Page 118 of Ruthless Redemption

“It’s not who, but what.” Matthew starts for the front door. “Dinner has arrived.”

He disappears down the entry hall, returning moments later with both arms carrying cooking trays covered in foil.

“Who delivered this?” I walk with him to the island counter, salivating over the scent of meat and herbs.

“I bribed the housekeeper.” Matthew winks at me. “That woman knows how to cook.”

His brothers join us in the kitchen, pulling plates from cupboards and cutlery from drawers. The three of them work in a conga line of food service like they’ve been doing it for years. Like nothing ever came between them.

Matthew cuts the meat. Remy plates it while Salvatore does the same with the baked vegetables. It’s nice to see Matthew at home with someone other than Bishop. But it hurts too. These are the men who devastated my life.

“Can I get you a glass of wine, Layla?” Remy wipes his hands on a new pair of pants he must’ve had in his rental and walks to the fridge for a bottle of red.

I meet his gaze, sensing his optimism. The alcohol is a peace offering. One I’m not ready to accept.

“No.” I clear my throat, reluctantly adding, “Thanks.”

His expression slackens. It’s only a flicker of change, but his disappointment is clear as the room remains quiet.

We all know I subtly snapped the olive branch he offered. Forgiveness will take time.

“You can pour me one, little gimp.” Bishop pushes from the sofa, his smile dripping with venom. “I’m always happy to have your bitch ass waiting on me.”

“My bitch ass will spit in your drink.”

“Do that and I’ll skull fuck your sister.”

“Hey,” Matthew warns. “That went from banter to crossing the line too fucking fast. Abri is off-limits.”

I hide my grin as I grab a glass from the cupboard and fill it with water from the faucet.

“Everyone grab a plate. I’m starving.” Matthew slides his from the counter and claims a seat at the head of the table.

I wait until everyone has taken theirs before I grab mine and head toward the sliding door with my water. “I’m going to eat on the deck. I need to clear my head.”

Matthew pushes to his feet. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, please don’t. You have catching up to do.” I’m just not in a place where I can listen.

He remains standing, his expression forlorn.

“It’s okay.” My smile is honest. “Don’t worry about me.”

He inclines his head in appreciation as I walk outside, not returning to his seat until I close the door behind me.

I eat alone, the bitter fall breeze my only companion through delicious bites of crisp potato and juicy mouthfuls of meat. Then the door slides open, and I glance over my shoulder to find Bishop approaching.

“Mind if I join you?”

I turn back to my meal. “Is that a rhetorical question? Because I doubt you’ll listen if I decline your generous offer.”

“Look at you proving how well you already know me.” He takes the seat opposite me, placing down his meal and a glass of red wine. “Are you doing okay?”

My cheeks heat at the memory of the last time he asked. “Yeah. I want them to figure this out. I just can’t be a part of it. Not yet anyway.”

“And in the future?”

I stab a roasted carrot and take a bite. “I don’t know. I’ve hated them for a long time. Stella has, too. I can’t begin to imagine how I’d explain this to her.”

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