Through the thick of night, he forced the little compact down the highway at speeds not intended for this small engine, refusing to stop for food or drink. The trip that should have taken over ten hours, he managed in less than eight.
At ten on Saturday morning, he screeched up in front of the preacher’s house. He feared Brea would be at the salon, already doing someone’s hair. But her car still sat in the driveway.
Thank fuck.
As he yanked the keys from the little import’s ignition, the front door opened. He hauled ass up the walkway just as Brea emerged and headed for her vehicle, staring at her phone.
The sight of her alive and in one piece sent visceral relief sluicing through his body. He’d fucking missed her like he’d been gone for a year, not nine damn days. He visually inhaled her, but that only made him hungrier.
She’d dressed in a billowy gray sweater and black leggings he’d love to peel off her. She’d piled her hair in a haphazard knot. Even under the layers of makeup she didn’t usually wear, she looked too pale. Almost sick.
Though he preferred her bare faced and bare assed, right now he was just so fucking glad to see her.
“Brea!”
Her head snapped up. When she spotted him, she stopped short and blinked. “Pierce, you’re back. When did you—”
“Just now.” He closed the remaining distance between them and took her shoulders. “Is your dad home?”
“No. He’s at the church.”
“Good.” Without warning, One-Mile shoved her into the house, crowding her against the adjacent wall with his body, then locked the door. He stared out the glass opening. No one had followed him; he’d been watching. He breathed a sigh of relief.
It felt so good to be close to Brea, but he could only afford a few minutes with her right now. He had to keep his head. “I need to talk to you. It can’t wait.”
“Okay. I-I need to talk to you, too. There’s something you should—”
“Let me go first.” He didn’t have the luxury of being polite.
Frustration bubbled. Why had he hopped on his high fucking horse and decided it was his responsibility to make sure Valeria lived so that Baby Jorge grew up with his mom?
You know the answer to that.
But why the hell hadn’t he simply captured the drug lord and immediately called the police?
Because, dumb ass, you couldn’t have your pound of flesh, so you insisted on stealing an ounce or two. Way to go.
Now, he was paying for his stupidity. No matter how much he ached for Brea, he couldn’t be with her until he knew Montilla was behind bars for good—or dead.
“Listen, Brea. I hate like hell to do this, but something has happened.” One-Mile tried not to terrify her. “I can’t see you for a while.”
“I know you just got back. This can wait. My weekends are always busy. In fact, I’m late for a client now, but—”
“It will be longer than a few days. I’m not sure how much. We could be talking months.”
Shock crossed her face before she frowned. “What do you mean?”
How the hell could he drop the bomb on her that a dangerous drug lord wanted to kill her slowly and painfully? He couldn’t without scaring the shit out of her. “Like I said, something’s happened. It’s complicated and it’s my fault…but we need to take a step back.” Fuck, he was bungling this. “What I’m trying to say is—”
“So you don’t want me to move in?”
He did. He’d love to have her against him every night. But he would choose her safety over his happiness every fucking day. Explaining that was a scary, long-winded bitch.
He heard the tick-tick-ticking of time in his head. The second the Tierra Caliente organization talked to their captured drug lord, they would haul ass to Lafayette with revenge on their minds. He didn’t worry about himself. If he died, he died.
But Brea couldn’t be anywhere near him.
“Not now. I’ll explain when I can but—”
“Actually, don’t worry.” Her face closed up. Her eyes filled with tears.
He tensed. “What does that mean?”
“I was going to say no anyway.”
Seriously? He hadn’t fucking seen that coming. The night he’d left, she’d claimed she loved him. Now suddenly she’d decided to give him a polite fuck off? Because she’d interpreted his words as a breakup…or because she genuinely didn’t want him anymore? “Why?”
“Pierce, I’m a preacher’s daughter. I can’t shack up with a man, especially one my father has never met. The fact that shocks you tells me we weren’t suited anyway.”
That hadn’t crossed his mind…and it should have. Fuck.
Looking ready to dissolve into tears, she shoved against him and edged toward the door. “I have to go.”
Seriously, that was it? She was done talking? Pain spread through his chest and ice-picked through his veins.
One-Mile sucked at relationships. Did her hesitation have anything to do with his confession about his father? Probably, but he couldn’t stay to fix it. He couldn’t fucking risk her. “So do I, but we will talk about this later.”
“What’s the point?” Brea wrenched the door open.
Before she could flee, he slapped a big palm over her head and slammed it shut, locking them in again. He should let her go; he knew it. Instead, he stupidly backed her against the door and slanted his mouth over hers, ravaging her like he intended to tattoo her taste on his tongue.
After a little gasp, she grabbed him with desperate fingers, dragged him closer, and opened to him. He tasted her desperation as he sank deep and reveled in her softness. Their breaths merged. Her body clung.
Fuck, she felt like home.
Suddenly, she pushed him away and glared with accusing eyes. “Stop. You have your reasons for not wanting me to move in and—”
“Because while I was gone—”
“I don’t care why you changed your mind or who you slept with or…whatever. My dad found out about us and asked me not to see you for a month. After thoughtful consideration, I think he may be right.”
“What?” Why the fuck would she think that?
Because she didn’t love him, after all?
“We were never going to work out. It’s best if you don’t come back.” She shoved him away and wriggled out the door.
One-Mile watched, too stunned to stop her.
By the time he surged outside in pursuit, she had already climbed in her car. He bit back the urge to call out to her. What good would it do?
She thought it was over, and she would keep her distance. It was best…for now.
But the second this shit with Montilla got sorted, he would hunt her down and resolve everything. He’d explain. He’d even beg if he had to. And since she couldn’t simply move in with him, he would propose. He loved her. He wanted to spend his life with her.
As soon as he figured out what the fuck had happened to change her mind.
One-Mile watched Brea drive away with a curse, vowing that he would set eyes—and every other part of him—on her again.
Chapter Three
Saturday, November 1
Louisiana