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. Damn you, Roman. I don’t need to enjoy this show. 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.

Bam!

Son of a bitch.

They were 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. Those gunshots couldn’t have been planned.

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. She took one and ducked another. Cash was out of the Rover and ready to kill. He ignored the Glock. His fists balled, his blood rushed, and he was ready to end the brawl. No man would ever live after—

Whoa.

The tide turned fast. Nic was on top. Her left hook struck hard, not flinching when her knuckles landed on a cheekbone. The man reached his hands around Nicola’s neck. Enough of that shit.

A glance to 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. Too fucking bad, this asshole was Cash’s to take out.