Wicked Ever After

by Shayla Black

  A few press types clustered around the terminal exit closest to the flight’s assigned baggage carousel, waiting for their prey. One-Mile just shook his head at them as he peeled away from the wall and followed.

  When Brea’s bestie reached the sliding double doors that led outside, a gust of northern wind swept in to tug at his cap. Dressed in jeans and a short-sleeve gray T-shirt, the other guy grimaced against the chill of the mid-forty-degree weather.

  “You’re not in sunny LA anymore, Boy Scout.”

  Cutter whirled, caught sight of him, then huffed in irritation. “What the fuck are you doing here, Walker?”

  “Is that him?” A woman’s voice sounded about twenty feet behind them.

  “Right height. Right build,” answered the man with her, holding a camera and shoving a portable microphone in her hand. “I think so.”

  As they darted for Cutter, the rest of the paparazzi contingency caught on to the fervor and started running in their direction, too.

  “I came to take you to your car. Or I can leave you here with them to figure it out. Your call.”

  “Cutter, did you shoot Shealyn West’s boyfriend in a jealous rage?” shouted one reporter dashing in his direction.

  “Were you so violent because she’d kicked you to the curb?” another demanded, sprinting toward them.

  “Word is you were shot, too. Who pulled the trigger?” asked yet another, quickly closing in. “What is the extent of your injuries?”

  With a snarl, Cutter turned to him. “Fine. I’ll ride with you.”

  “Smart man.”

  “Asshole.”

  One-Mile laughed. “You’re welcome. I’m parked in the garage across the street. Give me your bag.”

  Bryant gripped it tighter. “I got it.”

  “Oh, so you can lug it and outrun that crowd chasing you after someone took a hunk out of your thigh a few hours ago? Fine by me.”

  Cutter thrust the duffel at him. “Let’s go.”

  One-Mile shouldered the bag and jetted to his Jeep, unlocking it with his fob just before he wrenched the door open, dumped Bryant’s bag, and hopped in, the reporters mere seconds behind. The second Cutter’s ass hit the passenger’s seat, One-Mile screeched out of his parking spot and surged toward daylight.

  “Why are you here?”

  Normally, One-Mile appreciated people who didn’t waste his time with blah-blah-blah bullshit. In this instance…he’d spent his six-hour drive from Lafayette trying to figure out what the hell to say. If asking the Boy Scout for a favor had only been for his benefit, he would have skipped the whole thing. But this was for Brea, and he wasn’t letting Cutter leave this Jeep before he agreed to protect her.

  “I know we’re never going to be pals, but—”

  “You think?” Cutter snorted. “If I had my choice, I’d do the world a favor and kill you. I told you never to put your hands on Brea—”

  “I’m in love with her. There was no way we weren’t going to happen. Do I know I’m not good enough for her? Sure. I’ll spend every day I have left on this earth trying to be worthy of her. But I’m not giving her up—not for you, her dad, or anyone else. And before you cast stones and tell me I should never have touched her, I’d be willing to bet the bosses told you to keep your hands off Shealyn West. But you didn’t listen; you took her to bed anyway. Why?”

  “Shut your damn mouth.”

  “Because you’re in love with her. Just like I love Brea.”

  “You love her so much you raped her?”

  This again? “Did she tell you that? Or did you convince yourself I must have because you couldn’t imagine any other way in which Brea willingly let me take her to bed?”

  “Shut up.”

  “No. I made love to her because I’m in love with her, the same way you’re in love with Shealyn. That’s why you got sloppy and thumbed your nose at every protocol we’ve ever been given. Because there was no force on earth that was going to keep you from her. Tell me I’m wrong; I dare you.” He raised a brow. “I’ll wait while you find the balls to lie to my face.”

  “It’s none of your business. I don’t want to hear another word.”

  “Are you salty because Brea is pregnant?”

  Cutter whipped a furious glare at him.

  One-Mile merged with traffic around the terminal. “Yeah, I know, just like I know you two are friends, not lovers. She told me everything.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Bryant beat at the dashboard. “It wasn’t enough for you to plow through her virtue and ruin her future. You had to knock her up and break her heart and—”

  “That’s why I’m here. I never meant to hurt her, and now shit is going down. You and I need to talk.”

  The guy pressed his forehead into the heel of his palm, looking somewhere between bitter and exhausted. “You know, it’s been a really long, shitty day. I don’t need you piling on with your problems. You made them; you clean them up.”

  “Something wrong beyond you being shot at?” He glanced down at Cutter’s thigh. “That hurt like a bitch yet?”

  “The local is still working. It’s a surface wound. Just needed a stitch or two.” Bryant waved it away. “But I’ve already had to defuse a threat to Shealyn’s life today by putting a bullet between someone’s eyes, so I’m not in the mood for you.”

  One-Mile downshifted. He’d charged into this conversation with Cutter, guns blazing, knowing only the sensationalized tabloid outline of the events the other guy had endured this morning.

  “That sucks.”

  “Sucks? It scared the shit out of me. Shealyn was seconds away from—”

  Death.

  One-Mile knew why Cutter refused to finish that sentence. When he pictured Brea in that same position, it both terrified and enraged him. He’d be homicidal, too. No wonder Bryant was in a crappy-ass mood. “I’m sorry, man. I can only imagine…”

  “The scene was pandemonium. Bullets flying everywhere. And it was barely past sunrise. So yeah, it’s been a damn long day.”

  “Then you had to deal with the questioning and the paperwork…”

  “The hospital, the doctors, and”—Cutter thumbed behind him in the vague direction of the terminal—“the press.”

  Together, it had created an all-around shit show.

  “I’m surprised you flew home instead of staying with Shealyn. She must have been shaken by all this, too.” If someone had threatened Brea, he wouldn’t have let her out of his arms for days.

  Cutter turned a scathing glare his way. “Don’t play dumb. I know you saw this coming, asshole. Everyone did. It’s over.”

  “What happened?

  “Oh, please… You don’t care.”

  For himself? No. But Brea did. Bryant being happy would make her happy. And since her happiness was his priority, he swallowed back his snarly reply. “When the press ran with this story about Brea being your pregnant fiancée, did Shealyn really believe that?”

  Bryant clenched his jaw. “Every word. She didn’t even want to hear my side of things.”

  “Fuck. She, of all people, should know the press is full of liars peddling clickbait.”

  “Yeah, but she had a rough childhood. Trust is hard for her, and I knew that. I fucked up. I should have told her about Brea when we started getting personal, but I thought she’d never see me as anything other than a fling. God, if I could go back two days and change everything…” He shook his head, regret tightening his face. “But it’s done. The only bright spot is that I finally figured out who her blackmailer was and made it back to her house before it was too late.”

  “Saving her life didn’t count for anything?”

  He shook his head. “Why should it? I was just doing my job. The reality that I’ll never spend another minute with the woman I love, except watching her on the little screen in my living room, is hitting me. Can we skip this heart-to-heart? Just take me back to my car.”

  “Where is it?” He felt kind of bad that he had to lean on the Boy Scou
t when he was clearly fighting his way through fire. But with Brea’s safety at stake, he couldn’t afford to back down.

  “Long-term lot on the north side of the airport. Turn here.” Cutter pointed.

  “On it.” One-Mile complied. “So you’re home for good?”

  “Yep. And after the way I fucked up that op, I’ll be shocked if Hunter doesn’t lead the charge to fire me. He’s pissed.”

  He snorted. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve weathered that storm. You’ll be fine.”

  Cutter shrugged like he didn’t care. Not surprising since he obviously felt as if his heart had been ripped out. “Whatever. You didn’t come here to hear my sad-sack problems. So why did you drive all this way?”

  “For Brea. I’m flying to Mexico tonight. I need your help to keep her safe.” He explained the situation with Montilla, along with his plan.

  Bryant swore under his breath. “Are you crazy? That’s a suicide mission.”

  He’d put the best spin possible on his scheme for Brea, but he couldn’t bullshit Cutter. “Probably. I maybe have a one-in-ten chance of walking out of this alive.”

  “Then why do it?”

  “Because there’s no damn life I want to live anymore without her and our baby in the center of it. Either I make us whole and safe or I’m out of the picture and she goes on.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Cutter was offering to risk his life? Yeah, probably for Brea’s sake. But it still shocked One-Mile. “Thanks, but I need you to watch over her. Keep pretending you’re engaged to her. Pretend the baby is yours. And if I don’t make it back, do what you’ve done all her life and take care of her.”

  “By marrying her?”

  He tried not to seize up. “I know it’s not your first choice. It’s definitely not mine. But if you have to…”

  “You hate me and yet you’re trusting me?”

  He shrugged. “You hate me, too. But I know you love her like you’d love a sister. You’ll keep her out of harm’s way. I rewrote my will and life insurance policies this morning. Logan has all the paperwork. Everything I own goes to her. So even if she doesn’t have me, she’ll have money. Just protect her from Montilla. If you can, keep the town from ripping her to shreds. And don’t let her fall apart.”

  Thankfully, Bryant didn’t hesitate. “I’ll always do everything I can to protect her.”

  “Her dad probably knows by now that she’s pregnant.”

  “Fuck. He’ll know it’s not mine.”

  Worry twisted One-Mile’s guts. “Is there any chance he’ll disown her? She didn’t seem to think so, but…”

  “She’s been worried about it, but no. He loves her too much.”

  He let out a sigh of relief. “Good. If Brea has both of you, she should be set, no matter what.”

  “And maybe this is a good thing. She’s needed to stand her ground with her daddy for a long time. Now that she has a reason to, I’m hoping she will.” Cutter grimaced at the bright sunlight slanting in through the windshield as the car veered slightly west, toward the setting sun. “What’s next?”

  “I’m catching a private flight to Mexico City in a couple of hours. From there, I’ll put out feelers to locate Montilla. I’ve got some cash to throw around and a few favors I can call in. That should help.”

  “Exit here. I’m parked in the lot on the right.”

  One-Mile followed his directions and quickly pulled up beside Cutter’s truck. “Here you go.”

  Bryant climbed out of his Jeep and grabbed his duffel from the back. “It’s no secret I don’t like you and that I don’t like what you’ve done to Brea. But I respect the hell out of what you’re doing to keep her safe. I’ll do my part, no worries. For her sake, I’ll hope you come back. Good luck, man.”

  Then Cutter was gone.

  One-Mile watched the guy start his vehicle and head out of the lot before he steered back to the airport for the most important—and dangerous—mission of his life.

  Brea barely slept that night. By now, Pierce would be in Mexico. Since he’d left his phone behind to make sure no one could track it, she couldn’t call or text him one last time. In fact, he’d told her to go on, live her life, and be happy.

  She didn’t know how she would without him, but he had made her promise, so she had to try. Besides, if she wanted to keep herself and the baby safe, she had to act as if her heart belonged to Cutter.

  And to maintain her sanity today, she’d had to turn off her cell. Until she’d done that, it hadn’t stopped ringing with requests for comment and infuriating gotcha questions.

  With a tired sigh, she emerged from her house. Her white compact was surrounded by a small crowd of strangers with cameras and portable microphones.

  She marched to her car, glad for the chill that made wearing a big, concealing poncho necessary. “No comment.”

  “What do you think about your fiancé cheating with one of the hottest stars in Hollywood?” one man barked at her.

  “Rumor has it you and Cutter are continuing with your wedding plans. Because you’re pregnant? Or because Shealyn West dumped him?”

  Another woman thrust a mic in her face. “How awful do you feel knowing that your fiancé took a more beautiful woman to bed?”

  Ouch. Still, Brea refused to rise to the bait.

  “I said no comment. Now please move.” She nudged the annoying reporters aside and slid into her car, then drove off with a sigh.

  But matters were hardly better at the salon.

  When she arrived, she slipped in through the back, only to find twenty people crammed into the salon’s little waiting area at the front, some familiar, most not.

  Rayleigh met her with wide eyes and a long-suffering sigh. “I’m glad you’re here, honey, but are you sure you want to be?”

  “Do you need me to leave?” The reporters would disappear if she did.

  “No,” the salon owner assured. “Just pointing out today might be tough.”

  “I’m not letting rabble like them mess with my life. I’ve got a full day of clients, and I intend to keep my appointments.” She hesitated. “Unless they’ve cancelled.”

  “No one has. If anything, strangers have called asking if you have any availability this week.” Her boss dropped her voice to a whisper. “And last Friday, your mysterious man friend made an appointment with you for tonight.”

  Brea had seen that. Pierce had probably intended to confront her before he’d gotten impatient and hunted her down at Cutter’s.

  When she’d seen his appointment on the books, she’d been somewhere between annoyed and worried as hell. Now, it was all she could do not to cry at the thought Pierce wouldn’t be coming through those doors tonight. He might never come around again.

  “You can cancel that. He’s gone. If there’s someone on the waiting list, maybe Joy could call whoever’s first to see if they want that six o’clock?”

  Rayleigh frowned in concern and hustled her firmly behind the partition dividing them from the foyer. “What do you mean gone?”

  Brea didn’t dare answer honestly. For all she knew, Rayleigh was the reason the world knew she was expecting. She didn’t want to think her own boss would sell her out…but it wasn’t impossible.

  “Absent. No longer here. Not someone I’ll be seeing today.”

  “Honey, that man loves you. He—”

  “He hates Cutter, whom I’m still marrying. I won’t be in the middle of their vendetta anymore.” It wasn’t a total lie…but it was definitely misdirection. “I’m putting him out of my head, the same way I’m sure he’s put me out of his.”

  At least she hoped he was focused on Montilla and not spending any of his energy worrying about her.

  “All right.” Rayleigh didn’t look like she believed a word, but she didn’t argue anymore. “I’ll have Joy call the first person on the list. Your ten a.m. isn’t here yet. Do you want to take this time to make a statement to the press? If you do, it’s possible these folks will leave.”


  Brea didn’t want to…but she understood Rayleigh’s point. “I’ll make a brief one.”

  With that, Brea stopped into the back room, tucked her purse away, applied a tinted lip balm, then took a deep breath. She had to be convincing. Her life—and her baby’s—might depend on it.

  The moment she walked around the partition, she saw the crowd had grown in the last few minutes. Rayleigh was trying to shoo and wrangle them out the door. Most simply ignored her and shouted questions.

  Brea grabbed the step stool Joy kept behind the counter so that all five-feet-nothing of her could reach the top shelf of the products they sold, climbed on the top rung, and cleared her throat.

  Instantly, the room fell silent. “I’m Brea Bell and I’ll be making this one and only statement. I won’t be taking any questions afterward, so please listen carefully. As you know, Cutter Bryant is my fiancé. We’ve already discussed his recent time in California protecting Shealyn West. I know the story beyond the salacious gossip and I’m satisfied with his explanation. We will be pressing forward with our wedding. We hope you understand our desire for privacy as we look forward to our future. That’s all.”

  En masse, the reporters started shouting questions—all prying, indelicate, and as titillatingly phrased as possible. Brea ignored them when her first appointment of the day squeezed through the door with a confused frown. “What’s going on here?”

  Brea glared at the tabloid press with disdain. “Nothing important, Marcie. Go on back and we’ll talk about what you’d like to do with your hair.”

  The forty-something woman nodded, then inched through the throng before finally making her way behind the partition to the empty salon.

  Satisfied that her client was no worse for the wear, she addressed the press again. “If you don’t have an appointment today, you’ll need to wait outside. If anyone is unwilling to do that, we’ll be forced to call the sheriff.”

  Then Brea stepped off the stool, folded it up, propped it back in the corner, and disappeared behind the partition.