Page 110 of Summer Heat
Roman pushed the lady into the backseat and did a once over of Nicola, making sure she was okay. They did some brother-sister nod that made his gut twist in what could be labeled a jealous swell but was really more a pang of nostalgia. A connection had been severed that he missed in a way that tightened his airway and clouded his judgment.
Rocco could’ve used a spatula to scoop the dude off the street, but used his hands instead, then hopped back to the driver’s seat. He pulled a U-turn, leaving Cash standing alone in the middle of Mayberry-frickin’-Avenue.
“Cash. Let’s go.” Nicola was in their Range Rover, waving him in, as cool as if it was just another day for her to man the getaway vehicle.
He snapped to attention and jumped into the SUV. God, he’d lost control in a bad way, and he didn’t need to be near that dude for a while. His white-hot temper was so far past boiling that he was surprised the guy was still breathing.
Nicola hit the gas. Their tires spun. They’d been on scene for five minutes, tops. Nicola had been gon
e a short while prior to the bam, bam. The whole thing had gone down in less than twenty minutes.
Stupid suburbia.
“You okay?” Nicola asked, driving past identical black mailboxes with little red flags.
“Fine.”
“Yeah, totally looked like it.”
“Back off,” he snarled and immediately hated himself. “Sorry. I flipped. I just… lost it.” No reason to go into why, though his motives were clear.
“Yeah, you did.”
They were three driveways from the safe house. “I need a minute. Keep going. I’ll kill that dude if I see him right now.” He saw the red welted handprints around her neck. “Fuck that. Turn around. I’m going to kill him.”
“Cash.”
“Turn around. No, I’ll get out.”
“Cash.
“Pull—”
“Cash, look at me!”
The welts on her neck hurt him. Damn, he couldn’t breathe. He needed to catch his breath.
She pulled her shirt up, unsuccessful in her attempt to cover the red marks. “I’m fine. Promise.”
Bullshit. She was hurt. Dude left marks on her. “You’re not—”
She slapped the center console. “Yes, I am. I’ve got a problem, and you killing him isn’t going to help.”
“He attacked you.”
“You don’t know that.”
He turned in his seat to glare at her. “What?”
“I’ve got a problem, and I don’t know who I can trust other than Roman, who’s seeing me as his kid sister. I want to trust you, Cash.”
“You can trust me.”
“Can I?”
Good question. He’d about murdered a man in the middle of the street for the operative equivalent of picking on an ex-girlfriend. He was a flippin’ loose bazooka. “I’m sorry about saying all that to Roman last night.”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
