I grumble under my breath about mixing blood and business. Benson Farmstead is built on family, but my brother is aweak link. He needs to get his shit together before I fire him, regardless of his last name.
Those concerns flee when I notice Frankie and Ronnie at the far end of the arena. My daughter and another little girl are twirling circles together while her nanny is unnaturally still. Her rigid body language is giving off all sorts of defensive vibes. One glance at the redhead’s icy expression raises my guard higher. She’s spooked and I want to know why.
“Where’s the threat, little menace?”
Frankie’s glare remains fixed straight ahead. “It’s not your problem.”
My exhale is worn thin. The attitude I’m receiving from left to right is tiring. “We’re back to that?”
“We never left,” she volleys.
I rock on my doodled boots, trying to ignore the ache in my chest. This isn’t the same woman who began thawing for me on Thanksgiving. One step forward is quickly followed by ten in reverse. Her walls are back up and reinforced with steel. Our combative dynamic suggests I drop it. That’s the easy way out.
But since she’s important to Ronnie, I’m determined to squash the bug that’s crawled up her ass. I hunt for the source of her distress, over rows of nameless faces. There are three men halfway up the bleachers with their eyes on Frankie. My glare strongly suggests their leers move elsewhere, not that they’re paying a lick of attention to me.
“Friends of yours?” I ask the spitfire next to me.
She doesn’t turn to confirm their identities. “They wish.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
As far as I know, her crew has fallen apart. Maybe not entirely. There could be a few stragglers.
Her reshaped edges threaten to maim me when she says, “My reputation haunts me.”
I grunt. She’s spouting to the spigot. The battle to shed accusations and assumptions is often lost. My father’s crimes and bad decisions are stuck to me like a tattoo of an ex’s name.
“Did they approach you?” I take a meaningful look at where Ronnie is playing three feet away.
“Not here.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
Frankie huffs. “I’ve got it under control.”
“That’s not comforting.”
Her shrug brushes off my concern. “That’s your problem.”
“No, you’re my problem.”
“Gonna fire me?” She flutters her lashes obnoxiously.
“If only.”
“Mhmm.” That’s the only agreement I’ll earn from her.
I glance between the men still watching her and the fierce determination set on her features. The stench of trouble floats across the artificially heated space like poison. What’s with all the drama in the stands today?
My stance widens. “Want me to get rid of them?”
Frankie’s sharp nails swat away the suggestion. “They’re harmless. Just a local biker gang.”
That’s when it clicks. These guys were sent to recruit her. She might’ve rejected them at first, but they don’t look like the type to take no for an answer. The one in the middle is older and has a cruel glint in his beady gaze.
Heat crawls up my neck, as if the past is hounding me rather than Frankie. I check to see that Frankie’s focus is still firmly forward before signaling to security. Four of our best guards rush to where I discreetly directed, removing the bad news without making a scene. This trio is clearly making her uncomfortable. It could be temptation or fear. Either way, I’m the only one who gets to make her squirm.
“You’re not working with them,” I state plainly.