“You don’t understand at all. Let it go.”
“Are you fucking crazy?”
“Keep it down, bro,” Cage hissed as he made his way down the driveway to join them on the sidewalk. “You’re going to wake up the whole neighborhood if you don’t.”
Cutter whirled on his brother. “I’m supposed to be calm when Walker fucking raped her?”
“Don’t say that. You don’t understand,” Brea insisted.
“Oh, I understand perfectly.” Her best friend looked murderous.
She turned to Cage with an imploring gaze.
The older Bryant brother nodded. “Bro, you’re not supposed to be out of bed. And you’re definitely not supposed to be driving.” He plucked the truck keys from Cutter’s grip. “Today isn’t the day to fight this battle.”
Cutter looked gutted. “You’re taking her side?”
“I’m taking yours,” Cage insisted. “That pain pill should be kicking in about now… The one that warns against operating heavy machinery or an automobile.”
Cutter clutched his head. “We can’t let Walker get away with this. He needs to die.”
Brea groped for her patience. “He did nothing wrong.”
But one look at Cutter’s face told her that he’d never believe her. He saw her as a little girl. He would never believe she had chosen to have sex with a man who wasn’t her husband, especially someone he held such a low opinion of. If burying her head in the sand was sometimes her downfall, Cutter’s was being stubbornly blind. He didn’t want the truth, so it didn’t exist.
“He did everything wrong,” Cutter growled. “And you let him take whatever he wanted from you to save my miserable ass. I will never forgive myself.”
Before she could say another word, he pivoted toward his mother’s house and marched for the front door, leaving her alone with Cage. His expression was more measured, equal parts righteous anger and curiosity. “Want to talk about it?”
Brea shook her head. She loved Cage like family, but she’d never been as close to him as she was to Cutter. The last thing she wanted to do was share her personal life with more people or bring anyone else into this strife. “I don’t, except to say that your brother is wrong.”
“Walker didn’t rape you?”
“No. Not at all.”
“That fits. You might be pious and soft-spoken, but if he’d hurt you, then you would have said so.”
“Thank you for being rational.”
“Cutter will be, too. Eventually. I hope.” He winced. “Right now, he’s just angry.”
“Your brother is so stubborn. We both know he may never change his mind.”
“Without a significant slap upside the head? Maybe not,” Cage conceded. “Anything I can do to help until then?”
“Get him back to the doctor. He shouldn’t return to work until he’s been medically cleared.”
“I’ll do my best. I need to be back on the road to Dallas. My shift was supposed to start about…now.”
Brea closed her eyes as more guilt enveloped her. No, she hadn’t called Cage and demanded that he spend half the night looking for her. Cutter had done that. But if she’d looked at her phone sooner or checked in or reached out… “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I could use the extra day off. I’m going to escort Mama to church this morning. Then I’ll be heading down the road. You should probably take a shower before your father wakes up. I know you don’t wear makeup often, but you might want to put on some today.”
She blushed again. “Are the marks that obvious?”
He grimaced and pulled at the back of his neck. “Afraid so. I don’t have a particular beef with Walker. I don’t even know him. But I know you. So I know the guilt is probably eating you up inside. And if you exchanged your body for my brother’s safety, I regret whatever you had to endure, but I’ll forever be grateful that Cutter is alive today.”
Then Cage was gone.
Brea swallowed, standing stock-still until she heard the soft thump of their front door closing.
God, she didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Guilty, yes. Sorry? Some of that, too. Exhaustion, worry, uncertainty. Somewhere in there, shock that the world felt so different in some ways but exactly the same in others. Still, under it all, giddiness prevailed. Pierce Walker had more than touched her. He had stolen a piece of her heart. And rather than wring her hands and wonder how on earth she’d ever get it back, all she could do was wonder if—no, how—she could spend the night in his arms again.
Chapter 7
Tuesday, August 19
One-Mile started Tuesday in a foul mood. Over forty-eight hours had passed since he’d last pressed his lips to Brea’s—while buried deep in the sweetest, snuggest cunt he’d ever felt. Then he’d awakened alone. After cursing a blue streak, he’d tried repeatedly to reach her.
Calls and texts on Sunday morning went unanswered. Fine. He’d figured she was sleeping or, better yet, breaking up with that asshole Bryant. But a few hours later, he’d rolled up to the little white house of worship her father preached at and, from his Jeep across the street, he’d seen her talking to a group of middle-aged moms. Cutter had been fucking glued to her side, his arm wrapped around her waist as if he owned her.
Brea hadn’t objected, simply curled up against him as if she was where she wanted to be.
The sight had been a punch in the gut.
After that, his mood had rolled downhill.
By Monday morning, he’d been itching for a fight. Since he’d promised Logan he wouldn’t bring their shit into the office, One-Mile had been more than prepared to beat the shit out of the asshole in the parking lot. But the Boy Scout had been a no-show. Normally, he would have relished a day without the insufferable bastard. Not today.
Later, he’d learned the bosses had insisted Bryant get medically cleared before he darkened their door again. Whatever. All One-Mile had cared about was the fact that Brea still hadn’t responded to him.
This morning she
