Page 106
Story: Garrison's Creed
His heart thundered behind his ribs, beating so hard they would be bruised. Nicola was good, but Antilla was larger, stronger. Cash had no choice. He ran toward their fighting bodies and hooked a forearm around Antilla’s neck. Nicola fell, driven away by the men’s momentum.
Watching, she stood, ready for more, but at a standstill. Antilla struggled, shifted sideways, and elbowed his gut, which only strengthened Cash’s resolve. One more shot at escape with a weakening foot stomp, and Antilla was fading for the final countdown.
Nicola ran forward, screaming. “No!”
What the hell?
She couldn’t possibly want him to stop. Her arms grabbed Cash. Fighting through the men’s weight, and their fight, she forced partially between him and Antilla. Slivers of a second passed and, ready to end this, Cash twisted the bastard’s neck. Nicola pushed under his arm, then pulled back. Smooth dropped in a dead man’s pile.
Behind him, a crash and a whoosh. A different man’s cry spun Cash around, grabbing for his sidearm.
He was too late.
Nicola was bent over, hands pressed on her knees, head down. Beyond her, the driver lay with a tactical knife centered in his chest.
Cash’s hand flew to his waist. His knife was gone. She hadn’t pushed between him and Smooth, she’d gone for his weapons, grabbing his blade.And thrown it with perfect accuracy.
He looked at Nicola, then at the dead man with a subcompact machine gun in hand.
Holy hell, she’d saved his life.
He’d saved hers.
“Nic, baby.” He was on her in a flash, scooping her to his chest, not giving a fuck who heard. “Sweet girl. My sweet girl.”
Jared grumbled in his ear. “Cut the mushy bullsh—”
Cash pulled his earpiece out. He might not be able to cut the audio transmission, but he sure as shit wouldn’t have Jared as the voice of God in his head.
Nicola didn’t cry. She didn’t whimper or scream, just caught her breath after doing her job and watching his ass.
“There’s a second bomb. At my parents’.” Her words came out heavy as she recovered from her brawl with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her.
“We knew already. Roman’s with them. Brock and Rocco have the device. Everything’s cool.”
“Oh.” A huge sigh of relief washed over her face. He let go, watching her process the news. At least she didn’t fight him off when he’d power-grabbed her. “How’d you know?”
“We have Gianori. We knew before you did.”
Her eye went goose egg wide. “What?”
“We’ll debrief. There’s a lot to catch up on. You did great.”
“Thanks. You too.” Her breaths slowed down. Cash heard nothing over-stimulated or hypersensitive in her tone. Just another day on the job for her.
He smiled. That was… cool.
“Did you hear all that, earlier?” she asked.
And she wanted to review the play-by-play, just like he’d want to rehash after an op. “That was some shit, right?”
“Damn.” She laughed. “Never saw it coming.”
“I didn’t mean to step in—”
“No, I needed backup. That was good. We were good.” She nodded, turned, and went looking for something.
A purse. She held it up, looking pleased. Well, all right then. The big brown purse made her happy.Good to know.
Watching, she stood, ready for more, but at a standstill. Antilla struggled, shifted sideways, and elbowed his gut, which only strengthened Cash’s resolve. One more shot at escape with a weakening foot stomp, and Antilla was fading for the final countdown.
Nicola ran forward, screaming. “No!”
What the hell?
She couldn’t possibly want him to stop. Her arms grabbed Cash. Fighting through the men’s weight, and their fight, she forced partially between him and Antilla. Slivers of a second passed and, ready to end this, Cash twisted the bastard’s neck. Nicola pushed under his arm, then pulled back. Smooth dropped in a dead man’s pile.
Behind him, a crash and a whoosh. A different man’s cry spun Cash around, grabbing for his sidearm.
He was too late.
Nicola was bent over, hands pressed on her knees, head down. Beyond her, the driver lay with a tactical knife centered in his chest.
Cash’s hand flew to his waist. His knife was gone. She hadn’t pushed between him and Smooth, she’d gone for his weapons, grabbing his blade.And thrown it with perfect accuracy.
He looked at Nicola, then at the dead man with a subcompact machine gun in hand.
Holy hell, she’d saved his life.
He’d saved hers.
“Nic, baby.” He was on her in a flash, scooping her to his chest, not giving a fuck who heard. “Sweet girl. My sweet girl.”
Jared grumbled in his ear. “Cut the mushy bullsh—”
Cash pulled his earpiece out. He might not be able to cut the audio transmission, but he sure as shit wouldn’t have Jared as the voice of God in his head.
Nicola didn’t cry. She didn’t whimper or scream, just caught her breath after doing her job and watching his ass.
“There’s a second bomb. At my parents’.” Her words came out heavy as she recovered from her brawl with a man a hundred pounds heavier than her.
“We knew already. Roman’s with them. Brock and Rocco have the device. Everything’s cool.”
“Oh.” A huge sigh of relief washed over her face. He let go, watching her process the news. At least she didn’t fight him off when he’d power-grabbed her. “How’d you know?”
“We have Gianori. We knew before you did.”
Her eye went goose egg wide. “What?”
“We’ll debrief. There’s a lot to catch up on. You did great.”
“Thanks. You too.” Her breaths slowed down. Cash heard nothing over-stimulated or hypersensitive in her tone. Just another day on the job for her.
He smiled. That was… cool.
“Did you hear all that, earlier?” she asked.
And she wanted to review the play-by-play, just like he’d want to rehash after an op. “That was some shit, right?”
“Damn.” She laughed. “Never saw it coming.”
“I didn’t mean to step in—”
“No, I needed backup. That was good. We were good.” She nodded, turned, and went looking for something.
A purse. She held it up, looking pleased. Well, all right then. The big brown purse made her happy.Good to know.
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