“It’s never dull,” he says dryly.
“We enjoy solving problems,” Bane adds.
“I can see that.” I smile at him. “You see an issue and act in the next instant.”
“Heath depends on us to run his security and make sure the fights go smoothly,” he says.
“Have either of you fought?” I ask.
“No,” Bane says.
“We have no interest in fighting,” Hunter says, bending his arm over the back of his chair. “The only time we use our fists is when it’s important, not for money or fun.”
“Even if we stepped in the ring before, we would stop. Lawson’s experiences were extreme, and we wouldn’t want to upset him.” Bane takes a drink.
“I—” My phone rings, and I stare at my purse.
“Is your father still calling?” Hunter asks.
“Yes. I don’t know if it’s him,” I sigh. “The only person I would want to talk to is Rylee, and she knows I’m here.”
“Leave it,” Bane says gruffly. “You can deal with it after our date.”
“You’re right.” I put the bag on the floor beside my chair. “I don’t want to think about him tonight.” I smell something amazing and see Heather moving toward us. She’s holding a steamy platter.
“It’s very hot,” she cautions as she places it in the middle of the table with one hand and sets little plates beside it with the other.
“Thank you.” I lean forward, taking a deep breath. Bane stands and dishes a plate for the three of us. “I don’t want to eat without them.”
“They won’t mind,” Hunter says.
I lick my lips, staring at the mushrooms.
“Fuck,” Bane growls, and I look at him. He’s focused on something outside the door.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, following his gaze. I don’t see anything unusual.
“Get to Remy,” Hunter rumbles, standing quickly.
“Hunter?” Bane tenses.
“Too late,” he snarls. Hunter moves around me and stops on the other side of my chair, blocking my view.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I demand, meeting Bane’s eyes.
“It’s Vivian,” Bane says, moving his chair back.
“No,” I whisper.
“She scented us,” Hunter mumbles.
“Why would she come here? Does she still try to see him?” I push back my chair and look around Hunter. There is a woman staring back at us. She stands rigid in the middle of the dining room. She has black, thin, straight hair and dark eyes. Her turtleneck is black and is tucked into black slacks. Remy didn’t describe her, yet her image is just like I imagined. She glares and strides toward us.
“She hasn’t for months,” Bane says softly, moving behind my chair.
“Where is my son?” she demands as she steps over the threshold of the room. “I smell his scent.” She wrinkles her nose. “You’re the brothers,” she spits, and I narrow my eyes.
“He doesn’t want to see you,” Hunter says.
