Page 8 of Garrison's Creed

She opened her car door, and they did the same. Three doors slapped shut, one right after the other.

Suburbia was scary quiet. She took a step and tripped. As swift as he could, Cash stepped in, catching her. Nicola’s body fit just the same in his arms as it always had. His muscles remembered how she felt against him. A shudder shivered up the nape of his neck and down the arms wrapped around her torso.

She locked eyes with him. Older. Wiser. And somehow more beautiful than ever. He should hate this woman. He did hate her, but until she looked away, he was stuck in a trance.

Relief and emptiness swirled in his chest. He rubbed his sternum with his free hand, wishing the feeling away.

Instead of focusing on the old Nicola, he needed to look at this one. “How bad’s your ankle, Nic?”

She didn’t answer, instead trying to right herself, smoothing the sexy dress that softly clung to her curves. Christ, he didn’t remember a tenacious streak. But then again, he didn’t really know the Nicola who pulled from his grip.

She hobbled toward the front door, the dress dragging behind her in a grand, out-of-place fashion, and turned to the stupefied men in the driveway. “I need a secure phone. Can either of you help me with that?”

A secure phone?On top of asking if they were going to kill her? Make that stupefied squared. Cash looked at Roman, who looked just as confused with a little “what-the-fuck?’ painted across his forehead.

“Yeah, we’ll help you.” He looked at Roman, mouthing, “what’s happening?”

The door shut. Cash and Roman stood unmoving in the driveway.

“That’s my baby sister, and hell if I know.” His voice trailed off. “We buried her body. There was a body. My mother cried for months.” Roman’s voice bottomed out.

They leaned against the Range Rover. Two men and too many emotions. Roman dropped his head into his palms, and Cash stared into the night sky.

No big brother should go through what Roman did, holding his mother’s hand, consoling her alongside his upset father through a closed-casket funeral. There had been little choice when her body had burnt to smithereens. Check that. When they’d thought her body went up in smoke. Turns out her tall, lean body had just left them in the dark driveway.

Cash wanted no part in remembering that awful day. How he’d said he loved her, how they were going to tell Roman that his best friend was nailing his little sister. That’s not what it was, not at all. Not even close. But that’s how a dude would see it. Roman was gonna flip, and Cash was going to explain that she conjured up images of dum-dum-da-da and a poufy white dress.

Pushing away from the Rover, he wanted to knock off the mirror or kick the hell out of the side panel. Anything to burn off the acid churning in his gut. Shit, too much time had passed. Young love. What bullshit.

Cash eyed Roman. “You okay, man?”

Roman cleared his throat. “No. I’m not okay. My dead sister’s alive and… working for Antilla Smooth?” He paused, as if looking into Cash’s soul. “That’s what happened earlier? You saw her? You thought I knew?”

That logic seemed so flawed now, but at the time… at the time, it was the only thing he could comprehend. Andworking for Antilla Smooth?That’s not all she was to Smooth, but Cash would keep that tidbit to himself. It’d destroy his boy. Nicola in the arms of a decrepit arms dealer. It went against everything he and Roman lived for.

The Nicola he knew wouldn’t touch a bastard like Smooth. But then again, he didn’t know Nicola. He knew a liar.

CHAPTER FOUR

Nicola bunked down in the bedroom the farthest away from the guys.Who am I kidding?They were just the guys, like this was just another day. Roman and Cash. The two most important men in her life, even if it’d been an eternity since she’d felt their touch or heard their words.

The day she’d walked away from her loved ones had been the worst day of her life—until today. She pinched her eyes closed, remembering their stunned faces. The pain and anguish. And the anger. Who could blame them? She certainly couldn’t. She blamed herself, though. She had no choice.

Yes. Today was officially the worst day, and the former was a helluva bad day to knock out of contention.

Her bedroom had a bathroom—well stocked with first aid supplies—like any good safe house. What the hell were Roman and Cash doing running around with guns and slipping into safe houses? Her mind raced. A million maybes skittered through her thoughts. Did they wonder the same about her?

Both men had Popeyed out since she’d last seen them. They were massive. Different builds, but no question, given her run-in with Cash’s arms, they’d taken their passion for working out to a whole new level. Roman was stocky and square, broad top to bottom. Cash had some lank to him. Long legs, powerful chest. His chest had been sinful before, but now it was downright deadly.

She shook away the thought of Cash. No need to hopscotch down memory lane. Her cuts needed tending, and daydreaming wouldn’t stave off infection. She cleaned them, dousing each raw mark in hydrogen peroxide. A smear of antibacterial ointment and she’d be okay.

Her elbow was another story. She’d have to wrap and sling it. Immobilization was key to recovery, but showing a blatant sign of weakness to three men who saw her as theirs to protect wouldn’t work.

Another beautiful dress ruined. The wardrobe was a serious perk of her job, but the dresses never made it home. She’d known this one was headed for the dumpster when she’d wedged herself out the window. But damned if she hadn’t hoped she was wrong, somehow. Nope. It was just a stupid dress anyway. But it felt like the only thing she could focus on without curling up into a crying ball.

A soft knock on her door stole her breath. Having no idea what to say or how to explain, she didn’t move to answer it. The handle turned, and it slipped open. Cash stuck his beautiful head of blond hair—shower damp and face free of camouflage face paint—into the room. He looked older and harder. Tanner. Maybe a few lines around his eyes. The baby face was gone, replaced by something chiseled.

He held out a phone like it was a pass code and he was requesting entry. She nodded. As he stepped in, he held up his other hand. Clothes as another offering.

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