Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted #2) - Shayla Black Page 0,29

safe bet. Daddy’s choice. The smart one who’d known better than to defile Brea before marriage or ask her to shack up.

Except…why would she say yes to Bryant now? Cutter was in another state, so it wasn’t as if they had recently shared a romantic heart-to-heart—or even a hot night in the sack—during which he’d persuaded Brea to be his wife. Nope, the asshole had been in California for nearly a week, and she’d chosen last night to become the future Mrs. Bryant? Over the phone? When she didn’t feel an ounce of passion for him? Brea couldn’t fake that, and One-Mile knew her lush little body was still his. Every time she looked at him, that fact was all over her face. No, passion wasn’t love…but she still wanted him. That fucking mattered.

Stifling a curse, he shouldered his way out of the little break room, then exited the back of the salon, into the mostly vacant lot. Not because he gave any fucks about the biddies in the beauty shop gawking at him but because he’d embarrassed Brea. He hadn’t known how much that would disturb her until the damage had been done.

Besides, if he saw her again, he wasn’t sure he could make himself walk away. For her safety, he had to. Hopefully, anyone from Montilla’s organization who might be watching would think he’d tried to ditch them by ducking through the beauty shop. But coming here had been an impulsive, knee-jerk reaction. Fucking stupid. He had to lock down this emotional shit.

When the back door began to swing shut behind him, Cage knocked it open so hard it crashed into the opposing wall, then slammed home with a teeth-rattling thud. “I’m talking to you, fucker.”

“I’m not obligated to listen.”

“For Brea’s sake, you should.”

That made him pause and glance back over his shoulder. “Why?”

“I don’t pretend to know everything that happened between you and that girl, but I can guess. The best thing you can do for her is to keep walking and let my brother handle things from here.”

As long as he was breathing, Brea would never be Mrs. Bryant. “Why the fuck would you think that?”

Cage gaped at him like he was an idiot, before he rolled his eyes into some smug-ass, superior glare. “Did you grow up in a small town?”

“Nope.” He was from San Diego, and with a million fucking horrible memories there, he hoped never to set foot in the city again.

“Then you don’t understand. That stunt you just pulled? The town will talk about nothing else for days, maybe weeks. That’s not good for Brea’s reputation or her future. If you keep coming here, you’ll only make things worse for her.”

“All we did was talk.”

Cage snorted. “You might as well have announced to the whole damn town that you’ve fucked her. I’d love to roast you for that, asshole, but Sunset has an ordinance that prevents me from burning trash.”

Was his barb supposed to be clever? “Fuck you.”

“No. Fuck you. You said you didn’t force Brea into bed, but I’ve known that girl her whole life. And I think you’re a liar.”

“I don’t care what you think.” He and Brea knew the truth.

“You should, just like you should get over yourself and start giving a shit what everyone around her thinks. She is the preacher’s only daughter. She’s adored by this town. They look at her like she’s one step away from the Virgin Mary. She’s worked hard to maintain that spotless reputation. You might well have destroyed it in three minutes—and dragged her daddy through the mud with her.”

“Because she’s not a virgin anymore? None of them are, either.”

“None of them are the reverend’s kid. And you’re not only an outsider, but you’re obviously trouble.”

“Because I don’t dress like you? Or talk like you? Because I’m not one of you?”

“No, because your attitude is shitty, and you have a huge chip on your shoulder. God knows you don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone but yourself.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell the prick that he loved Brea and had from the moment he’d set eyes on her. That he intended to fight for her until she was his. That he’d gladly give up his happiness—his life, even—to keep her safe. But he didn’t see the point of wasting his breath and he refused to put a target on her back. “You don’t know a damn thing about me.”

“What did you think confronting her in front of God