Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted #2) - Shayla Black Page 0,30
and everyone would accomplish?” Cage shook his head. “Fuck it. It’s done now, and your stupid-ass stunt flopped. So why don’t you do Brea a favor and steer clear? She’s got a solid future mapped out now, no thanks to you. Stop trying to ruin it. I don’t love that she roped my brother into mopping up your mess, but the very least you could do is leave them in fucking peace.”
Only about half of Cage’s bullshit made sense. “What does that mean?”
The other man’s brow furrowed before his eyes widened with shock. Then he shut it all down. “Nothing. Forget it. I’m going to check on Brea.”
When Cage made a beeline for the back door, One-Mile jerked him around by the elbow. “Not until you tell me what the fuck you meant by my ‘mess.’”
The elder Bryant brother yanked free and sneered. “You’re supposed to be the shit. You figure it out.”
Then he disappeared inside the salon again, and One-Mile stood staring at the door.
What the fuck? Was this about Brea’s reputation? Or something more?
Did everyone in this goddamn drama know something he didn’t? It sure as hell felt that way. And if he wanted to keep her from marrying Cutter, he needed to figure it out—fast.
As Brea plastered on a false smile for Mr. Davidson and scheduled his two-week follow-up so he could maintain his precise banker’s cut, she sensed Rayleigh hovering nearby. The woman had swept and cleaned every surface in the salon, despite the fact a crew came in overnight to do that, and her last customer had left hours ago. Brea could guess why.
Her boss wanted the scoop.
Exhaustion tugged at Brea. As her pregnancy progressed, heartburn was beginning to replace nausea. It especially gave her fits at night. Sleep didn’t always come.
But that’s not what had her on the brink of stupid tears now. Life as she’d always known it was tumbling down around her like a house of cards. Until lately, she hadn’t realized how often or deftly Cutter or her father stepped in to bear the brunt of her difficulties—before she even realized they were doing it. Long before she ever asked for their help.
But now Cutter was gone, and she wasn’t ready to confide in her father. So her problems were hers alone. Despite feeling overwhelmed, she knew this self-reliance was good for her.
As kindly Mr. Davidson left with a wave, she locked up behind him with a tired sigh.
Rayleigh put an unexpected arm around her shoulders. “You look like you could use a friend, honey.”
She had no idea. “It’s been a long day.”
“Uh-huh. And ever since you and that fine specimen of a man had words earlier, you’ve looked ready to cry.”
Brea had felt that way, too. “I’m fine.”
Rayleigh narrowed her expertly made-up eyes. “I know your daddy taught you that lying is a sin. I’m going to the Sundowner. It’s a Friday night. Why don’t you come with me?”
“My father is expecting me to make supper and—”
“Nope. He came by while you were mixing up Mrs. Stringer’s color a bit ago. He and Jennifer Collins were heading to Josephine’s for dinner, then to a movie, so you’re free for a while. Grab your purse, and let’s go.”
She wondered if Daddy had already heard the gossip that a disreputable man, probably on his motorcycle, had barreled his way into the salon—complete with tattoos, loud mouth, and oozing sex appeal—demanding to talk to her and all but admitting they’d had sex.
This was Sunset. Of course he’d heard.
But the fact he was busy now was a guilty relief. And Rayleigh was right; she could use a friend.
“All right. I need to use the restroom and grab my coat.”
“I’ll meet you there. Since it’s Friday night, tables will be at a premium. So I’m going down there to grab one. Lock up behind you,” Rayleigh called out as she left.
Brea had never actually hung out in the bar, but she’d heard it got crowded just after quitting time at the start of the weekend.
After a quick trip to the toilet, she washed up, put on her coat to protect her from the sudden November chill, and tried not to think about Pierce.
What danger had he been talking about?
She turned off the lights and let herself out of the shop, securing the door behind her. Huddling into her coat, she bustled down the sidewalk, not surprised to see a few folks running from some shop along Napoleon Avenue to their cars, giving her a speculative