Wicked as Sin (Wicked & Devoted 1)

“I’ll be praying for him,” Cutter assured with a nod, then marched One-Mile’s way, cutting a scathing look in his direction. “Why are you here?”

“She was in no shape to drive herself.”

“You were with her when she got the call?” Cutter demanded, brow raised.

One-Mile didn’t see the point of stating the obvious.

“Would y’all mind giving us a minute?” Cutter asked his family. “Maybe get me a cup of coffee. I could use one.”

“Whatever you want, little brother. Let’s go, Brea.” Cage took her arm.

Brea twisted from his reach. “I’d rather stay.”

Cutter scowled. “You don’t need to hear this, Bre-bee.”

“I’m not leaving. The doctor might return with an update.”

“Let her stay, son,” Sweeney implored.

“All right. But One-Mile and I are going to have a man-to-man talk.” Cutter jerked his head toward the door. “What I have in mind is probably best said outside.”

Did the fidiot think he was going to beat him up in the parking lot? It would be hilarious if he wasn’t so annoying.

As Sweeney and Cage exited for the cafeteria, Brea propped her hands on her hips. “You will not speak a cross word to Pierce, do you hear me? He got me here in one piece. He fed me and took care of me and—”

“Ask yourself why he’d do all that,” Cutter fired back. “It wasn’t out of the goodness of his heart, Bre-Bee. I guarantee he’s focused on the desperation behind his zipper.”

One-Mile hated being run out by the prick, but the last thing Brea needed right now was to be in the middle of their bickering. “I’ll just go, pretty girl. I wish your father the best.”

“But—

“It’s fine,” he cut into her objection, then pinned Cutter with a glare. “Bryant, maybe you should try getting your filthy mind out of the gutter.”

As One-Mile headed for the exit, the asshole followed. “I have a few things to say before you go.”

The moment they were out of Brea’s earshot, he whirled on Cutter. “I’m not obligated to listen to your annoying-ass lecture, especially when it looks like you spent the night cheating on your girlfriend. So fuck off.”

Bryant pointed a finger in his face. “Brea is off-limits to you, asshole.”

“That’s for her to decide. She’s a grown woman.”

“Who’s too naive to know who you really are, so—hey!” the Boy Scout yelled. “Don’t you walk away from me.”

As he headed to his Jeep, One-Mile gave Cutter a one-fingered salute before he revved out of his parking spot and lurched toward the freeway, Brea Bell still on his mind.

Friday, August 8

Brea hustled up the walkway of the surprisingly well-kept mid-century modern home in Lafayette, questioning her sanity for the tenth time in as many minutes. Loud rock music throbbed behind the front door as she clutched the plastic food container in one hand. With the other she rang the bell, her fingers shaking—along with the rest of her body.

What the devil was she doing here? Courting danger. Pierce Walker was more man than she could handle. She was likely to get herself in over her head.

But Brea owed him her thanks. And, okay…she was dying to see him again.

What could five minutes alone with the man hurt?

Suddenly, the volume on the music dropped under a dull roar and heavy footfalls got louder as they headed her way. Then the door whipped open, and Pierce stood on the other side of the threshold, scowling.

He was covered in nothing but ink, body hair, and bulging muscle from the waist up. Well-washed jeans hung low on his hips. He dangled the neck of a half-empty beer in one hand. His bare feet were built like the rest of him—big and overwhelmingly masculine.

Brea sucked in a silent, shaking breath. “Hi.”

“Brea.” His scowl disappeared. “This is a surprise.”

How was it possible that his eyes had been on her a handful of seconds and she somehow felt naked?

“Sorry to drop by. I-I just wanted to thank you.” She held out the container to him.

He took the dish from her hands. “For what?”

As Pierce propped himself against the doorframe and stared, she nearly lost herself in his fathomless black eyes. She forced herself to blink, but her wayward gaze wandered down his body. A Marine crest tattoo covered his right pectoral. More dark ink enveloped both shoulders, emphasizing every ridge and swell of his sizable physique. Well-washed denim cupped the substantial bulge between his legs.

And she utterly forgot everything she’d planned to say.

“Brea?”

His deep voice jolted her. She jerked her gaze from places it didn’t belong and cleared her throat. “Um…helping me get to the hospital the day Daddy collapsed. And for bringing my car to me afterward. It was very kind of you.”

“No problem. How’s he doing now?”

“Recovering. His surgery went well. Since you thoughtfully left me your contact information in my console, I meant to come sooner to tell you how much I appreciated your help, but I’ve been taking care of him. I finally got a few minutes, so I-I brought you these cookies. Since I didn’t know what you liked, I baked a few different kinds…” She dropped her gaze to collect her thoughts and stop rambling, but her stare glued itself to him again, this time fixating on his ridiculously delineated twelve-pack abs. “But you don’t look like you eat many.”