Wicked Ever After

by Shayla Black

  She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. “Yes.”

  “Good. That’s the answer I want to hear when I come back.” He winked. “Got a time in mind?”

  “Seven?”

  “Perfect. See you then.” Clearly not caring what anyone saw or anyone thought, Pierce leaned in to kiss her. He lingered as if he wanted to press for more, but he pulled away reluctantly. Then, with a little salute, he headed down the street and hopped into his Jeep.

  Jennifer rushed outside. “Isn’t he the man who fixed the church van when it was broken?”

  “Yes,” Brea breathed. “He did that for me.”

  “He cleans up awfully nice.”

  “He does.” She sighed. He dirtied up awfully nice, too. But she kept that to herself.

  “You’re in love.”

  She smiled. “Definitely.”

  Mrs. Lloyd bustled out next. “That is one fine, strutting rooster you’ve got there.”

  Mrs. Rogers was right behind her. “Indeed. You’re a lucky lady, Ms. Bell.”

  “Believe me, I know.” Brea grinned.

  And hopefully by this time tomorrow, everyone would know that she would soon be Mrs. Walker.

  Chapter Ten

  Son of a bitch.

  One-Mile parked his Jeep in front of the address Caleb Edgington had given him and scowled. What the hell was this place?

  The colonel stepped outside, face grim. “You’re late.”

  “I didn’t know you were way the fuck out here. I was up in Sunset.”

  The older man grunted. “Thanks for coming. You clean up good. What’s with the suit? You go to church?”

  “No. I was supposed to be proposing to my girl right now.”

  Caleb had the good grace to wince. “Shit. Sorry. I wouldn’t have called—”

  “If it wasn’t an emergency, I know. What’s up?”

  He nodded. “Come on in.”

  One-Mile stepped inside a building that looked like part of a light industrial complex circa 1977. But inside, everything was modern as fuck. Banks of computers lined two walls. A tall metal table scattered with folders and papers dominated the space in the middle. Clustered around one monitor stood two men, one with dark hair that held a little bit of salt, the other with short blond stubble. He didn’t immediately recognize either. They both turned.

  “This is Jack Cole.”

  Co-founder of their sister firm, Oracle, former Army Ranger, and all-around badass. One-Mile had heard a lot about this tough son of a bitch. He’d met the man in passing, along with his pretty redheaded wife, Morgan. He didn’t know much more about Jack, but if the man was here, too, whatever shit was going down was serious.

  One-Mile stuck out his hand. “It’s an honor.”

  Jack cocked his head. “The honor is mine. You’re amazing, from what I hear.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And this is Trevor Forsythe. He’s new to Jack’s team. Former FBI. Hell of an investigator.”

  Well, that explained the pale haircut that was between boot camp and banker. But there was something familiar about him besides the name…

  The other guy stared and nodded, a little frown deepening between his brows that seemed to hold recognition, too.

  “Jock Strap?” One-Mile asked.

  Instantly, the guy started laughing. “Serial Killer?”

  “Yeah.”

  The colonel scowled in confusion. “You know each other?”

  He let Trevor answer since the guy had always liked hearing himself talk. “We, um…went to the same high school.”

  Jack smirked. “I’m guessing you didn’t like each other much, based on your nicknames.”

  One-Mile looked at Forsythe and shrugged. “We didn’t actually know each other well. It was more that I didn’t appreciate arrogant jocks like him plowing through all the best pussy at school.”

  “And Walker seemed like an antisocial loner fixated on guns. I worried he’d pull a Columbine. In fact, he was probably the only guy in the whole school who scared me. Didn’t you end up screwing my senior prom date?”

  Hell, he’d nearly forgotten about her. “Hillary? Yeah. Twice. Once right before you picked her up for the dance.”

  “See?” Forsythe gestured to him with a chuckle. “Asshole.”

  The colonel slapped him on the back. “Most will tell you not much has changed except that his fixation with guns paid off. He’s one of the best snipers the Marines ever trained.”

  That was high praise coming from the colonel.

  One-Mile smiled. “A few things are different, though. I won’t try to mack on your girl. I’ve got one of my own.”

  “So I heard. Good for you. I don’t have one and I don’t want one.”

  As soon as Forsythe unloaded that verbal turd in the conversational punchbowl, everyone fell silent. Since he’d made the mistake of saying the too-honest thing many times before, One-Mile nodded. “I get you, man.” Then he turned to the colonel. “So what’s up? Why are we wherever the hell we are?”

  “We’ve got trouble. I’ve kept this place because my wife’s ex owned it. Long story, but it makes me happy that I’ve turned his personal porn hub into my soldier cave. But I didn’t bring you here for a tour. It’s Valeria Montilla.”

  “Is she mad I offed her husband?” Honestly, One-Mile thought she’d be relieved as hell.

  Forsythe swiveled a stunned glance at him. “That was your kill shot? It had to be a thousand yards.”

  “A little less, actually.”

  The colonel clapped him on the shoulder. “There’s a reason everyone calls him One-Mile.”

  “That’s amazing, man. Seriously. I need lessons.”

  Bullshit. The FBI had a gun culture. Any agent had to be pretty fucking good with his firearms to make it, and Forsythe had never been a slouch at anything. “What brings you here from San Diego?”

  “Change of pace.”

  Closed subject. One-Mile recognized that instantly.

  “You?” Forsythe asked.

  “Working for this guy.” One-Mile gestured to the colonel. “Until he decided to go soft and retire on me.”

  “Well, you can’t say your life has been dull since I left,” Caleb pointed out.

  “Nope. But I’m glad to be home now.”

  “Don’t get too comfortable.”

  Oh, hell. “What’s going on? Valeria Montilla really shouldn’t be pissed that I shot the asshole she married.”

  “Hell no.” The colonel shook his head. “She seemed far more upset by the sudden move to Florida. She hates it and she’s clammed up. Her sister has been cooperating with the DEA and other agencies, telling them all she knows about the cartel, and Laila’s information is a lot fresher, but…”

  Good for Laila. It wouldn’t change anything those motherfucking misogynists and rapists had done to her, but if she could get any measure of revenge, One-Mile applauded it. “What’s the problem?”

  Caleb sighed. “I think Valeria is afraid. Someone in the Tierra Caliente cartel is threatening us if we don’t hand her over.”

  Yeah, drug cartels didn’t like their secrets spilled. But if they wanted to stop hemorrhaging information, why weren’t they interested in Laila? Maybe they just didn’t know yet.

  One-Mile snorted. “Bring it on. I’ve been fighting them for months, and so far the body count is them zero, me one.”

  “That was my attitude until this turned up at my house this morning.” The colonel dug into his pocket and pulled out a tube of lipstick, of all things, then reached across the table to open a large envelope. He withdrew a piece of paper and a photo, then slid both under his nose.

  Return Valeria or we will take the woman this belongs to.

  A glance at the photo showed the original team who had smuggled Emilo Montilla’s wife out of Mexico. Caleb, Hunter, Logan, Joaquin, and a guy he didn’t recognize.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Blaze Beckham. Mercenary. Best at what he does, so I hired him for t
his extraction. A month later, he went to Africa to fight with some insurgents. I haven’t heard from him since. And as far as I know, he has no woman to target.”

  “What do you think all this means?” Jack asked him, expression carefully blank.

  One-Mile hated to say it, but at this point wasn’t he stating the obvious? “Someone higher up the Tierra Caliente food chain than dear departed Emilo wants Valeria back. If we don’t surrender her, they won’t come after us; they’ll come after one of our women.”

  “That was my takeaway, too.” The colonel’s voice said that confirmation gave him no thrill.

  “But why?”

  The colonel shrugged. “I don’t know. None of this makes any sense. Not this note. Not this tube of lipstick… It’s not their usual way of doing business.”

  It wasn’t. “Any idea who it belongs to?”

  The older man shook his head. “It’s not Carlotta’s. That’s all I know. I hate to ask around and scare the shit out of everyone. Maybe it’s strictly symbolic?”

  Of a woman in general? Drug cartels weren’t the figurative type. “I doubt that.”

  “We need to figure this out so I can start locking people down. That’s why you’re here. We don’t know exactly which asshole in the cartel sent this message or why they want Valeria back so badly. That already puts us at a disadvantage. But it worries me a lot more that we can’t pinpoint which of our women they’re gunning for.”

  “Kata, Tara, or Bailey, you mean?

  Caleb winced. “One of them is my best guess, yeah. Which is why I haven’t told Hunter, Logan, or Joaquin yet.”

  They would all lose their shit. “Understood.”

  “Since it seems the cartel wants revenge on the team that originally extracted Valeria from Mexico and none of you were involved, Morgan and Brea seemingly aren’t in their crosshairs. That’s why I asked you here. And with EM having an unresolved mole problem…”

  While One-Mile had already proved he wasn’t said mole… “What do you need me to do, sir?”

  “You’re in?”

  “Yeah. But it would be better if you didn’t send me back to Mexico right away—”

  “No. The first thing we need to do is figure out which motherfucker we’re dealing with and who their target is. Give it some thought this afternoon. I’ll call you later tonight so we can discuss. Everyone is due at my house in an hour for a family get-together, so they’ll be safe that long. Just keep this between us until I’m ready to say something.”

  “I understand. We’ll figure this out, neutralize the threat, and protect your family.” While keeping Valeria sheltered. After everything she’d been through with Montilla, she and her son deserved that.

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

  One-Mile nodded at the colonel, then shook hands with Jack Cole. Admittedly the guy hadn’t said much…but he had a weird feeling the cagey Cajun was actually running the show. Then he sent Forsythe a head bob. “See you around.”

  As he turned for the door, eager to get back to Brea, the other guy jogged to catch up. “Hey. I know exactly one person here. You. Got time for a beer? We could talk shop.”

  He peered at the late-afternoon sun. Brea had said to come back tonight. How long did seniors’ Bible study last? Since he had no flipping clue, he shrugged. “Why the hell not?”

  Forsythe flashed him a movie-star smile. “You turned out all right, Serial Killer.”

  “Verdict is still out on you, Jock Strap,” he teased.

  Trevor laughed. “So where do you get a decent beer in this swamp?”

  “Follow me.”

  One-Mile hopped in his Jeep and waited for the other guy to follow in what seemed like his rented sedan. All the while, questions kept niggling at him. Was Valeria safe in Florida? Who had taken over Emilo Montilla’s splinter faction of the Tierra Caliente cartel after his death? And why would the organization suddenly get desperate enough to threaten innocent women days after one of their bosses had bit a bullet?

  Brea breathed into the blessed silence filling the house. Finally, the never-ending Bible study luncheon had concluded and people headed out. Jennifer and Daddy decided to go to a nearby Mexican food place for an early dinner. They’d invited her along, but they needed time alone, too. With all her father’s heart issues, which thankfully seemed to be stabilizing, they’d been through some tough times.

  Besides, this gave her an opportunity to fix her face before Pierce returned to ask Daddy for her hand. She was nervous as all get-out.

  What if he said no? His blessing wasn’t a given…

  Then she’d have to chart her own path. It would be nice if Daddy accepted her choice of husband and gave his approval. If he refused, it would break her heart to defy her father, but for Pierce—for their love—she would.

  As she finished up the dishes from this afternoon’s luncheon and started the dishwasher, her phone rang. When she scanned the screen, she smiled. It did her heart good to see Pierce’s name pop up. For months, she’d tried not to wonder if she would ever see it again.

  “Hi.” She sounded as giddy as she felt.

  “Hi yourself. I was having a beer with a guy I know from way back and I was about to grab a bite out when I realized I’ve never actually taken you on a date. How about dinner, pretty girl?”

  Brea giggled. “We really did everything completely out of order.”

  “It’s my fault. Feel free to blame me.”

  She knew she’d had a hand in all this, too, but she liked to tease him. “Careful, or I’ll decide everything in our married life will be your fault.”

  “It probably will be.” As she laughed, he pressed her. “But seriously, dinner?”

  “Sure.”

  They decided to try out a new bar and grill that had a little bit of everything on their menu.

  “Want me to pick you up?”

  “Where are you now?” she asked.

  “Sitting at their bar.”

  Was he silly? “Then there’s no point in you coming all the way back here. I’ll just meet you there. It shouldn’t take me more than twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, that gives me time to run a quick errand down the street and grab a table.”

  Brea grabbed her purse and her car keys. “See you shortly.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  She hung up, texted her father that she’d be back by seven and to please be home, then she hopped into her car. When she arrived at the restaurant, Pierce stood waiting for her inside the foyer.

  A giant smile crossed her face when their eyes met. “Hi.”

  How amazing would it be to come home to his face every day? To wake up to his face every morning? To peer into his face every time he made love to her? Her smile widened, and she knew she probably looked sappy and lovesick. She didn’t care.

  Pierce had changed her life.

  He was even less shy about showing everyone his feelings. He simply pulled her into his arms and dropped a long kiss on her mouth that was so passionate her toes curled inside her espadrilles.

  He gave her tongue one last stroke and reluctantly pulled away. “Hi. I wanted to do that earlier, on your front porch. But with all the ladies looking on…”

  “Probably not the best idea,” she agreed.

  A hostess cleared her throat. “Your table is ready. If you’ll follow me…”

  Pierce stepped back to let Brea go first, like a good gentleman. She ignored the gaping of a sad Hispanic woman who had just walked in and trailed the hostess through the dim restaurant. He dropped his hot palm on the small of her back all the way to a booth in one dark corner. She sat and slid in on one side. Instead of sitting on the other, Pierce plopped next to her, nudging her almost against the wall, his big body pressed against hers from shoulder to knee.

  She shivered. “What are you doing?”

  “Being as close as possible so I can kiss you whenever I want. And touch your pussy. That’s important, too.” He winked.

  Fire scalded her blo
od, battling her embarrassment. “You can’t do that here.”

  “Why not? I’ll keep it under the table. No one but us will know. Well, unless you scream.”

  With him touching her, chances were high that she would. Brea blushed.

  It was impossible to tell from his grin if he was serious.

  “Do I have to set ground rules? No touching my private parts in public.”

  “Ah, c’mon. I probably won’t get to touch you later tonight. Don’t take one of my favorite toys from me.”

  “My girl bits are not a toy.”

  “But I love to play with them.” His black eyes danced as he leaned in to brush kisses along her neck. And then he dropped a hand on her thigh.

  Apparently he was serious.

  “Welcome. My name is Miles. I’ll be your waiter tonight.” He poured them both glasses of water. “What can I get you?”

  Neither of them had looked at the menu, but they quickly scanned it and ordered their meals. Miles jotted everything down, grabbed them both iced tea, then left, promising to have their drinks and food up quickly.

  “So how was your meeting?” she asked.

  “Not good.” He grew pensive. “The world I live in is dangerous.”

  Worry twisted Brea’s belly. “I know.”

  “Sometimes the innocent get dragged into it.”

  “I’m not surprised.”

  “I worry about you.”

  She didn’t like the sound of that. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “You’re not in any danger I’m aware of.” He sighed. “At least not this time. But I can’t promise it won’t happen in the future, and I need you to decide if that’s something you can really handle.”

  Brea had already thought this through. “I’ll be fine.” When he opened his mouth to rebut her, she carried on. “You made sure I learned skills that would keep me safe. I’m way better prepared than I was before I met you. Situational awareness. Assessing threats, looking for potential weapons, as well as devising distractions and exit strategies. I think in a pinch I’d have a fighting chance.”