I need some space.
That told him where he stood. Brea had enjoyed her night of fun with the bad boy and was now kicking him to the curb. He should just say fuck it and do his damnedest to forget her. But he already knew he’d fail.
Besides, two and two wasn’t adding up. Brea hadn’t merely fucked him to save her boyfriend. If she had, she would never have given him her virginity or let him take her repeatedly Saturday night. She would never have kissed him with such innocent gusto. She would never have moaned so uninhibitedly every time her pleasure climbed. She would never have screamed so loudly when her climaxes hit. She would never have clung to him while she slept like a baby. She’d wanted him. Her needing space now? That was either Bryant breathing suspicion down her neck or her good-girl guilt barking. Maybe both.
He was going to call bullshit—and call her bluff.
Once he’d tracked her down, he’d coax, cajole, or seduce her into listening to his pitch to leave her boyfriend—who had never treated her like a woman. Then she could move in with him. Sure, it was fast. Yes, he was probably crazy. One-Mile expected obstacles. But he wasn’t wrong about them. Brea Bell was his. The more he thought about it, the more his gut told him that was true.
Cutter was nothing more than a speed bump.
One-Mile slammed the door of his truck and locked it before shoving his way into EM Security Management’s offices. Just inside the lobby, their pretty blond receptionist, Tessa Lawrence, sat at the front desk, doing her best to ignore Zyron. But the big lug had perched his ass on the edge of her desk to flirt shamelessly, despite the fact their bosses had a strict policy against fraternization and the woman didn’t seem inclined to say yes. Even now, Tessa looked pale and nervous as she focused on her computer screen, typing away as if Zy didn’t exist. But he didn’t take the hint, instead asking her out—yet again—in low, suggestive tones while flashing his Hollywood smile.
Dumb ass. Her baby was only a few months old, and her ex-boyfriend’s desertion only a few weeks older than that. The last thing a woman like Tessa was looking for was some asshole to nail her.
As he passed them, Zy scowled—the nonverbal equivalent of get the fuck away from my woman. One-Mile held up a hand. His fellow operative was welcome to fall flat on his face all day with the cute receptionist. He wasn’t interested in any woman except Brea.
When he reached the dark corner of the building that housed his desk, One-Mile slumped into his chair and booted up his computer, eyeing the avalanche of unread messages dropping into his inbox. Updates on hotspots around the world. Information that might affect current and upcoming cases. Forensic reports on incidents they’d wrapped. Miscellaneous shit about new toys the bosses had acquired. Paperwork reminders. And on and on…
His mood went from dark to black as hell.
Why hadn’t Brea told Bryant to fuck off? Did she love the stupid Boy Scout, in spite of the fact he didn’t light her fire? Or had things changed? Now that she was no longer a virgin, had she and Cutter decided to screw waiting for marriage and fucked?
The thought made One-Mile homicidal.
He launched himself to his feet and headed for the coffeepot, wondering if Bryant would show up today. As he rounded the corner, he picked up a clean mug from the shelf and looked up.
Speak of the SOB…
“I want to talk to you.”
Cutter barely glanced away from the java he poured. “Fuck off.”
Maybe the asshole didn’t understand. “It’s about Brea.”
Bryant slammed the pot back onto the brewer. “You’re never touching her again, so whatever happened over the weekend? Forget it and move on. She’s going to.”
Was the Boy Scout bullshitting him? “You and me. Outside.”
“Not happening. I’ve already been warned against drama in the office. Since I can’t kick the ass of my esteemed fellow operative”—Cutter raised a sarcastic brow—“I want you the fuck out of my sight.”
With that, he turned away and slunk back to his desk on the far side of the adjacent conference room.
One-Mile had had enough—and he knew how to fix this.
He whirled around, in search of Logan. But when he entered the boss’s office, it wasn’t the younger Edgington he found. Instead, a completely unfamiliar man stood there. He was somewhere around thirty, had some awesome ink and a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe.
Logan hustled up behind him, bitching about some computer virus or another.
“Stone, this is Pierce,” Logan said to the other guy.
One-Mile looked the stranger up and down. Were they hiring him? He looked badass enough to fit with the crew. More importantly, he didn’t look like a snitch, a douche, or another Boy Scout.
He nodded toward Stone. “I prefer One-Mile.”
Logan sighed. “One-Mile, then. He’s our resident sniper. Rather than his given name, he prefers to be known by his longest kill shot. God save me from big egos.”
It had nothing to do with his ego and everything to do with hating his father, but he didn’t owe anyone that explanation.
Stone stuck out his hand. “Hey.”
“Good to meet you.” One-Mile shook it.
“Stone Sutter is a computer hacker extraordinaire. Jack Cole and the boys at Oracle are letting us borrow him to isolate a virus on the server, so don’t open any email attachments.”
“Not a problem,” he told Logan. “I’d like to speak to you.”
“What’s up?”
“I can’t work with Bryant. I quit.” Now that he’d delivered his news, he was free to find Cutter and beat the ever-loving fuck out of him.
Before he could escape Logan’s office, the former SEAL shut him down. “Nope. You can’t. I’ve got a contract. You signed. We paid the bonus, and you cashed the check. End of conversation.”
One-Mile halted. Fucking Logan throwing legalities in his face. Even worse, the bastard was right.
Naturally, Cutter chose that moment to stick
