Wicked Ever After

by Shayla Black

  She did her best to ignore her forbidden thrill. “What are you doing here?”

  Rayleigh melted into the background. The rest of the salon fell utterly silent. But no one looked away.

  “Taking a big fucking risk to talk to you.” With a glance over his shoulder, he looked at the partition blocking their view to the street, then faced her again. “I only came here because no one outside can see in.”

  The big wall had been designed so that passersby wouldn’t catch a glimpse of their neighbors in foils or perm rods, but why did Pierce care? Clearly, discretion didn’t mean a dang thing to him.

  “I want answers.” He glanced around as if suddenly realizing all eyes were on them. “Where can we talk more privately?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t right now.”

  And what was the point, anyway?

  “Can’t?” He raised a brow. “Or won’t?”

  Her heart pounded. “Both.”

  “We never finished dinner at my place, so you can either find us somewhere now or I’ll think of a secluded spot to take you after your last client.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that he was being an ass, but she had to quell gossip. Otherwise, as soon as people realized she was pregnant, there would be whispers that Cutter might not have fathered the baby after all.

  “I’m sorry business didn’t allow us to finish that conversation, and I would have liked to hear more about your ideas, but I’m afraid I’ve found another opportunity that suits me better.”

  “We both know it wasn’t business that interrupted our ‘discussion,’ pretty girl.”

  Brea felt her face turn bright red. He might as well have announced to everyone that they’d had sex.

  Clearly, Pierce wanted to know why she was marrying Cutter. He was determined to get answers today, never mind how much his presence would make her friends and neighbors chin-wag.

  Brea didn’t understand why he thought he had a right to demand anything after he’d been the one to break up with her, but if a few words would make him go away, then fine. Maybe she’d give him a piece of her mind, too.

  And…okay, some foolish part of her ached to spend a few minutes alone with him.

  “Rayleigh, can you finish up Mrs. Gale for me?” Thankfully, the salon owner’s last client of the day had cancelled.

  “Sure, honey. No one is in the break room, if y’all want to chat in there.”

  “We’ll only be a minute.”

  As she turned away, mortification rolled over her. Every eye in the place followed as she led Pierce down the shadowy hall and opened the door on the right. As Rayleigh said, it was empty. The radio in the corner, with its volume turned down low, played a Carrie Underwood tune. The scents of hair dye and chemical cleansers filled the air. The queasiness she thought she’d overcome earlier rushed back.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. But Pierce didn’t do subtle. If he wanted to touch her, her silent barrier wouldn’t keep him away. “What do you want?”

  “You fucking agreed to marry Bryant?”

  “Yes.” She stood her ground. And the more she thought about it, the more she got mad. “Why do you care? You told me in no uncertain terms that you were taking a step back. Then you left my house as if your backside was on fire. Why do you think that entitles you to any explanations?”

  “Less than a month ago, you said you were in love with me.”

  “Well, at least it took me nearly a whole month to change my mind. It only took you a week.”

  He gaped at her. “What? I never said I didn’t love you. I asked you to move in with me, for fuck’s sake. And you decided the right response was to get engaged to a man I know doesn’t do a damn thing for you?”

  Was he serious? If he still had feelings for her, why hadn’t she seen or heard from him in nearly two weeks? Did he only want her as a convenience when he was in the mood? For a forbidden thrill when she belonged to someone else? Was that “love” to him?

  Maybe they saw relationships so differently that his definition and hers would never align. Now that they were having a baby, she couldn’t be with someone who showed up a couple of times a month and considered that devotion. Regardless of whatever Pierce was after, she could no longer afford to play his game. She had an unborn baby to protect.

  “You’re wrong. I love Cutter. I have all my life. We finally decided to make it official. There’s nothing more to say.”

  Pierce used the hard slab of his body to propel her against the nearest wall, then slammed his big palms on either side of her head. “Did he take you to bed?”

  She gasped at the contact. God, he was so close. His body heat. His scent. His eyes all over her… Everything about him rattled her. Tempted her. “That’s none of your business.”

  “Is that what you think?” His black stare drilled down through her eyes like he could see all the way to her soul.

  She forced herself to nod.

  Every time the man got near her, fire scorched her veins. She went hot all over. Her heart thundered. Even now, Brea couldn’t help arching closer as she panted and ached for his touch.

  He grabbed her chin. His hot gaze sizzled its way to her mouth. Her eyes automatically fluttered shut in anticipation. Would his kiss be as all-consuming as she remembered?

  “That invitation all over your face is so tempting, pretty girl. We need to talk more than we need to fuck…but I’ll be happy to accommodate.”

  His sexy rasp nearly melted her. Why was she cursed to so completely crave a man who could destroy her?

  When he reached for his zipper, she found her head. “No. Don’t touch me.”

  “Why not? I’d bet every dime I own the Boy Scout still hasn’t laid a single finger on you. So all I have to do is lift your pretty plaid skirt, rip off your panties, and prove that pussy is still mine…” He grabbed fistfuls of the hardy fabric and started gliding them up her thighs. “Just like you are.”

  She wrapped desperate fingers around his beefy forearms, nearly crying in need. “No, Pierce. Stop.”

  He might still have her heart, but he didn’t want marriage and babies and all the things she yearned for. She couldn’t let him back into her body just because he spoke the words he must know she wanted to hear.

  His expression darkened. “You’re not marrying him.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  He grabbed her left hand. “Without a ring?”

  Brea blinked. She and Cutter hadn’t even talked about that. When Pierce was this close and clouding her senses, everything inside her resisted the idea of wearing a symbol that proclaimed she belonged to anyone else. “A formality.”

  He cursed. “No. It’s bullshit. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I only left because I’m trying to keep you safe, not because I don’t love you. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let you marry him the second my back is turned.”

  Pierce thought he’d been protecting her? “Safe from what?”

  “My life is dangerous as fuck right now, and the less you know, the better.” He glanced at the clock on the wall and cursed. “And I’ve been here too long. But this isn’t over, pretty girl. We aren’t over. And as soon as I put an end to this shit, you’ll say yes to me.” He grabbed her face and forced his gaze into hers. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure of that.”

  Her heart seized up. Everything inside her wanted to throw herself against him and tell him she still loved him. But she didn’t have the luxury of following her feelings anymore. “No. I’m getting married.”

  Pierce lowered his lips dangerously close to hers. “Not to him.”

  Suddenly, the door crashed in, and Cage stomped into the room, his prying stare bouncing between them. “Brea?”

  “I’m fine.” But her voice shook. Her head reeled. Her chest tightened.

  “Good. Go ahead. Your client is leaving. And I have a few things to say to Walker.”

  Brea didn’t want to leave, but every minute she spent alone with Pierce was
another minute the town would gossip.

  “Thanks.” She eased away from him.

  He grabbed her arm again. “I mean it, pretty girl. I’m coming back for you.”

  Cage broke Pierce’s hold on her, and Brea seized the opportunity to leave…but she couldn’t do it without looking back at him.

  His face said he was dead serious; nothing would stop him from winning her back. And as she hustled out of the room, she feared all the way down to her soul that she wouldn’t be strong enough to say no to him for long.

  “Outside,” Cage growled and grabbed his arm the second Brea left the room. “Let’s go.”

  One-Mile jerked free. “Don’t act like you’re perp-walking me out of here, asshole. I’ve said what I came to say. Now I’m leaving.”

  But he hadn’t gotten through to Brea. Worse, he couldn’t stay any longer without putting her at risk.

  God, everything between them had become a gaping clusterfuck. Why was she so goddamn hell-bent on marrying Bryant all of a sudden? Yeah, One-Mile got why she’d doubted his feelings. Telling her he loved her in one breath and that he’d killed dear ol’ Dad the next probably didn’t inspire her devotion. Insisting he needed to put distance between them the next time he saw her had jacked things up even more. But of course he still loved her. He’d fucking told her so.

  It hadn’t made a damn bit of difference to her…and that fact nearly gutted him.

  I love Cutter. I have all my life.

  One-Mile cursed under his breath. If that was true, then why the actual fuck had she once pledged her heart to him?

  It didn’t add up.

  Maybe she’d accepted Bryant’s proposal because he was her safe bet. Daddy’s choice. The smart one who’d known better than to defile Brea before marriage or ask her to shack up.

  Except…why would she say yes to Bryant now? Cutter was in another state, so it wasn’t as if they had recently shared a romantic heart-to-heart—or even a hot night in the sack—during which he’d persuaded Brea to be his wife. Nope, the asshole had been in California for nearly a week, and she’d chosen last night to become the future Mrs. Bryant? Over the phone? When she didn’t feel an ounce of passion for him? Brea couldn’t fake that, and One-Mile knew her lush little body was still his. Every time she looked at him, that fact was all over her face. No, passion wasn’t love…but she still wanted him. That fucking mattered.

  Stifling a curse, he shouldered his way out of the little break room, then exited the back of the salon, into the mostly vacant lot. Not because he gave any fucks about the biddies in the beauty shop gawking at him but because he’d embarrassed Brea. He hadn’t known how much that would disturb her until the damage had been done.

  Besides, if he saw her again, he wasn’t sure he could make himself walk away. For her safety, he had to. Hopefully, anyone from Montilla’s organization who might be watching would think he’d tried to ditch them by ducking through the beauty shop. But coming here had been an impulsive, knee-jerk reaction. Fucking stupid. He had to lock down this emotional shit.

  When the back door began to swing shut behind him, Cage knocked it open so hard it crashed into the opposing wall, then slammed home with a teeth-rattling thud. “I’m talking to you, fucker.”

  “I’m not obligated to listen.”

  “For Brea’s sake, you should.”

  That made him pause and glance back over his shoulder. “Why?”

  “I don’t pretend to know everything that happened between you and that girl, but I can guess. The best thing you can do for her is to keep walking and let my brother handle things from here.”

  As long as he was breathing, Brea would never be Mrs. Bryant. “Why the fuck would you think that?”

  Cage gaped at him like he was an idiot, before he rolled his eyes into some smug-ass, superior glare. “Did you grow up in a small town?”

  “Nope.” He was from San Diego, and with a million fucking horrible memories there, he hoped never to set foot in the city again.

  “Then you don’t understand. That stunt you just pulled? The town will talk about nothing else for days, maybe weeks. That’s not good for Brea’s reputation or her future. If you keep coming here, you’ll only make things worse for her.”

  “All we did was talk.”

  Cage snorted. “You might as well have announced to the whole damn town that you’ve fucked her. I’d love to roast you for that, asshole, but Sunset has an ordinance that prevents me from burning trash.”

  Was his barb supposed to be clever? “Fuck you.”

  “No. Fuck you. You said you didn’t force Brea into bed, but I’ve known that girl her whole life. And I think you’re a liar.”

  “I don’t care what you think.” He and Brea knew the truth.

  “You should, just like you should get over yourself and start giving a shit what everyone around her thinks. She is the preacher’s only daughter. She’s adored by this town. They look at her like she’s one step away from the Virgin Mary. She’s worked hard to maintain that spotless reputation. You might well have destroyed it in three minutes—and dragged her daddy through the mud with her.”

  “Because she’s not a virgin anymore? None of them are, either.”

  “None of them are the reverend’s kid. And you’re not only an outsider, but you’re obviously trouble.”

  “Because I don’t dress like you? Or talk like you? Because I’m not one of you?”

  “No, because your attitude is shitty, and you have a huge chip on your shoulder. God knows you don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but yourself.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the prick that he loved Brea and had from the moment he’d set eyes on her. That he intended to fight for her until she was his. That he’d gladly give up his happiness—his life, even—to keep her safe. But he didn’t see the point of wasting his breath and he refused to put a target on her back. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

  “What did you think confronting her in front of God and everyone would accomplish?” Cage shook his head. “Fuck it. It’s done now, and your stupid-ass stunt flopped. So why don’t you do Brea a favor and steer clear? She’s got a solid future mapped out now, no thanks to you. Stop trying to ruin it. I don’t love that she roped my brother into mopping up your mess, but the very least you could do is leave them in fucking peace.”

  Only about half of Cage’s bullshit made sense. “What does that mean?”

  The other man’s brow furrowed before his eyes widened with shock. Then he shut it all down. “Nothing. Forget it. I’m going to check on Brea.”

  When Cage made a beeline for the back door, One-Mile jerked him around by the elbow. “Not until you tell me what the fuck you meant by my ‘mess.’”

  The elder Bryant brother yanked free and sneered. “You’re supposed to be the shit. You figure it out.”

  Then he disappeared inside the salon again, and One-Mile stood staring at the door.

  What the fuck? Was this about Brea’s reputation? Or something more?

  Did everyone in this goddamn drama know something he didn’t? It sure as hell felt that way. And if he wanted to keep her from marrying Cutter, he needed to figure it out—fast.

  As Brea plastered on a false smile for Mr. Davidson and scheduled his two-week follow-up so he could maintain his precise banker’s cut, she sensed Rayleigh hovering nearby. The woman had swept and cleaned every surface in the salon, despite the fact a crew came in overnight to do that, and her last customer had left hours ago. Brea could guess why.

  Her boss wanted the scoop.

  Exhaustion tugged at Brea. As her pregnancy progressed, heartburn was beginning to replace nausea. It especially gave her fits at night. Sleep didn’t always come.

  But that’s not what had her on the brink of stupid tears now. Life as she’d always known it was tumbling down around her like a house of cards. Until lately, she hadn’t realized how often or deftly Cutter or her father stepped in to bear the brunt of her difficulties—bef
ore she even realized they were doing it. Long before she ever asked for their help.

  But now Cutter was gone, and she wasn’t ready to confide in her father. So her problems were hers alone. Despite feeling overwhelmed, she knew this self-reliance was good for her.

  As kindly Mr. Davidson left with a wave, she locked up behind him with a tired sigh.

  Rayleigh put an unexpected arm around her shoulders. “You look like you could use a friend, honey.”

  She had no idea. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Uh-huh. And ever since you and that fine specimen of a man had words earlier, you’ve looked ready to cry.”

  Brea had felt that way, too. “I’m fine.”

  Rayleigh narrowed her expertly made-up eyes. “I know your daddy taught you that lying is a sin. I’m going to the Sundowner. It’s a Friday night. Why don’t you come with me?”

  “My father is expecting me to make supper and—”

  “Nope. He came by while you were mixing up Mrs. Stringer’s color a bit ago. He and Jennifer Collins were heading to Josephine’s for dinner, then to a movie, so you’re free for a while. Grab your purse, and let’s go.”

  She wondered if Daddy had already heard the gossip that a disreputable man, probably on his motorcycle, had barreled his way into the salon—complete with tattoos, loud mouth, and oozing sex appeal—demanding to talk to her and all but admitting they’d had sex.

  This was Sunset. Of course he’d heard.

  But the fact he was busy now was a guilty relief. And Rayleigh was right; she could use a friend.

  “All right. I need to use the restroom and grab my coat.”

  “I’ll meet you there. Since it’s Friday night, tables will be at a premium. So I’m going down there to grab one. Lock up behind you,” Rayleigh called out as she left.

  Brea had never actually hung out in the bar, but she’d heard it got crowded just after quitting time at the start of the weekend.