“How fucking sweet,” Chris said in disgust. “Look at your lover, playing the hero.” His furious gaze shifted to Dylan. “I can’t believe you did this! You steal my fiancée and bring her back to your perverted lair for some disgusting orgy with your roommate?”
Dylan’s voice was cold enough to freeze an ocean. “I didn’t steal anything, Chris. You walked out on Claire, which means you have no right to pass judgment on what she does or who she does it with.”
Chris made a sound that was a cross between a growl and a squawk. “I knew you were a horny fucker, Dylan, but this? This? Screwing the woman I was going to marry? Next thing you’ll tell me, you’re screwing him too.”
Claire saw Dylan’s strong jaw harden, saw his hands tighten into fists, but rather than voice a denial or ignore the accusation, he surprised everyone in the room by saying, “Actually, I am.”
Deafening silence.
Claire almost laughed at Chris’s expression. Shock mingled with revulsion, mixed in with a splash of horror. His face had gone devoid of color, and his mouth hung open as he stared at his brother.
Dylan crossed his arms over his bare chest and slanted his head. “What, no response? No insightful commentary?”
Chris shook his head, once, twice, half a dozen times, as if he couldn’t fathom what he’d just heard. Then his ashen face turned beet red, and he looked like he was about to vomit.
“You sick fuck,” he hissed out. “Jesus Christ, Dylan, you’re in the military and you’re telling me you’re…that you’re…a fucking faggot?”
Dylan flinched.
Claire gasped.
The breathy sound seemed to remind Chris of her presence because he was spinning around again, looking at her with such malevolence she started to feel queasy.
“I am so happy I didn’t marry you.” His voice was low, ominous and dripping with hatred.
She gave him a tired look. “Right back atcha, Chris. In fact, I’m convinced now more than ever that I dodged a bullet.”
Rage erupted in his eyes. “You have the nerve to tell me I wasn’t good enough for you? You stupid little bitch—”
In the blink of an eye, Chris was on the floor.
Claire hadn’t even seen Dylan strike, he moved so fast, and now he was straddling Chris’s torso and jamming his elbow into his brother’s windpipe. “Don’t you ever talk to her like that,” Dylan said in a soft but deadly voice. “Say whatever the hell you want about me, or about Aidan, but you speak to Claire with respect.”
Chris sputtered, tried to shove Dylan off, but the SEAL’s body was inflexible, a rock-hard wall of muscle that refused to budge.
Wide-eyed and a little bit frightened, Claire watched as Dylan dug his forearm deeper into Chris’s throat, nowhere near done raking his brother over the coals.
“And you know what? I’ve had it up to here with your homophobic bullshit. Jesus Christ, so one of your buddies made a pass at you in high school. Big fucking deal. Get over it already.”
The revelation left Claire dumbfounded. Chris had never shared that piece of information with her, but the moment she heard it, so many things clicked into place. Like why Chris had always been so rude to Natasha, or why he’d cringed every time a gay couple passed them on the street.
Unwelcome sympathy washed over her, which only pissed her off even more, because why the hell was she feeling sorry for this man? He wasn’t worth the energy it took to pity him.
Dylan must have agreed, because he abruptly released his brother and stood up. In nothing but those boxers, he made a formidable picture, gleaming muscles and sleek sinew and raw power.
The moment Dylan stepped away, Chris bolted to his feet, his eyes blazing with indignation. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on me again, little brother. If Mom ever found out you did that—”
“You really want to have a conversation about Mom right now? Because I’d be fucking happy to do that, man. I’d love to know why you chose to lie to me about her gambling problem and the fact that we almost lost our fucking house!”
Chris didn’t even have the decency to apologize. “I’m the man of the house, Dylan. I take care of Mom, not you.”
“The only person you take care of is yourself,” Dylan retorted. “And now if you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave. Maybe one of these days we can sit down and have a mature conversation about all this, but right now, I can’t stand the sight of you.”
“Believe me, little brother, I feel exactly the same way.” Chris spared one last look in Claire and Aidan’s direction, then spun on his heel and marched out.
A few seconds later, the front door slammed with so much force the living room walls shook.
Aidan, who hadn’t uttered a single word during the exchange, gingerly touched Claire’s shoulder. “Are you all right, sweetheart?”
Letting out a shaky breath, she met his worried brown eyes and managed a nod. “Yeah, I think so.”
They both turned to Dylan, whose face had a vacant look to it.
“Shit, man, I’m sorry,” Aidan said roughly. “That was…brutal.”