Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

“It will be longer than a few days. I’m not sure how much. We could be talking months.”

Shock crossed her face before she frowned. “What do you mean?”

How the hell could he drop the bomb on her that a dangerous drug lord wanted to kill her slowly and painfully? He couldn’t without scaring the shit out of her. “Like I said, something’s happened. It’s complicated and it’s my fault…but we need to take a step back.” Fuck, he was bungling this. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“So you don’t want me to move in?”

He did. He’d love to have her against him every night. But he would choose her safety over his happiness every fucking day. Explaining that was a scary, long-winded bitch.

He heard the tick-tick-ticking of time in his head. The second the Tierra Caliente organization talked to their captured drug lord, they would haul ass to Lafayette with revenge on their minds. He didn’t worry about himself. If he died, he died.

But Brea couldn’t be anywhere near him.

“Not now. I’ll explain when I can but—”

“Actually, don’t worry.” Her face closed up. Her eyes filled with tears.

He tensed. “What does that mean?”

“I was going to say no anyway.”

Seriously? He hadn’t fucking seen that coming. The night he’d left, she’d claimed she loved him. Now suddenly she’d decided to give him a polite fuck off? Because she’d interpreted his words as a breakup…or because she genuinely didn’t want him anymore? “Why?”

“Pierce, I’m a preacher’s daughter. I can’t shack up with a man, especially one my father has never met. The fact that shocks you tells me we weren’t suited anyway.”

That hadn’t crossed his mind…and it should have. Fuck.

Looking ready to dissolve into tears, she shoved against him and edged toward the door. “I have to go.”

Seriously, that was it? She was done talking? Pain spread through his chest and ice-picked through his veins.

One-Mile sucked at relationships. Did her hesitation have anything to do with his confession about his father? Probably, but he couldn’t stay to fix it. He couldn’t fucking risk her. “So do I, but we will talk about this later.”

“What’s the point?” Brea wrenched the door open.

Before she could flee, he slapped a big palm over her head and slammed it shut, locking them in again. He should let her go; he knew it. Instead, he stupidly backed her against the door and slanted his mouth over hers, ravaging her like he intended to tattoo her taste on his tongue.

After a little gasp, she grabbed him with desperate fingers, dragged him closer, and opened to him. He tasted her desperation as he sank deep and reveled in her softness. Their breaths merged. Her body clung.

Fuck, she felt like home.

Suddenly, she pushed him away and glared with accusing eyes. “Stop. You have your reasons for not wanting me to move in and—”

“Because while I was gone—”

“I don’t care why you changed your mind or who you slept with or…whatever. My dad found out about us and asked me not to see you for a month. After thoughtful consideration, I think he may be right.”

“What?” Why the fuck would she think that?

Because she didn’t love him, after all?

“We were never going to work out. It’s best if you don’t come back.” She shoved him away and wriggled out the door.

One-Mile watched, too stunned to stop her.

By the time he surged outside in pursuit, she had already climbed in her car. He bit back the urge to call out to her. What good would it do?

She thought it was over, and she would keep her distance. It was best…for now.

But the second this shit with Montilla got sorted, he would hunt her down and resolve everything. He’d explain. He’d even beg if he had to. And since she couldn’t simply move in with him, he would propose. He loved her. He wanted to spend his life with her.

As soon as he figured out what the fuck had happened to change her mind.

One-Mile watched Brea drive away with a curse, vowing that he would set eyes—and every other part of him—on her again.

Chapter Three

Saturday, November 1

Louisiana

As everyone in the salon joked and laughed around her, Brea held in a sob.

Pierce didn’t want her anymore. Sure, he’d come up with an excuse, but the truth was he’d pushed her away. He’d lied. He had never loved her.

That reality pelted her brain in a litany through the long day of stilted smiles and prying clients.

It took all her will not to break down, but she refused to weep over a man who’d abruptly decided she wasn’t enough for him.

Still, she couldn’t stop turning their brief conversation over in her head.

If he no longer wanted or loved her, why had he rushed home to see her? And kissed her as if his life depended on it?