Wicked As Sin Page 9

  Thirty minutes later, he’d set up his tripod, positioned his weapon, and gotten his scope in place. Then he did what snipers had to learn to do if they wanted to be any fucking good: he waited. He refined the shot, felt the wind and heaviness of the air, factored that into his mental calculations, then texted Caleb to let them know he was ready, along with a host of other instructions to make sure no one spooked Schading or blocked his shot.

  Fifteen minutes later, a black Camaro rolled into the alley. The gunman hadn’t left specific instructions about where and how he wanted the car positioned, other than to have it stocked with a full tank, money, and Tennessee whiskey. So One-Mile had been very detailed, and it looked as if the message had been communicated correctly when a uniformed officer left the running vehicle in the middle of the alley with the driver’s side facing the retaining wall. Only the driver’s door would be unlocked, which would force the gunman to walk around the car to escape. If he wanted to take Cutter as a hostage, Schading would either have to shove Bryant in first before he could take his seat or unlock the passenger door, escort Bryant to it, and force him in before finding his own seat. Either way, he’d be out in the open and vulnerable as fuck for far longer than One-Mile would need to get off a successful shot.

  Not long after the officer left the Camaro idling, the grocery store’s back door opened. Cutter was first to emerge, hands high in the air, blood dripping from his left temple. Schading was right behind him, gun in his grip as he jabbed Bryant in the back, prodding him forward. With his free hand, he gripped his wife by the hair and dragged her out behind him.

  The woman trembled and cried, mascara running down her face. She was a little thing, with a hint of a baby bump. Schading yanked on Bryant’s shirt, then turned back to shout at his wife. The terrified woman cowered and tried to make herself as small as possible. One-Mile felt really fucking sorry for her. Bryant must have had the same reaction, because he started talking, clearly trying to take the gunman’s anger down twenty notches. The bad news was, while Brea’s boy toy stood there and played the hero, he was shielding Schading from the shot One-Mile had painstakingly lined up.

  Finally, the gunman shoved his wife to the ground. And because he was such a Prince Charming, he kicked her a couple of times. Cutter was clearly itching to use this distraction to launch more heroics. Not that he didn’t understand Bryant’s urge to punch this abusive asshole in the face, but the Boy Scout could help most by getting the fuck out of the way.

  Schading’s temper seemed to ratchet up as he waved the gun in his estranged wife’s face. She shrank back and curled her arms around her belly protectively.

  One-Mile would lose zero sleep over ending this douche.

  He wrapped his finger around the trigger, triple-checked his sights, and held his breath…

  Before he could pull the trigger, Bryant opened his mouth and started flapping his jaws again. Schading whirled, turning his crazy-eyed glare on Cutter, and charged toward him like an enraged bull. Then he shoved the gun against Bryant’s bleeding temple and shouted something that looked expletive-filled.

  Fuck, this was heating up too furiously and too fast. If he didn’t act now, Schading might lose his shit, decide to take his wife hostage after all, and blow the head off his expendable tagalong, Cutter.

  With a rapid mental ticktock in his head counting down the seconds, One-Mile realigned his shot, curled his finger a little tighter around the trigger…and squeezed.

  Chapter Five

  The crack of his shot resounded in his ears as the rifle kicked back, but he stayed with the scope and watched the bullet plant itself dead center in the middle of Schading’s forehead. The would-be gunman crumpled to the concrete. Blood splattered onto the screaming woman behind him and pooled around his body.

  Cutter whipped his gaze around, searching for the source of the shot. The Boy Scout couldn’t see him, but he seemingly realized the ordeal was over and blew out a deep sigh of relief before turning his attention on the newly minted widow. More blood rolled down his temple as he bent and helped the shaking woman to her feet.

  Cops rushed in from everywhere. A pair of EMTs followed with a gurney. Gaines marched in, the colonel by his side, followed by another guy who looked too bleak to be anything other than the coroner. Someone drove the still-idling car away.

  One-Mile stood and stretched. The phone in his pocket buzzed with a message from Caleb Edgington that read Good job, Walker. He didn’t reply. He hadn’t done anything heroic or amazing, just taken out the trash.

  What exactly did he tell Brea now? She’d be both relieved and horrified. Sure, she’d asked him for this…but it wouldn’t take long for the reality to hit her that she’d begged him to kill a man. Then she’d probably tie herself in guilty knots. Would she even speak to him after that?

  His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, but he didn’t have a choice. With a grumble, he tapped in her number and typed out a message.

  I’m done. Stay put.

  Brea only wanted to know one thing.

  Is Cutter all right?

  As soon as the words appeared on One-Mile’s screen, he cursed. Of course she wanted to know. She’d pleaded with him to save the son of a bitch’s life because she loved him so much. Naturally, his fate was the first she’d ask about. He’d been an idiot to hope differently.

  Fine, just a scratch or two.

  Thank you.

  For the update or for killing someone who had threatened her lover?

  Shaking his head, One-Mile pocketed his phone. Time to blow this fucking shit show.

  With short, sharp movements, he packed up his weapon and the rest of his equipment, then hopped in his Jeep and returned to the strip mall. When he arrived on the scene, Gaines sent him a businesslike nod. The colonel gave him a thumbs-up. The cops around him stared either in worship or terror.

  Cutter jerked away from an attentive EMT applying pressure to his bleeding temple and scowled. “That was your kill shot?”

  Why lie? “Yep.”

  “Why the hell did you get involved? I had the situation under control. I’d been talking to Richard for hours. I was just getting him to the point of admitting his impulsive plan wouldn’t work and surrendering.”

  “Well, it didn’t look that way when he pressed his barrel against your skull.”

  He rolled his eyes. “He hadn’t yet pulled the trigger. I was less than three minutes from getting him to surrender.”

  “Or being dead, because he didn’t look ready to raise a white flag to me. So stop bitching. It’s done. He’s dead. If you’d rather, next time I won’t save your life. Hell, I wouldn’t have this time except Brea begged me.”

  “What?” Cutter looked like his head was about to spin off into another dimension.

  “She asked me to make sure you came home in one piece. I did. Now I’m leaving.”

  The colonel approached and clapped him on the back. “I’ll take care of the red tape from here. We’ll call you if we need anything, but Gaines and I both saw the whole thing. There shouldn’t be too many questions.”

  One-Mile nodded. “Thanks.”

  Cutter was still sputtering. “Where is she?”

  “My place.” He just smiled. Yeah, it was a petty jab, but one that seemed to bug the hell out of Bryant.

  “I’m coming with you to take her home.”

  “That’s not a good idea.” The colonel stepped in when the nearby EMT shook her head stubbornly. “Word is, you probably have a concussion. I think you should get checked out.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  Caleb’s affable expression fell away. “You’re going to the hospital. My sons will insist. So am I. You won’t be cleared to work until you do.”

  “Fine,” Cutter muttered, then turned his back on the older man and glared One-Mile’s way. “Why did Brea come to you for help?”

  “You’ll have to take that up with her.” And One-Mile was done talking.

  With a wave at the colonel, he turned
and headed for his Jeep. Time to get back to the pretty preacher’s daughter. Now that he’d done as she’d pleaded, was she expecting he’d demand her to pay up?

  Brea paced the open length of Pierce’s house from the kitchen to the front door and back again. As soon as she’d received his text that the gunman had been vanquished and Cutter had survived, she’d broken down and cried. Then she gathered herself and called Cutter’s family to tell them he was alive. After his initial rush of relief, Cage began asking pointed questions about how she’d gotten that information and what exactly she had done to intervene. Brea forced a smile in her voice, then she did something she hadn’t done since she was a child.

  She lied.

  “Nothing much.”

  Pierce had kept his end of their bargain. Now she had to be brave enough to repay him—with her body.

  As she passed the kitchen table again, she grabbed the glass of water she’d poured herself hours ago and swallowed it down. She didn’t drink alcohol much, but in that moment, she wished she’d sought out something stronger to fill her glass.

  Still, intoxication wouldn’t change the truth. She had promised Pierce Walker sex.

  So tonight, she would give herself to him without regret. Tomorrow, she would repent for her sins. Afterward, their paths would never cross again.

  The buzz of the automatic garage door snagged her attention, followed by the purr of an engine, signaling Pierce’s return. Suddenly, Brea felt like a bunny trapped in a wolf’s lair. Her hands went clammy. Her breath rattled in and out of her lungs. Her heart pounded like a wild thing.

  She should have been terrified of crawling between the sheets with a man she barely knew. Sickened that he’d agreed to accept sex in exchange for a human life. Ashamed that she’d bartered away her virginity instead of saving it for a man she loved.

  But when she thought of Pierce touching her, stripping her down, and covering her body with his, the flesh between her legs twisted with a shameful ache. She might lie to Cage about tonight to save face or to Cutter to spare him guilt, but she wouldn’t lie to herself. She wanted Pierce Walker. Everything about him as a man that should repel her instead tempted the woman inside her.

  Brea eased her empty glass onto the table and took a deep breath before she forced herself to approach the garage door. She folded her hands to steady herself, hoping Pierce wouldn’t see her tremble.

  The engine cut off. A car door slammed. Then he stepped inside the house—all six and a half feet of him—his big shoulders filling the doorway.

  His black eyes fell on her immediately. “You’re still here.”

  She nodded. “You told me to be.”

  Something passed across his face. Approval? Desire? Whatever it was, she felt the answering ping inside her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  He had been the one to run headlong into danger. And unlike Cutter, Pierce hadn’t ridden to the rescue out of the goodness of his heart. He’d done it because he wanted her—desperately enough to risk his safety, intensely enough to take another’s life just to have her.

  That made no sense to Brea. In a roomful of women, she was never the prettiest. Or the smartest. Forget the most gregarious, so she was never the most popular. She definitely wasn’t the funniest or the sexiest or the most interesting. Why had Pierce agreed to something so perilous and horrific to have her?

  “Other than some frazzled nerves, I’m fine.” Another lie to mask her confusion, her desire. “What about you?”

  He shrugged, his big body moving with stealthy grace. “Fine. If you didn’t know, the EMTs took Cutter to the hospital for some tests, but he’ll be all right.”

  “I heard. I called Cage shortly after I received your text. He said his brother rang before the medical team took him away. He and Sweeney are on their way over there. Cutter is going back for an MRI on his head before they stitch him up.”

  Pierce hesitated, then set his keys on the foyer table. He tucked his gun case on the floor underneath. “They’re waiting for you, right? Go on.”

  He was letting her leave? Just like that? Without expecting anything in return? “But…I owe you. I’m prepared to give you what I promised.”

  He looked her up and down, then raised a brow at her. “No, you’re not. And I don’t want a martyr. Get out.”

  When Pierce brushed past her and headed for the kitchen, Brea whirled, frowning as she watched him pluck a tumbler from the cabinet. Her frown deepened when he filled it with whiskey and knocked it back in one swallow, ignoring her.

  He’d not only given her a reprieve but seemingly released her from their deal altogether. She should be thrilled. She should be breathing a sigh of relief and running for the door. Instead, she felt shocked and disappointed. Angry, even.

  What the devil was wrong with her?

  It didn’t matter. Cutter was at the hospital. Cage and Mama Sweeney were waiting. She should be beside them. They might need her moral support and prayers.

  Still, she couldn’t just leave without saying something. “I don’t understand. You did something extraordinary for me today that I—”

  “It’s the same damn thing I did for Uncle Sam on the daily for eight years.”

  The math on that astounded her. He’d seriously killed that many enemy combatants? “But you were paid for your work. I owe you.”

  “Fuck that. I’m not your charity case, and I won’t have you feeling guilty because you ‘endured’ my filthy hands all over you. Besides, I don’t want the Boy Scout’s leftovers. So get the hell out.”

  He poured another tumbler of whiskey and swallowed it back. Brea just stared. What was up with him? He pretended his kills didn’t matter, as if he’d prefer to be alone and screw the rest of the world. But under all his bluster, she felt his hurt and loneliness. He was lost, wounded. And he had no one.

  Except maybe her.

  Brea softened. “Despite what you think, I committed tonight to you and I’m prepared to see this through. But if you don’t want to have sex with me, then—”

  “Oh, don’t kid yourself.” He slammed his glass on the table and stalked toward her on almost silent footfalls, spearing her where she stood. “Can you honestly say that you believe, for even a single second, that I’m not desperate to fuck you?”

  Given everything he’d admitted the evening she’d brought him cookies? Given the way he was looking at her right now? “No.”

  “No,” he confirmed. “I wanted you the second you opened the door at Edgington’s house, skirt swishing and good-girl smile in place. I wanted you even after I knew you were Bryant’s. Even when you refused to admit you want me, too. Hell, I even wanted you when you told me how much you love Cutter and offered me your body to save his life. I’ve imagined you, masturbated to thoughts of you, dreamed of you. So don’t think, for one instant, that I’ve changed my mind.”

  His words stunned her. Brea’s heart raced. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I’m being straight-up honest and I want the same from you. That’s how you can repay me.”

  His demand terrified her…but she couldn’t refuse. “A-all right.”

  “Good. Now we might get somewhere.” Brea barely had time to grasp that he’d seen through her before he grabbed her arms and pulled her against his hard body. “I’m touching you. How does that make you feel?”

  Heat radiated from him like a furnace, singeing all her exposed skin. She gasped. “Hot.”

  “And?” His nostrils flared. His eyes turned impossibly blacker.

  When she tried to draw in a steadying breath, his scent filled her head instead. He smelled like musk. Like man. Like the most tempting sin. Her knees wobbled. Her eyes went wide. Her heart quaked.

  And her whole body came alive.

  What was it about Pierce Walker?

  “That, right there.” He pointed at her. “You want me, too, despite your better judgment. I see it all over your face. But you’re still reluctant to admit it. You promised to stop lying.
”

  Shame filled Brea. Her dishonesty was a selfish sin she wreaked on him to protect her pride. Pierce hadn’t demanded that she give him her body, but she owed him her truth.

  “You’re right. I’ve thought of you, too,” she whispered. “Even when Cutter told me to avoid you, even when I knew my father would never approve. And even when you scared me. I told myself none of what I’m feeling is logical or practical. But nothing has stopped my attraction to you.”

  “You’re finally admitting you want me?”

  Answering gave him the sort of power over her she could never take back…but her honor and his rough voice compelled her. “Yes. You make me ache in ways I shouldn’t. In places I shouldn’t. And I can’t seem to stop.”

  Pierce grabbed her chin and lifted it. “What do you want from me?”

  Did she dare answer him?

  Brea bit her lip. “You already know.”

  “Spell it out.” His fingers tightened. “I know what your eyes are telling me, pretty girl. But I want to hear you say it. Full consent.”

  This again? But why would he want that now…unless he intended to touch her?

  “Pierce…” She tilted her head back, let her eyes slide shut again. “We shouldn’t.”

  “Give me the words, pretty girl. I’m not asking for anything else.”

  What choice did she have? Sincerity was such a small price to pay him for saving her best friend’s life.

  Knowing she’d probably never be this close to Pierce again, Brea rose on her tiptoes and swayed against him, stealing a forbidden caress of her cheek against his hair-roughened one. “I want you to kiss me.”

  “I want that, too,” Pierce groaned as he cupped her face, forcing her to meet his stare. “But I’m weak when it comes to resisting you. Don’t say that again unless you actually mean it.”

  Something hot and twisted jolted through her body. “Or what?”