Page 105 of Chained By Fate (Dark Billionaires: Vegas #1)

Two final guards charged from opposite directions.

Matt met them with cold precision. Block, strike, dodge.

One went down with a crushed windpipe. The other lasted longer, landing a solid hit that made Matt’s vision blur.

Matt responded by driving his elbow into the man’s temple, following with a knee to the face when he stumbled.

The sound of approaching vehicles cut through the chaos. Multiple engines, moving fast. Matt’s heart rate picked up. James would have mobilized by now. If he could just?—

“Find him!” Porter’s voice cracked with desperation. “Bring him back to me!”

Matt moved toward the main entrance, staying in the shadows. His ribs screamed in protest, but adrenaline kept him moving. Almost there?—

He heard the sound of a car door slamming. Running footsteps.

Then a voice that turned Matt’s blood to ice.

“Matt!”

Andy .

No. No, no, no.

Porter appeared in the doorway ahead, face twisted into something inhuman. But he wasn’t looking at Matt anymore. His gun was raised, aimed at?—

Matt exploded into motion, all calculation abandoned. Pure, primal rage drove him forward as Porter’s finger tightened on the trigger.

A shot cracked through the air.

The gun spun from Porter’s suddenly bloody hand. Someone had shot him—but Matt didn’t waste time looking for the source. Porter was still standing, still a threat to Andy. That was all that mattered.

Matt crossed the space between them like a force of nature. Porter’s eyes widened, that familiar mix of worship and madness flickering across his face. “My ki?—”

Matt’s fist connected with Porter’s jaw with every ounce of fury and disgust he’d been containing. The crack was audible. Porter went down hard, blood spraying from his mouth. He didn’t get up.

“Andy—” Matt spun, heart thundering against his ribs.

And there he was. Beautiful, reckless, impossible Andy, running toward him like all of hell couldn’t stop him. They collided somewhere in the middle, Andy’s smaller frame crashing into Matt’s chest. Matt’s arms locked around him, crushing Andy against him hard enough to hurt.

“You stupid, reckless—” Matt buried his face in Andy’s hair, breathing in his scent, feeling his heart beat wild and alive against his chest. His hands roamed over Andy’s body, checking for injuries, needing to make sure he was real and whole.

“Says the guy who got himself kidnapped,” Andy’s voice was muffled against Matt’s chest, his fingers clutching Matt’s shirt. “Your shirt’s ruined, by the way.”

Matt laughed, the sound slightly ragged. “I’ll buy another one.”

“You’re bleeding.” Andy pulled back enough to see Matt’s face, fingers ghosting over the cut above his eye, the split lip, the bruised jaw. “And you look terrible.”

“You should see the other guys.” Matt’s eyes swept over Andy, still checking, still needing to be sure. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.”

“Too bad. You’re stuck with me.” Andy touched Matt’s face like he was something precious, something that might disappear.

T he private hospital suite at Legacy Medical Center—one of the crown jewels in the Caine Group’s healthcare empire—looked more like a luxury hotel room, which was probably the only reason Matt hadn’t staged a dramatic escape yet.

The fact that his family owned the hospital didn’t make it any more appealing, though the state-of-the-art medical equipment and five-star amenities had been Andy’s main argument for choosing this location.

That, and the fact that Andy had perfected this particular look—a mix of worry and determination that made Matt feel simultaneously guilty and completely wrapped around his finger.

“I’m fine,” Matt insisted for what felt like the hundredth time, even as the doctor finished applying the last stitch above his eye. “It’s just a few scratches.”

“A few scratches,” Andy echoed from his perch on the windowsill. “Right. Because normal scratches require twenty-three stitches and enough bandages to wrap a small mummy.”

“Twenty-four stitches,” the doctor corrected helpfully, earning himself a glare from Matt and a triumphant look from Andy.

“See?” Andy crossed his arms, his oversized sweater—Matt’s sweater, actually—slipping off one shoulder in a way that was entirely too distracting for someone with a possible concussion. “You’re staying put.”

Before Matt could argue further, the suite door burst open with the force of a small explosion.

His mother swept in like a hurricane in Chanel—petite and elegant with the same light-brown-gold hair and striking features that Ryan had inherited.

Catherine Caine might have been small in stature, but her presence filled the room like summer lightning.

His father followed in her wake with the resigned expression of a man who’d long ago learned to just go with it.

Richard Caine cut an imposing figure at six-three, his steel-gray eyes and commanding presence mirrored in his older sons. It was easy to see where Matt, Daniel, and Jeremy got their height and broad-shouldered build from, while Ryan had taken after their mother’s more delicate frame.

“Matthew Harrison Caine!” She managed to make his full name sound like both a prayer of thanks and a battle cry. “What were you thinking?”

“Hi, Mom.” Matt attempted to sit up straighter, wincing as his ribs protested.

Looking at his parents together, he was struck by how they balanced each other—his father’s quiet strength and his mother’s vibrant energy, a combination that had somehow produced four very different sons. “You didn’t have to?—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” She was already at his bedside, her perfectly manicured hands hovering over his injuries like she couldn’t decide where to start fussing first. Despite being nearly a foot shorter than her eldest son, she managed to make Matt feel like a small boy again with just a look.

“My son gets kidnapped by a deranged executive, and you think I wouldn’t come? ”

“To be fair,” Ryan piped up from where he’d materialized in the doorway, “it’s not even the most dramatic thing that’s happened. Andy told me about when he got himself kidnapped and beaten up. At least Matt managed to punch his way out?—”

“Not helping, Ryan,” Matt cut him off, watching Andy’s cheeks flush pink at the reminder of his own recent hospital stay. The last thing he needed was his mother finding out just how much danger both of them had been in lately.

His father moved to the other side of the bed, his hand settling on Matt’s shoulder with gentle pressure. The gesture said everything his businessman’s facade wouldn’t allow—relief, love, worry.

“And you must be Andy.” Catherine turned her attention to Andy, who straightened instinctively like a student called on in class. “Thank you for helping save my foolish son.”

“Oh, I didn’t really—” Andy started, but Catherine was already moving, pulling him into a hug that made his eyes widen in surprise.

Matt couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his tiny mother enveloping Andy in what his brothers had dubbed ‘the Catherine Caine special’—a hug that somehow managed to convey acceptance, worry, and assessment all at once.

“You’re too skinny,” she declared, pulling back to examine him. “Both of you are. Richard, they’re too skinny.”

“Yes, dear,” Richard agreed automatically, years of marriage having taught him the correct responses.

James appeared in the doorway, his expression serious but relieved.

“Any updates on the Porter situation?” Matt asked, trying to sound stern despite the painkillers making everything slightly fuzzy around the edges.

“Tory’s handling it at LVPD.” James’ smile was all predator. “Porter’s enjoying police hospitality, pending multiple federal charges. Turns out kidnapping a prominent businessman while having an extensive history of stalking and assault is frowned upon.”

“And the board?” the businessman in Matt couldn’t help asking.

“Surprisingly supportive after learning their CEO fought his way out of captivity.” James’ grin widened. “Stock’s actually up. Apparently, having a badass CEO is good for business.”

Catherine turned her attention back to Andy, fussing with his sweater—which was clearly one of Matt’s, hanging off Andy’s smaller frame like an elegant tent.

Her perfectly manicured fingers tugged at the fabric, trying to make it sit better on his shoulders.

“Darling, why are you wearing clothes three sizes too big? We must take you shopping. Richard, make a note—the boy needs a proper wardrobe.”

“Mom,” Matt protested weakly from the bed, “Andy has clothes.”

“Clearly not, if he’s swimming in yours,” Catherine replied, now straightening Andy’s collar with the practiced efficiency of a mother who’d spent years wrangling four sons into presentable shape.

“Though I suppose it’s rather sweet, isn’t it, Richard?

Remember how I used to steal your sweaters when we were dating? ”

Andy’s blush deepened as Catherine continued her maternal fussing, brushing imaginary lint from his shoulders.

He couldn’t help but think she was focusing her attention on the wrong person—Ryan was standing there with his shirt not only inside out but also backward.

But apparently being the baby of the family had its perks, even if those perks included getting away with looking like a human disaster.

“Now, Andy dear, tell me how you met my son. And don’t let him interrupt with his version—he always leaves out the important details.”

Matt caught Andy’s slightly panicked look and had to suppress a smile. His mother in full maternal mode was a force of nature, and Andy was clearly discovering why all the Caine brothers had learned early on that resistance was futile.

“Well, it’s actually quite a story…” Matt said, his eyes dancing with suppressed laughter.