Page 7 of Garrison's Creed

Ten years had passed. Ten long-assed years. Who knew what she’d been doing? Clearly, bad things with bad people.

Cash spoke. “You’re hurt.”

She rocketed a glare at him. “I’ll be dead if you don’t leave.”

Cash continued, hoping to make inroads even after Roman tried-and-burned. “We can help you. Whatever kind of trouble you’re in—”

“I’m not in trouble. Get out!”

“No,” Cash and Roman said in unison.

Click-click. The slide of the Glock turned them both to stone. Their third man, Rocco, had Nicola dead center in his close range sights.

“Get that fucking gun out of my sister’s face,” Roman said, cold as ice.

Rocco’s face fell. He lowered the gun. “We need to get the fuck out of here. Work your family shit out in therapy. Buy some self-help books. I don’t care. But go now.”

Nicola dropped her gun again, pressing her head to the steering wheel.

Roman patted her snarled hair. “Nic, it’ll be okay. Whatever’s happened to you, we’ll work through it. We’ll protect you.” He snaked his arms around his little sister and hugged. With an efficient lift, he had her up and in his arms.

A game of musical chairs ensued. Cash moved to the front passenger. Roman settled beside Nicola in the backseat. She groaned again when he placed her down. Cash eyeballed the driver’s seat before Roc got in. There was a lot of blood in the front seat.

“We have to go,” she whispered hoarsely.

“Roger that, hon.” Rocco glanced at Roman. “Shit. Sorry on the hon. Roger that, um...”

“Nicola.” Roman glared at Rocco.

“Right. Roger that, Nicola.” Rocco gunned the engine, and they sped off.

Roman turned to his sister. “Nic, please start talking. Whoever had you, you’re safe. Whatever the reason for the—”

“Stop. This isn’t what you think. I left on purpose.”

And that was all. She stared straight ahead. No amount of brotherly badgering or angry demanding changed her response.

Cash’s head spun in circles. She was alive. Alive and armed, even though they’d buried her a decade ago.

His senior year of college, when they got the news, seemed like yesterday. But it was a lie. She was a liar. The only woman to steal his heart was a liar.

Liar, liar, girl on fire.

***

They eased into the driveway at the suburban safe house. Rocco hadn’t breathed a word since they’d peeled out miles ago. Roman gave up his interrogation, looking distraught and angry and yet… hopeful. If there were seven phases of grief, how many for shock?

And Cash stayed mum. Hadn’t done anything other than strip off his ghillie suit, wipe the face paint off, and pull his cowboy hat on. But hell, it hadn’t kept him from watching her in the side view mirror.

Rocco jumped out and popped the trunk. He grabbed a bag and beat feet to the door. “Good night, good luck.” He went inside.

The three of them sat in the car. Silent. Cash closed his eyes, remembering the last day, their last conversation, the horrible ache that ate him alive when he lost her.

“Cash?” she whispered into the dark.

Her voice made his spine tingle.

“Oh, screw that, Nicola. Talk to me first.” Roman had every right to be pissed. And if he knew the half of it, he’d be pissed at both of them.

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