Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)

No, it was how he was coping with Brea’s loss, but he didn’t owe them that explanation. And he’d be goddamned if he let them slap a PTSD label on him, too. That was getting better…somewhat. But he refused to have that conversation now.

“Fuck you. It’s been a long day, and I’m kicking back. Are you here for a mental health check, Mommy?”

“What. The fuck. Happened?” Hunter snarled.

Since they weren’t going to go away, he started at the beginning, telling the others that he’d gotten Valeria, her son, and her sister out of St. Louis without a hitch. And that with too much time on his hands in Orlando, he’d started to think—about ways to pay back Montilla…and how to catch their mole.

“At least I’ve figured out who’s betrayed us.” One-Mile explained the email chain.

Logan leaned in. “You’re sure?”

“Unless everyone else somehow got the memo…”

They all shook their heads.

“First I’m hearing of it.” And Hunter didn’t sound pleased.

“Then I’m positive. Trees is your asshole.”

His trio of bosses looked at one another. “Why would he do that?”

None of them had an answer.

“Money?” One-Mile suggested. “Drugs? Blackmail?”

Logan stood, then looked at his brothers. “That other problem we talked about this morning?”

What did they mean?

Joaquin raised a dark brow. “You have an idea how to deal with it?”

“Yeah. Let me look into something.” Logan headed for the door.

Hunter and Joaquin exchanged a glance before the quiet bastard shook his head. “That frightens me.”

“Same. We’re coming with you. And you—” Hunter scowled, then pointed a sharp finger in his direction—“don’t do another fucking thing. You don’t even fart without talking to us, am I clear?”

“Crystal.”

“If you have contacts, start working them—quietly,” Logan insisted from across the house. “Try to find out where Montilla is going and what he plans to do next. Try like your life depends on it.”

But it wasn’t his life that worried him; it was Brea’s. It seemed likely Montilla or his goons would pay him a visit at some point. One-Mile couldn’t give that son of a bitch any reason to look her way.

And as the trio left, he shoved the bottle aside, retrieved his laptop, and started calling everyone he knew.

This time, when he found Montilla, he wouldn’t bother with any slap-and-tickle torture before an orderly arrest; he would just kill the bastard, possible repercussions be damned. At least Brea would be safe.

Nothing else mattered.

Monday, November 3

Brea walked out of the doctor’s office at the clinic in Lafayette, feeling numb and stunned. Her life would never be the same.

Cutter rose to his feet in the empty waiting room and stared. But his grim face told her he expected her next words.

“I’m pregnant.” Her whisper turned to a sob.

With a soft curse, he pulled her into his arms, stroking a big, comforting hand down her back. “Bre-bee…”

She sank against him and clung for comfort.

Except his two tours in Afghanistan, Cutter had been there for her since the day she was born. She had pictures of him, a gangly eight-year-old boy, holding her as an infant. She’d grown up next door to him. Though he had relocated to nearby Lafayette after returning from the Middle East, she saw him all the time. They spoke most every day. He had been her staple, her rock…and sometimes, her shield from the real world.

He couldn’t shield her from this reality, but she’d never been more thankful for him than she was now.

“It’s all right.” He pulled back and cupped her face. “We’ll handle it.”

“How is it all right? You know what my father will do. What the town will say.”

Brea feared her father having another heart attack because his only daughter had disappointed him so deeply. Without a husband, the town would gossip that she was a “fallen woman.” Not everyone in Sunset was so narrow-minded, but being Preacher Bell’s daughter, she was held to a higher standard. Once the news that she was “in trouble” spread, her living as a hairdresser would likely dry up. Then how would she support her baby?

Even if Pierce found out, she doubted that the man who had suddenly told her they needed to “take a step back” would care.

“Do you want to consider terminating the pregnancy?” Cutter asked softly.

She hadn’t had much time to adjust to the idea that she would be a mother come May, and after her own mother’s fate, giving birth scared her. But instinctively she slid a protective hand over her slightly bulging belly. “Heavens, no. I would never do that. I’m not judging. That choice might be all right for some but you know I wasn’t raised that way.”

Besides, if her being unwed and expecting would devastate Daddy, ending the pregnancy, if he ever found out, would be ten times worse.

“Understood. Let’s grab a bite of lunch and talk.” Cutter dropped a hand to the small of her back and led her toward the exit.