And son of a bitch…there she was.
Cassandra-goddamn-Berry, come out of fucking nowhere, bat in hand, standing on top of his—Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell had she done to his bar?
Her face was leaner now, her body softer in places it hadn’t been before.Twenty-two the last time he’d seen her.Thirty-something now.Long black curls gone, chopped short and slick.Freckles painted over, candy necklaces swapped for thin gold chains.She looked like a stranger…except for her eyes, still greener than a goddamn holler in springtime.
“Well, hey there, Strawberry.Long time no see.”His voice was slow and steady, even with the panic tearing through him.
Cassie’s mouth twisted, eyes going wild at the sight of him—and then she lunged.
“What happened?”she screamed, bat raised.“What the fuck happened?”
He caught the bat mid-swing, yanked it from her grip, and hurled it aside.
“What the fuck!”he shouted.
She barely flinched.Instead, she tore into her bag, yanked out a crumpled leather, and slapped it hard against his chest.
He caught it with one hand, breath locking in his lungs.Fuck him—he’d feared this day for years.Every late-night phone call, every whisper of a body turning up.But fear was one thing; holding Connor’s colors in his hand, heavy as a death sentence—that was another.
“Where’s Con?”he rasped.
“Where’s Con?”Cassie’s whole body shook, fists balled, eyes wet but refusing to spill.“You tell me, you piece of shit!”
“Aw, hell,” Snake groaned somewhere in the crowd.“She said she knew you, Nash—said her name was Tiffany.”
Jesse “The Snake” Smith was new blood, a Midwest transfer running from heat.He hadn’t been in Clifton long enough to know who’s who—let alone long enough to know Cassie.
“You slack-jawed fool,” Margie snapped, storming forward, salt-and-pepper braids swinging.“That’s Cassie Berry—Con’s little sister.She left ’fore your sorry ass ever got here.”
Murmurs rippled through the clubhouse—
“Holy shit—Cassie’s back?”
“Why’s she tearin’ up the place?”
“Everybody quiet!”Sarge barked, stepping into the commons, and even the rowdiest of youngbloods went still.
Margie’s gaze flicked to the battered cut in Nash’s grip, her expression flinching briefly before quickly smoothing it away.
“Now, Cassie, this ain’t the way,” Margie said, stepping closer.“You don’t come in swingin’ a bat at Nash.”
Cassie didn’t even look her way.Her eyes stayed locked on him, still burning.“Who gives a fuck about Nash?”
Nash’s jaw clenched, voice rough when it finally came.“What happened—where’s Con?”
“You wanna know where Con is, I’ll tell you where the fuck he is!”Cassie shrieked, voice cracking.“He’s lyin’ cold on a goddamn table over in Wierswood, lookin’ like somethin’ somebody threw away!”
The stillness broke—gasps and muttered curses rising among the crowd.
“When?”Nash managed to ask.
Fury fled Cassie’s lungs in broken breaths.“Fuck you—why don’tyouknow when?Why’d I have to hear it from a goddamn stranger?”
“You don’t understand,” he ground out—every word hurting.“You weren’t here.”
Cassie flinched—just a blink, quick as a breath—and the rage surged back stronger.
“But you were!”she spat, jabbing a finger into his chest.“You were right here.”Another finger jab.
