Brea eased her car door shut, slung her purse over her shoulder, then, shoes in hand, crept toward her house.
“I never thought I’d see you doing the walk of shame.”
That all-too-familiar voice made her heart drop.
She whirled. “Cutter…”
Brow raised, he sauntered in her direction, eyeing her up and down as if he had no idea who she was anymore. Shame rolled through her, but she beat it back. Who was he to judge? He wasn’t her father or God. She might not have needed to give herself to Pierce Walker to save him, but she’d offered. Her heart had been in the right place…even if the rest of her had been far less altruistic.
“Listen. I can—”
“Explain?” he cut in sharply.
At the rebuke in his voice, she pressed her lips together mutely. He’d already grasped the situation. Nothing she could say, short of lying, would convince him of anything less than the truth. And she saw no point in compounding her sin with a falsehood.
“Help you home. I didn’t think you’d already be released from the hospital, and I’m sure you shouldn’t be out of bed. Why are you?”
He drew closer and clutched her arm. Even though the shadows hid the disapproval in his expression, Brea could feel it. “Been too ‘busy’ to look at your phone?”
She’d turned it off last night, and Pierce had kept her far too busy to even think about turning it back on. “Sorry.”
“I called. Repeatedly. Until three this morning. Then I sent Cage out to find you. But you weren’t home. You weren’t at the church. You weren’t at the hospital, either. Then I remembered that bastard Walker telling me—after he served as the shooter’s judge, jury, and executioner—that you were at his house. That you were waiting for him there. And sure enough, that’s where my brother found your car about an hour ago. And since there’s no way you and Walker were having a deep, existential conversation in the middle of the night, I checked myself out against doctor’s orders and had Cage drop me off at my truck so I could come after you.” Cutter clutched both of her shoulders and dragged her under the nearby streetlamp in time to see a guilty flush crawl up her face. “Dear God. What the fuck did Walker do to you?”
She winced, both at his shout and his choice of slurs. “Please lower your voice and calm down.”
“Calm down? I worried he took advantage of your naiveté. That he seduced you but…” Cutter’s grip tightened, along with his mouth, which flattened into a grim line that promised retribution. “He left his mark all over you. You reek of him. Your cheeks are whisker burned. Your lips are bruised and swollen. He fucking ravaged you.” The tightness in his voice told Brea that notion pained him. “Son of a bitch. He said you begged him to intervene on my behalf.”
Had he really thought she wouldn’t? “I-I was terrified for you.”
“Not as afraid as I’ve been for you. I knew damn well what he wanted the moment he laid eyes on you.” A scathing, cynical stare twisted his face. “He demanded you give it to him, didn’t he?”
She shook her head and tried to think of some way to explain that wouldn’t make him even angrier. “That’s not what happened.”
He clenched his jaw, turning deadly still. “Shit. Then it’s worse than I thought. Because now that I see what he’s done to you, the only other way I’ll believe you spent a night in his bed was if he forced you. By all that’s holy, I swear I’m going to kill him.”
“Don’t. You can’t. He—”
“Don’t try to sugarcoat what that motherfucker did to you.”
Cutter only used that language around her when he was beyond furious. He underscored that fact by curling up his fist, rolling a growl up from his chest, and punching her driver’s-side window.
Brea jumped and started—then blinked in horror when he reared back to do it again, as if he wasn’t satisfied that the glass hadn’t shattered the first time.
“Stop.” She grabbed his elbow and hauled back with all her might.
He whipped a furious stare on her, then snarled out another curse as he shook out his hand. “You shouldn’t have gone to Walker on my behalf. You promised me you’d stay away.”
“You needed me, and I—”
“He’s dangerous. I hope you fucking get that now.”
“Cutter, please. Listen…”
“No. I know you. I know you sacrificed yourself for me. And I know what you’re doing right now. Don’t you dare try to make me feel less guilty.”
“I’m not. I’m telling you that—”
“It wasn’t too bad?” he scoffed. “A conversation with the asshole is torture. I can’t imagine how you endured a whole night with him fucking on top of you.” He clenched his hands into fists again with a guttural grunt. “I would have gotten myself out of the situation. And if I couldn’t have, it wasn’t worth whatever he put you through. I don’t even want to think about how much he bent you to his will—and hurt you—without wanting to kill him.”
The longer she let Cutter linger on this subject, the angrier he would become. And he wasn’t calm enough yet to hear that Pierce hadn’t forced her to do anything. He might not be for a while.
“It’s over. Right now, I’m worried about you. You should never have left against doctor’s orders. You have a nasty concussion. Don’t break your hand, too. You need rest. I’m so thankful you’re alive. Please don’t worry me more.”
“I’m fine. I’m taking you to the hospital to get a rape kit.”
She blanched. “No.”
“You’re going to let him get away with defiling you?” His incredulous stare curdled her stomach.
“He’s not getting away with anything. I’m focused on you right now. I’m worried about you. Nothing else matters.”
Cutter raked a hand through his hair, angry knuckles reddening. “You can’t expect me to let this go, Bre-bee. I understand why you might not want to tell everyone
