Page 109 of Summer Heat
They were in suburbia, but suburbia in New England. Large McMansions, tons of trees, and land between each house. She stepped forward an inch. If she could ping a round off, then drop, she’d take out the butler, and soccer mom wouldn’t have a shot.
Nicola smirked. “The last thing I want to do is—”
Bam!
CHAPTER SEVEN
Roman now held control of the remote, but after their fucked-up morning, he could keep the clicker. If the dude wanted to watch The Today Show, that was on his conscience. The constant drone of Hoda and Kathy Lee made Cash’s head spin. Wine-Day Wednesday. There was probably a lot of morning drinking happening in Happyville, Maine, where everyone had matching houses and cars and their requisite, matching children enrolled in travel lacrosse teams.
I’d have to have a bottle of wine by 10 AM if that was my paint by numbers life. Then again, neither Kathy or Hoda looked like they’d actually survive the boredom of identical houses and PTA competitions. They looked good for downing a bottle of vino.
He should’ve followed Nic. He should’ve tried to apologize. Or jumped up, asking to see her again. Whatever the cause for the sick twist in his gut, a heavy feeling of should’ve burdened him.
One of the talking TV heads said something funny, and he caught himself laughing despite the emo-turmoil that he’d been through over the last twenty-four hours. Not a bad distraction, but he didn’t want to laugh. He wanted to wallow, hold on to his anger, and drown in the overall confusion that clouded his mind. Cash pinched his eyes closed, though the bruises were doing a good job of keeping his lids drawn for him. He pulled his cowboy hat down low, blocking the flat screen from his swollen, narrowed line of sight. Roman and Rocco commented about something ridiculous one of the babbling heads said about butt-lifting jeans, and—
Bam!
All three men jumped to their feet. Gunshots ringing out in Kathy Lee and Hoda country wasn’t a good thing. They were mind clearing, and his groaning and moaning over the past with Nicola ceased.
Bam!
Son of a bitch.
The trio scrambled out the door and into the Range Rover. Rocco squealed tires, reversing out of the driveway. Roman and Cash shut their doors as the tires spun from reverse to forward.
Nicola hadn’t been gone long. There was no telling what the woman was up to, but her plans hadn’t worked well in the last twenty-four hours. They screeched around a corner. Rocco murdered the brakes. The smell of burnt rubber filtered into the vehicle before they came to a full stop.
A blacked-out Explorer, missing the front passenger window, idled at the curb. A woman dressed like Miss Suburbia USA held out a Glock, bouncing her aim between a man and woman pummeling each other. Nicola and a man, and that motherfucker threw solid punches. Nic took one and ducked another.
“What the hell!” Cash was out of the Rover and ready to kill. He ignored the Glock in the hand of Miss Suburbia, and his fists balled as his blood rushed. Cash was ready to end the brawl. No man would ever live after hitting Nicola—
Whoa.
The tide turned fast. Nicola rolled her attacker, straddling him on top. Her left hook struck hard, and she didn’t flinch when her knuckles landed on a cheekbone. But the man reached his hands around Nicola’s neck. Her defense maneuvers were on fire, but hell no. Enough of that shit.
A glance at Roman, and the plan was set without words. Roman slide-tackled the standing woman and disarmed her. The lady hit the ground hard, and the Glock skittered out of reach. One gun down.
Who knew where Nic’s .22 was during this melee. Who knew what dude-about-to-die packed. All Cash knew was he would kill him for punching Nic’s pretty face.
The man made a swift move, flipping on top of Nic. Cash threw himself on the man, spearing him away. He heard Nicola breathing hard. Panting. Saw Rocco out of the corner of his eye pulling her to safety. She fought him, trying to jump back into the fight, maybe unsure of who had arrive, who had stolen her fight. But too fucking bad, this asshole was Cash’s to take out.
He straddled the man, raining punches on his dome. Right fist. Left fist. Over and over, on repeat. Cash was in the zone, wanting blood. This wasn’t a fight anymore, just Cash on a mission of destruction. Sweat poured off of him, biceps and knuckles screaming for a reprieve.
Reality came back. Arms wrapped around him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t focus on anything but the broken nose and bloodied mouth in front of him.
“Cash.”
The sounds of his name pulled him out of his trance. He shook. Someone was shaking him. He didn’t want to get vertical, but someone pulled him upright. Rocco slammed him against the black Explorer. “Get your ass in gear. We gotta roll.”
Cash looked around. He’d fucking gone nuts. “Is he dead?”
“Almost, dude. Almost.”
Cash lunged forward, but slingshotted back against the Explorer, thanks to Rocco. “Chill.”
“I’m cool man. I’m good.” Cash nudged out of Rocco’s grip, rolling his shoulders.
“Walk it off. Get in the car. Nic’s in our Rover. She’ll drive you back to the house. These two fuckers—” He pointed to the KO’d dude and the none-too-fazed woman. “—will go with us in their car. Move. Now.”
