Garrison's Creed (Titan) (3 page)

Their tender moment was shut down when she pushed him off. “Are you here to take me out?”

No one breathed a word. Cash couldn’t understand her involvement with Antilla Smooth and couldn’t bear breaking it to Roman that he’d seen her all over the warmonger. It tore his heart apart all over again, just like the day they’d lost her.

But they hadn’t lost her. She was alive and sitting in front of him.

Nicola spoke up again. “Who do you work for?”

What is she talking about?

Roman seemed to read his mind. “Nic, what are you talking about?”

“Why are you here?”

“You’re alive. Let’s start there.”

“Go away, Roman. It’s better this way. If you’re not here to—”

“What are you talking about? You’re alive. You’re coming home. Mom and Dad… they, we buried you. We—”

“You have to leave. Now. If I can’t have the car—” She tried to get past him, but he locked her against his chest. “Let go. Damn you, Roman. You don’t understand. We can’t be here.”

“You’re in trouble. We can help. We can fix this.”

She moved before either Roman or Cash could react. Gun in hand, pressed against her brother’s chest. “I love you,” she sobbed. “Don’t make me.”

Roman backed up, hands in the air. “Who are you? What’s happened to you?” The tenor of his voice was clear. He’d moved on from shock to fury. At least Roman was catching up with Cash in the what-the-fuck department.

“Go away,” she hissed, wiping at tears with the back of her hand.

“I can’t. You’re my—”

Nicola nudged the Beretta back toward him, groaning when she used her arm. “I need your car. Tell me how to contact you. I’ll explain this. I promise. But I have to go. Now. I—”

“I don’t think so.”

“Goddamn it, Roman. If you’re here to kill me, do it. Otherwise, get the fuck out of this car. You too, Cash. Move it.”

Kill her?

Gone were her tears. In the span of a second, the emotion was gone. The steely eyed woman was in business mode.

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.

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. And
working 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.

“Phone. T-shirt. Pants. Figured you needed to change.” He sounded as unsure as she felt.

The air was heavy and the room much smaller than she’d realized. His eyes pierced straight to her soul, squeezing the soft part she’d tried so hard to hide. Nicola nodded again. “Can I have the phone?”

“You can have the phone and the clothes.” He placed the items down on the dresser but didn’t move.

“All right. Thanks.” He took up half the room as he waited, expectedly, for something from her. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Nope. Not how it’s going to work. Our phone—I’ll stay for your call.”

“But—”

“You don’t have much in the way of options here, Nic. Your big brother is raging or grieving upstairs, going through mood swings like a mental patient, trying to get his head on straight. And I’m…” Pain shone in the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. He closed them and took a deep breath. When he finally opened them again, he cleared his throat. “I’m here to monitor your phone call.”

His voice carried bitterness and torment. She was an evil bitch. Her eyes tingled with tears wanting to burst free. Again. Instead, she scooted across the bed, self-conscious that her trashed silk gown clung to her body. “Fine. You can stay.”

“Like I said, you don’t have much option.”

She grabbed the items off the dresser and settled back on the bed. “Okay.”

She was the devil incarnate, evil’s bitchy step-sister. How could she have done this to the two of them? To her family? She wanted to call Mom and Dad more now than she had any other night. Mom would hate her. She should. But Nicola needed her mom, needed her hug. Un-spilled tears tried to escape again, and she breathed them away, focusing on Cash.