Devoted to Pleasure

by Shayla Black

  Suddenly, Shealyn opened her eyes and blinked up at Jessica, who barked something and waved her gun.

  Swallowing, Shealyn gave a reluctant nod, then drew her T-shirt over her head so she stood in the middle of the room clad in her lacy bra and yoga pants. Jessica gave Shealyn a critical eye.

  Cutter frowned. What the hell was going on?

  He didn’t know and it didn’t matter. The bitch’s distraction was his cue to move.

  Lifting the heavy iron chair, he raised it over his head and hurled it at the door. Glass shattered and crashed into the room in an ear-shattering split. He forced himself to ignore Shealyn’s gasp as she scrambled to her feet and focused on the incoming threat.

  Jessica puffed up and whirled on him, eyes narrowed in pissed-off vengeance. But he’d already dropped the chair and drawn his gun, aiming it at her head.

  “Drop your weapon.” When she didn’t, he growled at her. “Now!”

  “Don’t come any closer.” She grabbed Shealyn by the wrist and tugged her back until the bitch was using her as a human shield, pushing the barrel of her semiautomatic into Shealyn’s temple. “Don’t try to play the hero.”

  Cutter didn’t dare look at the terror on Shealyn’s face. He wasn’t sure he could handle it. He had to keep his head on straight.

  Jessica stood six inches taller than Shealyn, and Cutter could have nailed her with a headshot . . . but the bullet might strike too late to save Shealyn. Dialogue with the unbalanced woman might not end well, either. Fuck, he needed another option and he needed it fast.

  Shealyn trembled. Her every shallow breath sounded like a whimper. He knew he shouldn’t . . . but he couldn’t stop himself from looking at her. Huge mistake. Even if she was no longer his, that one glance at her terrified face reminded him of all he stood to lose. His normal, cool-headed logic wasn’t kicking in, goddamn it. He needed to save her now.

  Suddenly, Tower rushed into the suite through the door from the living room. “Jessica, stop!”

  What the hell was the idiot doing? Had he come through the house using his key?

  “You came back?” Jessica snarled.

  Tower nodded frantically. “Whatever your problem, we can work it out. I’ll help.”

  “Like you ‘helped’ my career by pushing me off the show? Like you ‘helped’ me into bed before the first day of shooting even began, then replaced me with this whore?”

  Jessica sounded frustrated and harried. Planning to kill someone took guts, and the last thing a murderer wanted was surprises. She’d done it before, so she knew the drill. Now that he and Tower had both suddenly appeared, the morning wasn’t going her way.

  But she was distracted by the conversation. He could make his move. Cutter didn’t want to pull the trigger if he didn’t have to, for a lot of reasons. He didn’t want the intense press coverage. He didn’t want to sully Shealyn’s house. He didn’t really want to take another life. He didn’t want to endanger Shealyn any further.

  But if he had to and could get a clean kill, he would—without hesitation. It was probably futile, but he had to try to de-escalate the situation between Tower and Jessica and disarm her, or shit was going to go down.

  Cutter held up a hand to quiet the actor. “Tower, hang on a minute. Let’s all calm down. Jessica, put your weapon on the floor.”

  “You weren’t right for the show.” Tower ignored him. “Hot Southern Nights is better off as the story of an unlikely couple, not a record executive hopping from bed to bed. The decision to let you go wasn’t personal.”

  Jessica narrowed her eyes at him, arms still wrapped around a trembling Shealyn. Then she pointed the gun at his chest.

  At least it was no longer aimed at Shealyn’s head. Cutter could work with that.

  “Since I was the only one written out of the script, it’s hard not to take it personally,” Jessica sneered. “When slutty Barbie here flaunted herself, you, just like every other stupid male, practically fell over your own feet to get her into bed. And once you started fucking her, of course you chose to keep her on the show and throw me away like garbage.”

  Tower shook his head. “Shealyn and I have never had sex. Our relationship is for PR purposes. I didn’t choose her over you. I chose a successful show over a waning career.”

  “How stupid do you think I am?” Jessica howled. “No, don’t answer that.”

  “It’s true,” Shealyn offered softly. “We’re not an item. We never have been.”

  Jessica whipped the gun back to Shealyn’s temple. Cutter’s heart stopped. Didn’t she understand that by staying silent she could keep herself off Jessica’s radar? Maybe she hoped the truth would calm the jealous nut job. But Jessica had already tipped her hand. Everyone in the room knew she’d committed crimes she should go to prison for, and a woman like her would kill again before she went down.

  He glanced at Shealyn, silently imploring her not to say anything else.

  “Shut up!” Jessica shouted. “I don’t want to hear another word from your lying mouth. I’m tired of being used, of being last, of being unwanted. It stops now.”

  Cutter inched forward while she was distracted by her rant. He had to somehow get Shealyn to safety. It didn’t matter if she’d fired him and dumped him. He loved her and he would protect her with his life.

  Shealyn recoiled, thrashed in Jessica’s hold, and tried to jerk away.

  “No,” he sent her a low warning in the calmest tones he could manage.

  Shealyn bit her lip, obviously trying to hold herself together, and gave him a shaky nod.

  “You’re not unwanted,” Tower crooned. “Let’s do another project together. Something great.”

  Jessica wavered, the gun inching back toward the actor. “You’re just saying that.”

  “I don’t go back on my word.”

  She lifted the gun more confidently and wrapped her finger around the trigger. “You’re lying again. Earlier, you said you’d leave and forget you saw me here, but you’re back and you brought this asshole. I just can’t . . . Ugh!” Her frustration rolled into a feminine growl that stirred the tension in the room.

  The woman was getting wound up, more unpredictable. Cutter kept reevaluating the situation. Still without a clean way to get Shealyn to safety or disarm Jessica, his choices were fucking limited. And with Tower now in the mix . . .

  “Shut up,” he snapped at the actor.

  Tower finally fell silent.

  “You shut up.” Jessica turned her wrath on Cutter. “You’re here to kill me.”

  “I’m here to keep everyone safe, even you.”

  She sneered. “So you can have me arrested. I know your type. Noble. True-blue. Loyal as a long summer day. You never once looked at me the way you look at her.”

  When Jessica’s grip tightened on Shealyn, he tensed. Forcing himself to breathe and think, he cued into her response. “Everyone deserves love. We just don’t always get to choose who the heart wants. Give it more time. You’ll find someone.”

  He had to lie to her. Even if they all left here alive, the only thing she’d find was the inside of a prison cell. But if he said that now, she’d lose the last of her composure and turn her gun on anyone. Shealyn was closest.

  Her glower began to dissolve into something closer to tears. “I’ve looked. I’ve waited. I’m always passed over for someone else. Even my parents like my sister better.”

  As tears fell down her face, Cutter felt sorry for her, despite everything. She’d been trying to steal any man who seemingly wanted Shealyn to prove that she was somehow just as good. Inside, she was crying for attention and craving love. He would have happily held her hand, talked her off the ledge, and offered her sage advice—whatever would help—if she hadn’t gone homicidal and threatened his woman.

  “I know how you feel,” Tower offered. “I’m in love with someone. I have been fo
r years. She only has eyes for another man. She’ll never be mine . . . And that crushes me nearly every day. It’s hard to cope, I know.”

  Jessica looked stricken. Tears continued to roll down her face. “Really?”

  “Yeah. So I get not feeling good enough.”

  Her expression thundered again. “But you have the public, your adoring fans, a hit show—something to validate that your existence is necessary and worthwhile. I have nothing.”

  “Their adoration is empty,” Tower pointed out. “The minute I put on ten pounds or once I age another five years, they’ll move on. Then I’ll be completely alone.”

  Cutter turned an incredulous stare at Tower. What the hell was this guy up to? Then he noticed Jessica’s grip on Shealyn was loosening again and he didn’t care. If the actor managed to talk them all out of this crap, he’d shake the guy’s hand.

  Jessica mulled that over, her expression changing from confusion to understanding, then finally to empathy. “I’m sure that hurts.” Then anger morphed her expression once more. “But all that tells me is that you knew you would never care about me even before you sweet-talked me into bed. You selfishly used me to numb your pain. The way Foster used me for a good time. The way every man in this fucking town uses me for a cheap thrill. No one ever tried to love me, least of all you. You know what? Fuck you.”

  Without another word or warning, Jessica pulled the trigger, blasting Tower in the chest. He stumbled back. Blood splattered. Shock crossed his face as he fell to the ground, clutching his wound.

  “Tower!” Shealyn tried to lurch out of Jessica’s grasp toward her groaning co-star.

  The murderous bitch studied her former co-star crumbling to the ground, his mouth in an O. Then she smiled. “Watching some man who thinks he’s all that die by my hand never gets old. Foster felt good, but this was even better. The gun really is the great equalizer.”

  It was official. She was a psycho.

  Cutter felt himself start to sweat. Now that she’d potentially killed again, Jessica wouldn’t want to leave witnesses. That meant he and Shealyn were nothing but liabilities living on borrowed time, and the gun-wielding woman had nothing to lose. If Tower was going to live, he’d need medical attention ASAP. This standoff must end before the police and reinforcements arrived . . . or he had no idea how much more unpredictable Jessica would get. She’d already shocked the hell out of him.

  Cutter had to act now.

  With her attention momentarily diverted, he raised his weapon and lined up for a headshot. It would be quick. One and done. Not his first choice . . . but then she hadn’t left him any others.

  Jessica clearly had the same thought. She was a step ahead of him since she was already pointing her gun in his general direction. One of them would get the first shot off. It would be a race to see who managed.

  He prayed she missed because he couldn’t afford to. If she shot him, she’d almost surely turn the gun on Shealyn next.

  Holding his breath, Cutter prayed.

  Before he could squeeze the trigger, Shealyn toppled Jessica off balance. He would have thought she’d try something typical and easy to counteract—an elbow to the stomach, a stomp to the foot. Most people did. But his girl surprised him by smartly dropping all her body weight and turning limp in Jessica’s grip. The good news was that when she stumbled down with Shealyn, her aim faltered. But she still managed to get off a shot, the sound deafening in the wide room.

  A moment later he heard a thwap. Felt a sting as the bullet grazed his thigh. Pain radiated from the point of impact.

  But he couldn’t stop now.

  Wincing, teeth gritted, he double-checked his shot, then pulled the trigger.

  After more deafening gunfire, Jessica arched back, arms flailing, gun falling from her grip, body going suddenly lax. Shealyn screamed as she scrambled around to see Jessica land mere inches away, a bullet right between her eyes.

  Jessica Jarrett was dead, and Cutter couldn’t feel anything but relief.

  “Oh, my god.” Shealyn panted and leapt to her feet. “Oh, my . . . Are you all right?”

  She rushed over to him, plucking her discarded shirt from the ground, and moved toward his bleeding thigh. It hurt like a bitch, but Jessica hadn’t hit anything vital. Since this wasn’t Cutter’s first gunshot rodeo, he knew he’d be all right after some quick medical attention.

  “Fine. Go help Tower until the police come.”

  “I-I . . .” She blinked up at him. She was overwhelmed and in shock. She didn’t want to leave his side. She worried about him, maybe even loved him. Well, as much as she’d let herself. But now wasn’t the time for that. A man lay dying. He’d seen enough of Tower’s wound to know it was deadly serious.

  “Shealyn! He needs you.”

  She gave him a shaky bob of her head, then dashed to her co-star, falling onto her knees at his side. “Dean . . . Can you hear me?”

  “Yeah,” he managed to choke out.

  “Oh, my . . .” Pressing her shirt to his chest wound, she leaned over him, her face earnest. “I’m here. You’ll be okay. The police are on the way. They’ll bring help.”

  Tower coughed. “It’s too late.”

  “Don’t say that. We’ll get you to the hospital. I’ll make sure you have the best doctors.” Her expression crumbled. Cutter watched as she looked back at him for strength, for answers. “Why did you come back? Jessica was going to let you live.”

  “Because she planned to kill you.” He winced, looking paler by the moment. “I had to do something. When Norah, Joe, and I were kids and she first fell in love with my brother, she told me once that she couldn’t love me back. That I was too self-serving. That I wasn’t heroic.” A strained smile rose from his grimace. “Guess I proved her wrong. Tell her for me. Tell her . . . I died thinking of her.”

  “Don’t say that. Hang on. Just—”

  But it was too late. Tower went limp beneath her hands.

  “No.” Shealyn pressed her bloody fingers to his carotid artery. “No! You can’t . . .”

  From across the house, Cutter heard the crash of a door, the pounding of footsteps. The police. Quick to the scene . . . but not quick enough.

  With one hand, Cutter gripped the wound on his thigh, which was gushing blood. With the other, he forced himself to release his grip on his gun.

  A moment later, a pair of uniforms burst into her room, weapons drawn, ready to stabilize the scene.

  “Hands up!” a cop shouted at him.

  Cutter put his hands in the air to make it crystal clear that he held no weapon.

  Shealyn bit back a sob, shaking almost uncontrollably and trying to raise her hands. She only managed to hold them out, now covered in blood, as was the bare skin of her torso and her bra. A swath of blood dotted her cheek. She looked so pale and lost. It hurt Cutter not to comfort her.

  “Help him,” she said to the police with a glance his way. “Please.”

  The cop in front of her lowered his weapon slightly. “Are you bleeding, ma’am?”

  “No. He is!”

  “I’ll be fine,” Cutter said quietly. “Flesh wound. You’ve got two dead. Jessica Jarrett on the far side of the bed. She shot Tower Trent, who’s on my left, then threatened Shealyn West after admitting to the murder of Foster Holt, so I had no choice but to shoot her. She tried to stop me, but my aim was better.”

  The cop and his partner both glanced at the corpse beside him, then peered at Shealyn, seeming to recognize her. “Is that what happened, Ms. West?”

  She gave the uniformed officer a shaky nod. “Yeah.”

  As the duo began to secure the crime scene, Cutter tried to reassure her. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”

  Disillusion crossed her face. “Will it? My friend wasn’t my friend at all.”

  “No.” And what would that do to her already den
ted trust?

  “Dean gave his life. I thought he’d left . . .”

  Maybe the man had possessed depths Cutter simply hadn’t seen. Maybe he’d chosen death by psycho because he no longer wanted to live in a world where he had zero chance of being with the woman he loved. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to encroach in any way on his brother’s happiness. Whatever the case, he’d died well and honorably. For the first time, Cutter respected him. He hated that Shealyn would be mourning him all alone.

  The EMTs arrived, followed shortly by the coroner’s office, then the detectives assigned to the case. As he was getting patched up, the suits started questioning Shealyn. She looked quiet and broken as she stared in horror at the blood on her hands. Again, Cutter ached to go to her, but the paramedics tended to his crimson wound, hoisted him on a gurney, then began rolling him toward the ambulance.

  Shealyn dashed away from the detectives and over to his side. “They’re taking you to the hospital?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Behind her, Cutter saw the detectives shake their heads. “You can’t, sweetheart. I’m fine. I’ll make it home from there.”

  “Home?” Her face turned crestfallen. “You’re still leaving?”

  Though everything had changed in her world, nothing was different between them. “As soon as I’m able, yeah. I promised you I would protect you, and I did. You trusted me with your safety, and I appreciate it. But if you still can’t trust me with your heart, we’re done.”

  “Let’s go,” one of the EMTs insisted and began to roll the gurney toward the ambulance.

  Blood loss was making him hazy. Cutter resisted closing his eyes because he feared this would be the last time he’d lay eyes on Shealyn in person. But when her tears fell, the pain in his leg took a backseat to the ache in his chest. His leg would heal . . . but he wondered if his heart ever would.

  As the paramedics wheeled him into the California sunlight, he slid his eyes shut and welcomed the darkness.