Claire’s jaw dropped as she turned to the goon. “You know Jena? How do you know Jena?” Her face paled the minute realisation struck. “Are you one of those no-neck guys that’s hunting Jena for the mob?” She sucked in a loud, dramatic breath. “You’re with the mob. You lied to me.”
The muscles in Samuel’s shoulders clenched. “Baby, I am not, nor will I ever be, with the mob. I’m exactly what I told you I am. Ex-marine. Current security guy. Nothing more. What you see is what you get. And you get all of it, babe. What we have together has nothing to do with Jena.”
“Semantics.” Matt pointed at Samuel. “Mob or not, you’re here with Frank Di Marco. Jena’s ex is with the mob.”
“Frank is not mob. Frank wants to be mob. Big difference,” Samuel informed Matt.
Matt released his grip on Jena’s dress and took a step towards the goon. Instead of running, like any sane woman would have done, Jena wound her hand into his T-shirt in an attempt to hold him back. Matt vibrated with rage. “Keep away from my sister.”
“Not going to happen.”
Matt glared at Claire. “Keep away from him.”
“Not going to happen,” Grunt answered before Claire could open her mouth.
“I’m warning you,” Matt said. He strode towards Grunt, dragging Jena behind him.
“Help me, somebody,” Jena said as her heels slid over the kitchen floor.
“Hit him and I’ll never talk to you again,” Claire shouted as she tried to get out from behind Grunt.
“I’ll handle this, baby,” Grunt told her softly before growling at her brother. An honest to goodness growl. The kind rednecks and brown bears made.
“She’s too young for you and she doesn’t associate with criminals.”
“Who says I’m a criminal?”
“If you sleep with a dog, you catch its fleas.”
“Are you saying I had sex with Frank Di Marco?” Grunt looked ready to morph into the Hulk.
Three women shouted at the same time, “It’s just a saying.”
It would have been funny if the amount of testosterone in the room hadn’t sucked all the joy out of the house.
A door banged, and a minute later a grinning Megan barrelled into the kitchen. “What did I miss?” she demanded.
Everyone glared at her. She nodded with a chuckle. “Clash of the Titans. I get it. Carry on.” She turned to her mother. “Got any popcorn?”
Her mother looked between the two men. “I have chocolate cake.”
“Great.” Megan rubbed her hands together. “Dish it up. This is going to be better than watching wrestling. I bet a month’s worth of dishwashing that King Kong pulverises Don Don.” She grinned at everyone, her glee overflowing. “Any takers?”
“I’ll get the cake.” Heather sighed dramatically. “Might as well; looks like we won’t get to the roast I slaved over until these two are done hitting each other about the head. Take the fight outside, boys—we’ll watch through the window while we eat. We know how you men like to have an audience when you’re proving who’s got the biggest willy.”
The siblings gasped.
“Mum!” Claire covered her mouth with her hand.
“What?” Her mother held up her hands. “This is my house. This is the lovely meal that I cooked for my children and their friends. If it’s going to be ruined, I can say what I like. After all, it isn’t as though I have a lot to look forward to these days. What’s another ruined family afternoon? I guess it’s a bit much to hope that two grown men would set aside their differences for a couple of hours so I could take my mind off your father in hospital. We might as well have cake and watch them pummel each other.”
And just like that, the tension was sucked out of the room. Both men seemed torn between guilt and the need to hit something.
“That roast smells delicious,” Grunt said, earning a beaming smile from Claire. “Wouldn’t want to miss out.”
Matt ran a hand through his hair as he let out a heavy sigh. He pointed at his mother. “You are a master manipulator.” She curtsied. “Fine, we’ll eat.” He stared at Grunt. “We’ll pick this up later.”
Grunt grunted.