’s on his way back to town.” He shrugged. “I might head back to Lafayette and run a few errands. You know, get ready to raise hell tonight.”

  “As much as you hide it from me, I know you’re capable of that.”

  Cutter opened his mouth to say something. The revving of a motorcycle cut him off. Brea turned—and stopped in her tracks when she spotted a big man in a black helmet, leather jacket, well-worn jeans, and combat boots cruising toward them.

  Instantly, tingles sizzled across every inch of her skin, awakening her aching nipples. They shocked her even more by pooling between her legs.

  Brea couldn’t see behind the man’s glossy black visor, but he handled his bike with easy confidence. He stared in a way that told her she was his sole focus. She was magnetically drawn to him, as if her soul compelled her to follow his. Only one man had ever affected her that way, and every time she saw him, the feeling grew stronger.

  Pierce Walker.

  Was he in Sunset looking for her?

  With his stare still glued to her, he revved his engine again and turned off Napoleon Avenue, heading left on Landry. She craned her head to watch until he disappeared behind the buildings and she couldn’t hear his engine anymore.

  “That son of a bitch,” Cutter grumbled.

  “Shush. He’s only riding down the street.”

  Cutter gently guided her down the sidewalk, but she could feel rage pinging from him. “Walker is sniffing around you, Bre-Bee. He smells blood.”

  “What the devil does that mean?”

  “You think he’s a harmless kitten, that under all his BS he’s got a good heart. That man is a hungry lion ready to eat, and you’re the little rabbit he intends to sate his hunger with.”

  His intimation sent heat rolling through her. “You don’t know that.”

  Cutter scoffed. “Yeah, I do. He’s not even trying to hide it. You’re just too nice to understand. He was pleasant at the EM party. He took you to the hospital when you needed help. He ate the cookies you baked him—”

  “How did you know about those?”

  “I didn’t fix the church van. He did. But I intercepted the note he left you, ‘inviting’ you back to his place to pick up your container since he’d spent the evening ‘eating your cookies.’ I hope he meant your snickerdoodles and not your pussy.”

  “Cutter Edward Bryant!” He’d never spoken to her like that.

  Still, a vision of Pierce, big and inked and naked, with his dark head between her bare thighs as she writhed in ecstasy, shot a bolt of fire through her bloodstream.

  “I’m serious,” Cutter growled. “He’d like to.”

  She knew. He hadn’t kept that a secret. “Well, he never touched me, especially…there.”

  “And now he won’t. I warned him away again. This time, I made sure he knows I mean it.”

  Brea stopped their stroll by putting her foot down. “Did you ask me what I wanted?”

  “It’s not him. You have better taste than that.”

  Admitting that she didn’t would only start an argument. And why bother? Other than eyeing her on the street just now and supposedly fixing the church van, Pierce hadn’t given her any real indication he was interested in more than sex. Besides, how could she introduce him to Daddy? Unless Pierce was willing to put a ring on her finger, that was impossible. But the notion seemed highly unlikely. He might give her a night of sin but never his last name. Time to stop indulging in this stupid fantasy that the bad boy wanted her for anything more than a fling.

  Time to forget him.

  Brea looked down the sidewalk. The door to the beauty shop opened. Rayleigh, the owner, stuck her head out and shot her an Instagram-ready brow.

  “I’ve got to go. I’m sure Gabrielle and her mother are waiting for me. I’ll see you later.”

  “Call me if you need someone to run you out to the Richards’ place later.”

  Brea was tired just thinking about the twelve-plus-hour day in front of her. “Thanks.”

  Cutter leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I’m only trying to protect you.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  After giving him the only smile she could manage, she headed inside the salon. Four hours, two perms, a shampoo-and-set, and a no-show later, she propped her feet on a vacant chair in the break room and waited for her next haircut. She was playing a crossword app on her phone when it rang. It was Cutter.

  Brea almost didn’t answer. He probably wanted to remind her of all the reasons Pierce wasn’t right for her, and she wasn’t in the mood.

  But as her finger hovered over the decline button, something told her to answer. “Hi. What’re you doing?”

  He paused. His silence was somehow rife with tension. “Brea, I want you to listen to me carefully.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Had he gone by to check on Daddy and found him collapsed again?

  “I’m in a situation. I’ve always managed to make it out safely in the past…but I don’t think this one will end that way. I’m sorry. I called to say goodbye.”

  Chapter Four

  Brea’s heart stopped. Her world came to a standstill. “What are you saying?”

  But she knew. Cutter lived steeped in danger, and her worst fear, that something had finally proven stronger than him, had come true.

  “Cage is on his way. Stay put. He’ll explain. But—”

  “No!”

  “Don’t make this harder,” he barked, his voice gravelly with resolution and something she’d never heard in his voice—fear. “I’ve called the rest of my family and said my goodbyes. I love you, little sister. Take care—”

  “Stop. There must be something you can do. This can’t be happening. I don’t…” Know what I’ll do without you.

  The words pressed on her chest, cutting off her breath and forcing out tears.

  “I negotiated the release of a group of hostages. Saving fifteen lives at the price of one is a good deal. My end will be quick, and you’ll go on. Live well.” He let out a shuddering breath. “For me.”

  “Cutter, no. You can’t just—”

  But the line went dead. The reality that she’d probably never again talk to the brother of her heart slammed into her chest.

  She believed in a benevolent God. Sure, bad things happened in this world…but why Cutter? Why now? Brea didn’t understand anything about this—except that she had to do something to stop it. Surely, His will couldn’t be so cruel as to let someone as wonderful as Cutter die for doing a good deed.

  As she leapt to her feet, Rayleigh poked her head in the door. “Cage is here for you, honey. I think something is wrong.”

  “Cancel the rest of my appointments,” she barked as she grabbed her purse and burst out of the break room.

  “What’s going on?” the woman called after her.

  Brea didn’t answer, just ran toward Cage, who waited near the entry, face somber. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight, as if he needed to give comfort as much as to receive it. She freely embraced him, but didn’t want any consolation. She just wanted Cutter home safely.

  “Tell me everything. Where is your brother? How did this happen?”

  Cage glanced around. Brea followed suit and realized everyone in the salon was staring. There was nothing this small town loved
more than gossip, the juicier the better.

  She had lovingly nurtured this community all her life. She’d loved everyone openly and without reservation. Now they gawked like rapt bystanders, watching as if she and Cage were acting out a sensational TV spectacle.

  She was being dramatic. Of course they wouldn’t know what to say. She barely did. Still, their curious stares and pitying expressions irritated her.

  “Let’s talk in the car,” Cage grumbled. “I need to get back to Mama.”

  She nodded feverishly, then sent Rayleigh an imploring glance. “I’ve got to go.”

  The woman’s face softened. “I’ll cancel everything for you.”

  Brea ran out the door, Cage hot on her heels. Thankfully, he’d found a spot at the curb and helped her into his truck.

  As soon as he got behind the wheel, he faced her. “After you two had breakfast, Cutter stopped at the grocery store on his way home. A man was inside, threatening to kill his estranged wife. Some bystanders tried to help, but he pulled a gun. Most people ran to safety, but he shot the butcher simply to prove he meant business, then trapped fifteen people inside the store with him: four men, eight women—including his soon-to-be ex-wife—and three children. When Cutter pulled up, the police hadn’t arrived yet and all hell was breaking loose. He intervened.”

  Of course. Not only did Cutter see it as his solemn duty to protect others, he’d negotiated hostage situations in the past. “So he arranged their release?”

  “Everyone except the estranged wife. The gunman wasn’t willing to let her go…at first.”

  But Cutter had worn the man down until he gave in and agreed to release the woman?

  Brea turned to Cage with a gasp. “Cutter exchanged his life for hers, didn’t he? That’s why he was calling.”

  Cage nodded grimly as he started the truck. “He made the deal less than an hour ago. The gunman allowed him to say his final goodbyes to his family and relay his demands to the police.”

  “What does he want?” Not that it really mattered, but she had to know how much time Cutter had left.

  “A black Camaro with a full tank of gas, ten thousand in unmarked bills, and two fifths of Jack Daniels.”

  The man didn’t sound like he had his priorities straight. “Nothing else?”

  As they stopped for the light at the corner near the salon, Cage pulled at the back of his neck. “No. The gunman knows he’s already lost. That makes him reckless, stupid, and dangerous.”

  And Brea knew Cutter. Even if he died, he would be satisfied he’d won if all the hostages went free. “How long do the police have to deliver his demands?”

  “Three hours. And thirty minutes of that have already passed.”

  Unless something happened, Cutter would be dead before the sun went down.

  Dread gonged in her chest. “What are the police doing? Tell me they have some plan to catch this man before—”

  “Cutter asked everyone not to intervene.” Cage didn’t sound happy. “Since he and the entire EM Security team are reserve officers, the police are honoring his wishes.”

  “What?” She’d ask if Cage was serious or Cutter was insane, but she knew the answer.

  “I’m pissed, too. Fuck!” He took out his frustrations by beating the steering wheel with his big fist. “I’m sorry but…”

  Brea waved away his apology. She’d never spoken that word in her life, but she’d sort of like to right now. “So the police are just going to let this happen?”

  “They’ll try to catch the guy when he leaves the store, but…pretty much.”

  “What about you? You could—”

  “Step in? Don’t you think I wish I could? Even if my brother hadn’t asked me to stand down, I’m a cop in Dallas. I don’t have any jurisdiction in Lafayette. If I went in there and killed that guy, I’d probably go to prison for murder.” He shook his head in frustration. “My hands are tied.”

  She understood the laws and why they existed, but she couldn’t accept giving up now. Thank goodness Cage had given her an idea. “Well, mine aren’t. Take me to my car.”

  He shook his head. “Cutter told me to bring you to Mama to make sure you’re safe and—”

  “Let me go.” When Cage hesitated, she pressed on. “If there’s even the slimmest chance I can save your brother, don’t you want me to try?”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  If she told him, he’d only waste time trying to talk her out of it. But Cutter wasn’t the only one who could be sacrificial. “Please don’t ask. I’d rather not lie to you.”

  “You can’t go anywhere near that grocery story, you hear? You can’t put yourself in danger.”

  She shook her head. “I won’t. I promise.”

  The light turned green. Cage paused, then cursed as he slung an illegal U-turn in the middle of the street. He pulled into the parking lot behind the salon with a sigh. “If my brother makes it through this, he’s going to kill me. And I don’t care. If you can do anything…”

  When he braked beside her compact, she laid a hand on his. “It’s a slim possibility, but I’ll do everything I can.”

  With that promise, she jumped out and slid into her little car, screeching out of the parking lot before Cage could maneuver his big truck around to follow her.

  It should have taken her at least twenty minutes to reach Lafayette. She made it in twelve. Leaping out of the car and dashing up the walkway to the mid-century modern, she frantically rang the doorbell.

  “Please be home.” If not, she’d have to figure out a plan B, but that would take time she didn’t have. “Please be home.”

  Suddenly, the door jerked open. Shirtless and scowling, Pierce Walker stood in the entryway, scrutinizing her with fierce black eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need your help. Please.”

  He hesitated, and she wondered if he would turn her away. Then finally, he stepped back and invited her in with a bob of his head. “Tell me what you need.”

  She rushed inside. “Cutter’s in danger. He negotiated the release of some hostages from a gunman holding them at a nearby grocery store, but he wouldn’t let his estranged wife go. So Cutter offered his life in exchange for hers. He’s planning to kill Cutter in about two hours.” Tears stung her eyes as she surged forward to grab his steely arms. “I know I’m asking for a lot. I know this isn’t your fight. I know you don’t like him. But I love him so much. Please… Please, save him. I’ll do anything.”

  * * *

  One-Mile stood over Brea’s petite form, searching her big, pleading eyes. She was begging him—of all people—to save her boyfriend’s life.

  How fucked up is this?

  “What makes you think I can do anything?”

  “Aren’t you a Lafayette PD reserve officer?”

  He nodded. “But that means I have even less power to make things happen in this situation than a beat cop. I’m sure it’s being handled—”

  “Cutter told them all to stand down. Besides, I doubt any of their officers possess your…skill set.”

  Now he understood. Oh, hell.

  One-Mile slammed the door behind Brea and crowded close. Her scent wafted across his senses and slammed into his brain. The soft sway of her breasts burned his chest with the rise and fall of every breath. His lust surged. Jesus, he ached to touch her, to fucking kiss her until she forgot Cutter Bryant had ever existed.

  Fat chance.

  “And you’ll do anything if I save him, is that right?”

  “Yes.”

  “So the pretty little preacher’s daughter is offering to fuck me as payment to commit murder?”

  She flinched but her stare didn’t waver. “Yes.”

  Well, that answered his most burning question. She was so committed to Cutter that she would give a middle finger to her good-girl morals and do the nasty with a man who scared her in order to save the bastard’s life.

  Son of a bitch.

  He’d deal with that later. But he only
wanted Brea if she was wet and hot for him, not because she was martyring herself for another man. Even so, he hated to see her in distress. And she’d never forgive him if he didn’t intervene. Caring at all probably made him a schmuck since she didn’t give two shits about him. But he wouldn’t shut off his internal compass for her or anyone, and it told him to move heaven and hell to keep Brea in his life. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had any qualms about ending a scumbag who’d held innocents hostage. Plus, his bosses would either fire him or slit his throat—his money was on the latter—if he could have saved Cutter and hadn’t.

  Reality tasted really fucking bitter.

  He managed not to slam his fist into the nearest wall. “I need a few minutes.”

  Without a word, he marched to the other side of the house, tore into his home office, then opened the gun safe bolted into the floor.

  Brea tiptoed up behind him. Of course he knew. Not only could he hear her, his goddamn body was attuned to her. Every time she came within ten feet of him, his skin fried with lust. His dick got so fucking hard.

  “Is that a yes?”

  He yanked his MK-13 from where he’d nestled it, retrieved the scope and a tripod, then fished out a box of .300 Magnum rounds. From deeper in the closet, he retrieved a gun case and arranged everything inside, then shut the lid with a final click. “Why not? You want someone dead, pretty girl, I’m your man.”

  “You’re angry.” Brea’s face said that troubled her.

  He grabbed a long-sleeved camo T-shirt from the hanging rod above, thrust it over his head, and lied like a motherfucker. “Nope. Just putting on my game face.”

  Why tell her he was jealous? It served no purpose except to make him feel pitiful as fuck.

  “I’m sorry.” She laid a hand against his chest and looked up at him, her expression imploring him to understand. “I know I have no right to ask, but only you can help.”

  The shitty thing was, she was right. Sure, the Lafayette Police Department had a SWAT unit. Some of their officers had spent some time in the military. A couple had even served in war zones. But if someone was going to nail this guy from a few hundred yards away without alerting the perp while keeping the loss of civilian and LPD life to nil, he was the guy.