“Stop talking about me, assholes,” my curly haired woman grumbled as she sat up.
I shot Red a look before we all got out of the vehicle.
Once inside the bar, we were greeted by the sight of Dom, standing behind a chair in the center of the stage. His large, dark frame towered over the man tied to said chair.
Fucking Kevin.
James cursed under his breath at the same time I did. The man’s face was bruised and swollen, thanks to my woman, but his knee was now wrapped in medical gauze, that leg elevated by a second chair.With a pillow.I raised a brow.
“Damn, Dom, going soft?”
The man smiled, his stark white teeth gleaming as he tied his dreads on top of his head.
“Looking good, Connors.”
The four of us spun to find a man in an electric wheelchair sitting next to a dark haired, green eyed older woman. They were sitting in the far corner of the bar, facing Kevin. The woman’s green eyes matched Kevin’s and the man’s beside her.
Ian Matthews.
He was dressed in a three-piece gray suit, an aura of power and leadership around him. Ian looked nothing like the baseball player who was thrown through the bar window nine years ago. His black hair was short and styled, his jaw clean shaven. His upper body was toned, the fabric of the suit stretching over his form. His mother was quiet, clutching the mug in front of her with both hands, refusing to look James and I in the eyes.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” James seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Haley stepped around him to gape at Kevin, ignoring his family in the corner.
“Kevin?”
“Hey, Hals. Long time, no see. You look good,” he said weakly.
“Shut the fuck up,” Gwen snapped at him, taking a step toward the stage.
One of my hands wrapped around her bicep, halting her movements.So damn feisty. She looked up at me, fury shiningin her ocean eyes. I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Be a good girl.”
“Ms. Davenport? While I appreciate you trying to whip my younger brother into shape, I kindly ask you to refrain,” Ian addressed her.
She turned to their table, folding her arms over her chest. “Ian,” she greeted.
He smirked at her. “Gwen.”
There he was.One thing I’d heard during my college days was that Ian Matthews was a cocky son of a bitch, on and off the field.
Then again, he had been trained in the art of baseball since he could walk.
The door to the kitchen swung open, and Sullie came through with a tray of food. His eyes quickly scanned the scene before him. Even though his facial features were warm, his brown eyes were on alert.
James cursed again, looking up at the ceiling. Haley slapped him lightly on the chest.
“Ms. Austen,” Ian drawled. Red stiffened and raised her chin to him.
“How do you know my name?”
“My father worked with your father.” The room fell deathly silent. Ian straightened his cuff links. “This was years ago, of course.”
“What do you know about my family?” she asked thickly. The three of us flanked her then, James coming to stand in front of her.
“You've been missing for a long time, Mr. Matthews. You wanna tell us why you're here?” The agent’s voice was calm, but no one missed the warning in his tone.
Ian chuckled. “As soon as you tell us why my brother is beaten to a pulp and tied to a chair.”
“You wanna match him, big boy? I can make you two look like twins,” Gwen threatened from Haley’s right side. I shifted to stand behind both girls.
