Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted 2)
Her breath caught. She hoped like heck they hadn’t come to blows. “About what?”
“Me watching over you. For all his faults, he truly does care about you. He wants us to continue with our engagement as if we’re going to marry.”
“Are you all right with that?”
Cutter shrugged. “It doesn’t make me any difference.”
He tried to hide his feelings, but Brea knew him too well for that. “She broke your heart, didn’t she?”
After a long pause, he finally cracked. “Yeah.”
Brea gathered him into her arms. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know anyone more deserving of love and happiness. She doesn’t know what she’s missing out on.”
“She never will, and I’m at least half to blame.” He sighed. “Let’s talk about something else. Has it been too crazy—”
“No. I won’t let you bury your head—or in this case, your heart—in the sand. I’d like to march outside and tell all those reporters we were never really engaged, and this isn’t your baby.”
“You can’t,” he growled out.
“I know. And I feel horrible that I’m placing my welfare above your happiness.”
“If you didn’t, I’d be angry as hell.”
“If I weren’t pregnant, I wouldn’t care. I’d use those reporters to speak directly to Shealyn West.”
“It wouldn’t matter. She’s past listening.” He frowned down at her. “But who is this defiant, opinionated little thing I’m talking to now?”
That made her laugh. “You can thank Pierce.”
Cutter scoffed. “If you’re getting mouthy, I don’t know if it’s thanking him I’ll be doing.”
She took his teasing in stride. “Well, too bad. This is me now. You’re going to have to deal with it.”
“You know I’m happy to, Bre-bee.”
“You want to talk about her?”
“No. Forty-eight hours ago, we were trying to figure out how to defy odds and make it work. Now…it’s done because I screwed up.” He sighed. “It was probably just a stupid-ass fantasy anyway.”
“I’m sorry.” Brea gnawed at her lip. “I hate to ask, but… I don’t suppose you’d be willing to find Pierce in Mexico and help him.”
“I already offered. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t want anyone.” Cutter shrugged. “And I respect him for not wanting to take others down with him.”
Everything inside her froze, then started to ache. “Do you think he’ll make it out of this alive? Is there any chance?”
Cutter hesitated, then shook his head. “You’re a woman now, and I won’t candy-coat it for you. No. He’s probably not coming back. I think we press on with our January wedding. If he somehow beats the odds and proves me wrong, I’ll step aside and let him take my place as your husband. Otherwise…I think you and I better figure out how to spend our futures together, without the people we love.”
Chapter Eight
Saturday, December 13
One month later
A month—fucking gone. And One-Mile had stepped onto US soil at DFW Airport less than two hours ago with one top-of-mind focus: seeing Brea ASAP.
Since he was in desperate times, that called for desperate measures. After yesterday’s shit show, his situation had leapfrogged over merely wretched and landed squarely in last-gasp, holy-fuck land. He needed to regroup—fast. But he’d never imagined he’d be doing it in this swanky suburban mansion.
When he’d exited the plane, the invite to this shindig, along with Cutter’s RSVP plus one, had been sitting in his inbox. That had made his decision for him. Normally, he hated gatherings like this, but if Brea was here, a mere forty-five minutes away, instead of in Louisiana, a distant six hours east, he’d attend the fucking party with bells on.
So he ambled into Callie Mackenzie’s massive kitchen, decked out with festive holiday decorations, feeling severely out of place. As he scoured the room for Brea, cheerful party conversations fell to whispers, then died to a hush. Everyone glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the unrest, including Cutter Bryant, who stood alone.
One-Mile wasn’t shocked when all eyes fell on him.
Surprise!
He knew a lot of the people at this upscale Christmas party. Half were EM Security employees and their dates, as well as the operatives and significant others from their sister firm, Oracle. Clearly, no one had expected him to show.
Jack Cole, Deke Trenton, and the Oracle gang knew of him. Likely they’d heard he was a lowlife, a rapist, a horrible human being, and all that jazz. He really didn’t give two shits. Since the EM guys all thought he was in Mexico, they looked at him as if they’d seen a ghost. And in some ways, One-Mile felt as if he’d been dead since he’d left a month ago. But that wasn’t important. Right now, he needed to have a few critical conversations. And lay eyes on Brea.
Where the hell was she?
When he gave the room another visual sweep, he still didn’t see her. She should be here as Cutter’s date, but the Boy Scout looked stag. What the hell? Hadn’t she come? Was something wrong?