14. Holden
He’s my little brother, the youngest of us boys.
I love him.
I care about his well-being.
I would sucker-punch a motherfucker for having the violent, unhinged thoughts about him that I’m currently having.
Duke and Rosie are a good couple. They make sense. I’m irrational for not being happy that they’re rekindling their relationship.
My limbs are tingling the same way they would when a fight broke out in the prison, one I knew I wouldn’t be able to avoid. The sensations coursing through my body are similar, but I know the situation is a much more dangerous one.
Why the fuck am I stressed about my little brother fucking his ex-girlfriend?
Three fingers of whiskey aren’t enough, so I pour another glass, tossing it back just as quickly as the first. I can feel the heat of Cash’s gaze on my face. I turn to meet his eyes. He raises a dark brow, clearly wondering why I’m suddenly drinking like this after three and a half years sober.
“You good, brother?” he says.
I tip my cowboy hat back, raising the glass of amber liquid. “Never better, brother. Never fucking better.”
I allow my eyes to travel over to where the treacherous Dixon-blooded woman is currently making my dinner.
I can’t fire her.
I can’t be around her.
I can’t fuck her.
I can’t fucking stand looking at her all the damn time and not getting to feel her wavy, copper-colored hair and freckled skin underneath my fingers.
Most of all, I can’t take watching my brother do it right in front of my eyes.
I slam the glass down on the island, turning to Cash. I clap my hand on his back. “Let’s go out tonight.”
Cash looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. I need him to drive at the rate I’m going.
He shakes his head with a sigh. “I guess I’d better. Who knows what kind of mess you’ll get into on your own?”
After takinga hot shower and shaving, I change into a plain blue T-shirt that fits me tighter than it used to and a worn pair of Wranglers. My hair needs cutting. I put on my tan felt Stetson and my snakeskin boots with blue-and-brown-hued scales. I’m ready to lay some good old-fashioned cowboy charm on a woman, preferably a redhead.
We leave as soon as we finish scarfing down dinner.
Once we pull up to Old Harry’s and see a few cars and mostly trucks filling the dirt parking lot, I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. The word about my early release has spread far by now—and not just to the women who wrote me letters.
The doors are being manned by two brawny bouncers who look vaguely familiar. One of them has an armful of tattoos with different parts of the female form and anatomy, along with a neck tattoo of a chain. The other one is tall, at least six inches taller than my six-foot-three stature.
“Redfords, boss wants to see you,” the one with the neck tattoo says. Instead of opening the main door, he starts leading us around the side of the building.
I glance at Cash and Sterling. They both shrug, clearly not knowing what this is about. Cash briefly rests his hand on the handgun concealed in his waistband. I had assumed once I was free I’d be on probation and not allowed to carry in public, but since my conviction was overturned, the cold press of my pistol on my hip brings me a peace of mind I haven’t felt in years. If things go downhill, I know I can trust my brothers to have my back.
“We at least gonna get some bottle service?” I ask, following the bouncer.
Around the corner, there are three identical black Dodge pickups with extended cabs. One of them has bullet holes in the side of the truck bed, but other than that, they’re in good condition.
“Boss’ll fix you up,” he says, reaching up to knock on a metal door that says Employees Only.
A few seconds later, the door creaks open. A woman wearing a men’s pearl-snap button-down shirt, baggy jeans, and a flat-brimmed cowboy hat stands in the opening, blinking up at the three of us with oversize, calculating brown eyes. Her hair is tied back. She has a hunting knife sheathed on one hip and a nine-millimeter pistol strapped to the other one.
Without a word, she turns around to lead us through. I step over the threshold, followed by my brothers. The sound of male voices and high-pitched laughter reaches my ears. The place smells like an old distillery, musty with the strong odor of spilled alcohol. The walls are lined with old barnwood, looking like a bad splinter and a tetanus shot waiting to happen.
“Who are you?” I ask.
“Jo,” is all she says.
The hall finally ends, opening up to a room with the same cramped barnwood furniture that looks like it came from an estate sale in a retirement home and a crowd of old cowboys. I immediately recognize a handful of them as the organizers of The Riders we sell bulls to.
“Redford, about damn time you showed up here. Heard you were the fucker who abducted one of the girls the night of my wet T-shirt contest! I was worried you were back in jail after I found out who she was.” Old Harry stands up from a poker table in the corner, a cigarette stuck to his lips.
A few Stetsons turn my way as hushed murmurs float throughout the smoky room.
A woman in Daisy Dukes with a low-cut blouse approaches us, smiling suggestively. Her blond ponytail sways with her steps.
“What can I get you, gentlemen?” She bats her overly thick eyelashes.
“Whiskey, neat,” I say.
Cash doesn’t want anything, but Sterling asks for a beer.
Harry gestures for us to sit at the poker table as he lights another cigarette, and the cowboys in three chairs vacate them. I choose one with my back to the wall, keeping my eyes on the exits and occupants. Cash chooses to stand, and Sterling sits beside me, leaning back and exhaling as his dark eyes sweep the room. Of all of us brothers, Cash is the silent one, but he’s always on high alert. Our blood runs thicker than water, and I know both of them would take a bullet for me. Duke would too; he’s just still in his early twenties, fucking around like life isn’t mostly pain with little bursts of pleasure mixed in.
“You’re looking robust, Redford. Some guys get out of the clank, all scrawny and lean, but you’re fucking big. One of my boys said they ran into you up in Idaho. Slim Tim is what he goes by.” Harry cracks a yellow smile, puffing out a cloud of smoke. He has twin silver braids resting on his drooping shoulders.
Slim Tim was bunked three cells down from me. He seemed to know everyone. He was a rare breed who didn’t have enemies on either side, just contacts without any clear loyalties or gang affiliation. It doesn’t surprise me that he’s involved with Old Harry.
“He’s in for another ten, right?” I ask.
Harry nods, tapping the ash into a tray. “Yep. He’s more useful on the inside anyway. Man knows everyone.”
“And seemed to piss off none.”
Harry chuckles, his raspy voice on the verge of lung cancer. “So, he tells me you made some powerful friends behind bars. I’ve always said, if I were to ever get in the clank, I’d make good use of the time.”
My eyes stay steady on Harry’s. I know he’s waiting for my expression to give something away. I made more friends than enemies, but that doesn’t mean circumstances won’t change on a whim. I’ve never liked Old Harry, though he’s mostly harmless and my father’s friend.
“Couldn’t get my ice cream fix without making a few buddies, now could I?” I fold my arms over my chest.
The blond server returns with our drinks, leaning over unnecessarily far in front of me, her chest spilling out of her top as she sets the glass down. For a moment, I consider taking her back to the ranch and exploring her body. It’s been years, literally, since I’ve felt a woman’s warmth.
“Well, any flavor of ice cream you want is readily available when you have the right connections, Redford. A few things have changed since you were locked up.” Harry leans forward, his weathered skin telling the story of years of sun damage and smoke inhalation.
“Cash handled things well. We’re operating at full capacity.”
Harry presses his elbows into the table. “Yes, but are you making your full income potential? There’s always room for improvement.”
I don’t respond, waiting for my brother to step forward and give his input. Cash isn’t outspoken. He’s the silent type, but he gets shit done without needing to be loud. After a few seconds pass, he senses me waiting on him and turns to Harry.
“Your interest in Redford Ranch isn’t new. We don’t need your dirty money. You wanna buy some bulls, then we’ll talk.” Cash sounds bored.
He kept me up-to-date on all things business behind bars, but Old Harry’s propositions weren’t something he felt were worth mentioning. I trust he had a good reason for it.
Harry’s eyes shine brighter. “This isn’t about my investment in The Riders, although that offer will never be off the table. I’m talking about a product. Something every rancher who wants to be the top producer in the next five years is getting their hands on. Something you can only get if you know someone. I’m offering you boys a deal, the deal of a fucking lifetime. Your generation could be the one to make or break the Redford Ranch name.”
“What is it you’re so keen on us purchasing? I used up all my patience in prison, so make it quick.” I take a swig of the whiskey, the burn feeling good down my throat. I know whatever the hell he says, we’re not interested.
Harry leans back, swiftly attempting to get back in control of the conversation. “You’re either going to jump on this train while it’s moving slow enough down the tracks for new passengers or it’s going to fly by you in a flash. You’ll miss your chance if you wait.”
He’s beginning to sound like a door-to-door knife salesman, and I’m getting really fucking tired of it.
“Spit it out, or let us go get fucked up in your bar,” Sterling says, annoyance in his tone.
Harry reaches under the table for something. My muscles tense as I take a defensive stance, pushing back from the table. Cash and Sterling both draw their weapons, aiming them straight for the old man. Harry chuckles, waving at us with his hand, lazy cigarette smoke trailing toward the ceiling.
“Gentlemen, I give you M-59.” He reveals a small black plastic case. He unsnaps the sides of the case, revealing a massive syringe. It’s half an inch thick, filled with red liquid. The needle is far too big to be used on a human.
I release the tension from my shoulders, but I don’t reclaim my place closer to the table. Cash and Sterling lower their guns.
“What’s M-59?” Cash asks.
Harry’s face is giddy with excitement as he rubs his hands together.
“It’s a genetically engineered steroid, created to make cattle gain weight at a rapid rate. The calves you’re selling at auction next month for feed? They’ll gain fifty to one hundred pounds after fourteen days of this. You multiply that by however many thousand heads you’re auctioning off, and you boys will make yourself a six-figure Christmas bonus—in the middle of the summer.” Harry grins, running his tongue over his straw-colored teeth with excitement.
I toss the rest of my drink back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I stand up. “And if this shit works so fucking perfectly, why the hell wouldn’t the FDA approve it? If it was legit, we could get it at the vet.”
Harry shakes his head, coming to a stand. “It’ll get approved, but by that time, you’ll be too far behind to catch up. The government takes years to pass these things through the lab rats. Then, they jack up the price so high and get ninety percent of the profits. If you don’t jump on the horse now, boys, you’ll be too far behind to catch up.” He repeats. “Think about it and take the sample. Test it on one of your runts and see just how damn powerful this shit really is. They ship it up from Mexico, so we need some time to get enough for a herd your size.”
He comes around the table, handing Cash the box. He grins, wrapping his arm around the blond server as he leads us toward another door. Country music pours through it as we get closer.
“You boys tell Billy Bob your tab is on mine tonight, okay? Don’t get into too much trouble out there.”
The girl reaches for the handle, but Cash beats her to it and pulls open the door. Rough cowboys never let women touch door handles.