Wicked Ever After (Wicked & Devoted #2) - Shayla Black Page 0,67
but he had to maintain a clear head tonight. “Just water, if you don’t mind.”
“Coming right up.” The redhead shimmied her way toward the refrigerator.
One-Mile put a few things on his plate so he didn’t look as if he had zero interest in this party. But the warm, catered chow beat the hell out of everything he’d hunted and scrounged in Mexico. His stomach rumbled. So he dug in.
As he shoveled dinner into his mouth, One-Mile took in the rest of the scene. In one corner, Trees stood alone, staring at Zy, who leaned over Tessa with a smile that broadcast the fact he’d love to eat her whole. The pretty blonde receptionist stared back at him like a sugar addict gazing longingly at a lush cake with a dollop of pure-orgasm frosting. If they weren’t fucking yet…it was only a matter of time. Josiah crowded next to Stone and some of the Oracle guys, engaged in an animated conversation.
Logan took the opportunity to sidle up to him. “You back?”
Besides Brea, here was the other person he needed to talk to. Might as well get it over with. “Temporarily, but—”
“I haven’t heard from you in a fucking month. Want to fill me in?”
Before he could, Hunter and Joaquin joined their conversation, glaring daggers.
“You can’t come to work, but you can show up to a Christmas party?” Hunter challenged.
Oh, fuck you. He didn’t have the patience for this. “We all know how much I love social occasions, especially when it involves your sparkling company.”
The older Edgington replied with a snarl and an obscene finger gesture.
“What’s going on in Mexico?” Joaquin asked, trying to be the voice of reason. “Is it done? Is Montilla dead?”
One-Mile prepared to launch into his rehearsed speech when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught Cutter waving to the small crowd. Did the asshole think he was leaving?
“I’ll catch y’all later. Merry Christmas.” Then Bryant turned, extending a hand toward their host. “Thanks for everything, Sean. Your wife did an amazing job. I had a great time.”
One-Mile shoved his half-eaten plate of food aside. If the Boy Scout was heading out, he damn well intended to follow.
He wouldn’t rest until he knew Brea was all right.
“Can you stay for three more minutes?” Sean asked Cutter. “Callie hosted this party for a reason.”
Cutter hesitated, then caved. “Sure.”
When Tara returned with his bottle of water, One-Mile thanked her and released the breath he’d been holding. Callie gave a heartfelt speech about everyone in the room being a member of the family the Mackenzie-Thorpe trio had chosen.
“Hear, hear!” The party guests raised their glasses before hugs began all around.
One-Mile knew he wasn’t included in that group, and he tried not to care. Would it be nice to have a circle of tight-knit friends? Maybe. He’d never had such a thing. But for Brea’s sake? Yeah. Some of the unconventional relationships like Callie, Sean, and Thorpe’s, not to mention the freak flags everyone in this group openly flew, would shock his pretty girl. But once she got past that, she would love their close sense of community.
If fate decided that she should spend her life with Bryant, she’d get it.
People hugged and guys slapped each other on the back. The happiness in the room was palpable. He tried to shove down his resentment and envy. All these men were sure of their futures, secure in the knowledge they would spend the rest of their days with the woman they loved.
One-Mile hated that he might have to let his girl marry another man. But for her safety, he would stand back and let her—no matter how much it killed him.
Hell, the odds weren’t good that he’d even be alive by then.
Speaking of which, he didn’t have any time to lose.
When Cutter headed for the exit again, One-Mile tossed his half-empty plate into the bin, then turned to Logan. “I need to talk to you. I have to regroup, and I need a hookup on more supplies, but I’ll have to call you later.”
“What? No, goddamn it. You owe us some fucking answers,” Logan shouted.
But One-Mile was already across the room, trying to block Bryant from leaving. As he barreled closer, the Boy Scout stiffened.
Former British MI5 agent Heath Powell stopped a conversation with his wife mid-sentence and grabbed Cutter’s arm. “Let it go, you two.”
One-Mile reached them and glared at Powell. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“It’s fine,” Cutter assured. “I’ve got to go anyway. Great to see you,