God, Cash loved a good throat punch. That one was spectacular. Still, the protector in him needed to run to their tangle, throw her to safety, and shred Antilla Smooth into flesh and bone with his bare hands.

Acting as backup fucking sucked. She held her own, which was good and bad. It didn’t matter though, no clean shots at this angle anyway.

Cash crept closer. The urge to annihilate Smooth beat loudly in his ears, speeding his pulse and competing with Nicola’s concern that he didn’t trust her to do the job.

If this was Roman, would he step in? Christ, man, he couldn’t answer that. Could he? Would he jump in now for Roman?

No… fuck, no, he wouldn’t.

Not yet.

Smooth rebounded, grabbing her arm. She countered, striking. Good girl. Nicola moved fast. Faster than when we sparred. She didn’t run from the son of a bitch. She speared toward him, nailing him in the groin, giving cheap shots and calculated moves equal play time. Nicola was good, but she needed to end this.

Smooth went down on his knee, her follow up could—

Damn it. A hand wrapped around her ankle. She flipped through the air. Smooth was on her. They spun, growled, and grunted. Curses and war cries echoed around the empty warehouse.

Antilla slammed her against the wall. Her head lolled to the side, but righted. Her eyes locked on Cash’s. A fucking smile danced across her face, mouthing, “hi.”

She’s insane. I’m in love with a crazy woman.

Cash took a step forward into the open. Smooth didn’t see him, but Nic did.

“No,” she growled, looking bull’s-eye at him.

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.