Chapter 27 #2
“Alright there, sweetheart,” Brothers says as his filly picks up speed. His arms are crossed over his chest, body tensed.
The entire room starts clamoring, beating on the table with rising aggression. The filly blazes through the finish line, and the room roars, a huge wave, deafening me.
Brothers slaps the counter. “And that’s how it’s done, motherfuckers.”
Everyone loses their heads, beating on the bar, moving in a surge to the betting stations. Brothers turns around and grabs the bourbon bottle, pouring Jensen and I another glass.
“Alright, let’s talk,” he says, putting a hand on Jensen’s shoulder.
“Yeah, let’s get to getting,” Jensen says.
Well, his mood is improving. I wonder if this was all part of Brothers’ plan; get him loosened up with something they bond over, then slide right in through the open door. Frowning, I watch them retreat to the end of the bar and start talking quietly.
One of Brothers’ men leans on the counter. I glance up, screwing the cap off the whiskey. He’s a burly man with bright blue eyes and a full, dark beard. I think he took over as Brothers’ right hand after Jem died, if I recall.
“What can I do you for, Angus?” I ask.
“Good to see you, Miss Della,” he says. “You bartending tonight?”
I glance back at Brothers and Jensen. “The boys are talking, so I’ve got to do all the work.”
He laughs. “Get me a beer, your choice.”
Reaching in the cooler, I take out a Guiness and pop it, handing it over. He has a swig then leans in.
“You know, it was a bit rough when you up and run off,” he says.
“How’s that?” My forehead creases.
His eyes dart to his boss, like he’s breaking the rules. “Brothers is being pushed pretty hard by the Caudills. They’ve taken a good bit of territory. If Jensen doesn’t help Brothers, well, it won’t be pretty for anybody involved.”
The hair on my neck rises. “Is it really…that bad?”
The bluegrass band starts up again, the fiddle going hard and fast. Everyone is drunk enough, they’re dancing, shaking the floors and rattling the windows. I lean in, but that interim seems to make Angus rethink his words.
“Don’t worry about it, miss,” he shouts. “Shouldn’t have said anything.”
He pushes off the bar to leave. I glance back at Brothers, and for the first time, I think I see a little humanity.
This isn’t all about getting his claws back into Jensen the way he seems to think.
It’s more a matter of survival, a last ditch effort to bring in the best team to take the Caudills out.
A shiver runs down my spine.
I need to get my son and go. My home isn’t safe anymore. It feels like the city is on the cusp of decimation.
Brothers and Jensen split about ten minutes later, and Jensen walks around to disappear into the back room. Brothers hoists himself up on the counter, sliding over and landing on his feet. He puts his hand on the small of my back.
“You give any thought to going back to Leland?” he says.
I freeze, looking ahead. “Is that still what you want?”
“Yes. Go back to Leland like I said, and I will draw him out of the house and provide you a safe route out with your son. But you have to be in the house, ready to go when I say. Understood?”
I stammer, wordless.
“Jensen knows he can’t do this on his own,” Brothers drawls. “We do this my way, or you lose everything.”
The fiddle pauses. Everyone draws a breath.
Then, they clap, and the floor shakes as they shout and the music starts up with a vengeance again.
It’s so fucking loud. Brothers’ touch disappears.
I turn, but he’s already leaning over the counter, shaking hands and accepting congratulations on his win.
The music hurts my head. There are too many people in this room.
My brain is going to explode. I put my fingers to my temples and shut my eyes.
“Come on,” Brothers say, appearing at my elbow again.
Lord, how did he get back so fast? I open my eyes, a glass of bourbon hovering in my vision.
“Drink,” he says. “Tonight is about yesterday. Tomorrow is all about tomorrow.”
I reach for the glass, then hesitate. I’m at a crossroads, being offered a choice. A deal with the devil and a drink to seal it. I turn my head, and he’s so close, I can feel his hot breath on my shoulder. He smells familiar, almost like my father’s aftershave does in my memory.
“What’s your real name?” I breathe. “I know your mother didn’t name you Brothers fucking Boyd.”
“The only reason anybody needs my name is for bedroom purposes,” he says. “You don’t have a use for that, Della.”
My heart thumps in my mouth. My mind races through everything that’s happened since we got back. The swamp, the attack in the gorge, what he’s whispering in my ear right now. It’s all falling into place, his design like dominos tumbling under the great and powerful hand of Brothers Boyd.
Flick, and they all fall, making a path right to my little boy.
“Jensen won’t let me go back to Leland,” I say, watching the back hallway.
“What Jensen doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” he says, stepping back. “Come with me tonight. I’ll take you back to Leland.”
The high of bourbon and horse racing is gone. My breath comes short and fast. The music keeps getting faster, thumping with my heart.
I want to go, now.
Whirling, I push through the dutch doors and run across the floor, bumping directly into a broad figure. It’s Jensen, steadying me, looking concerned. When did he come out of the back? And why does he have a bundle of AKs hanging over his shoulder?
“I’m leaving,” I gasp, darting around him.
He steps back, eyes roaming over me, a crease between his brows. Behind him, I can make out the shape of Brothers leaning on the bar, head cocked, watching us with the smallest smile, like a cat playing with its prey.
My stomach churns.
He knows. He knows I have no choice.
“I’m a little drunker than I thought,” I stammer.
“That’s fine. I’ve got what I came for,” Jensen says. “We can go now.”
Just as the words leave his mouth, a folding chair flies out of nowhere and smacks him across the head.
Dark blood blossoms on his temple. My jaw drops.
He doesn’t move except to reel back. The entire bar goes dead silent.
Brothers is glancing around like he’s trying to figure out who’s responsible.
Click. Someone’s whiskey tips over. It splashes, then drips.
“Who threw that?” Jensen says, still not turning.
A very drunk man lifts his hand. “Sorry… Accident,” he slurs.
Apparently, that’s not an excuse, because Jensen drops the AKs, kicking them back against the counter with the heel of his boot.
He picks up the chair and slings it like a professional pitcher across the room, throwing the man off the table with a shattering crash.
My hand claps over my mouth. The man flies back into the betting station.
The rolling cover splinters. Brothers yells something, but nobody hears him, because suddenly, everyone has a fight to pick with the closest person.
All hell breaks loose. Brothers skids over the counter, snatching me around the waist and hauling me to safety behind the bar.
“Do something,” I gasp.
He ducks through the swinging doors, grabs the nearest man, and punches him in the face.
“I meant stop fighting,” I yell, “not fight more.”
The man turns around and hits Brothers right back. Jensen appears, springing up like a jack-in-the-box, and takes out the man with a right hook.
“Thanks,” says Brothers, face lit up like it’s Christmas morning.
Somehow, it’s Jensen and Brothers against the entire bar, beating the shit out of everyone who gets close enough like a well-oiled machine.
Heart pounding, I reach under the counter and feel around.
There’s no way Brothers doesn’t have a gun in here.
My fingers touch cold metal, and I pull out a vintage Ruger.
It’s the same kind tattooed on Jensen’s dick.
That’s…odd.
A shoe flies over my head and smacks the back wall, taking out a bottle of tequila.
I’m backing away into the furthest point from the fight, gun in my lap in case someone tries something with me.
I don’t think I have to worry. They’re all too occupied fighting the two man powerhouse that is Jensen Childress and Brothers Boyd.
I see it again, blurring over the chaos around me—a glimpse of the past. An explanation as to why it hurt Jensen so badly when Brothers betrayed him.
For all his faults, Brothers Boyd is the man who made Jensen, for good and for ill.
It’s clear, watching them fight together, that they were the dream team once upon a time.
I just know they ran this city into the ground every damn weekend.
Nineteen years and a lot of hurt later, they’re still going strong.
I swallow, the metal of the gun digging into my palm.
Jensen will never let me go back to Leland.
He’s too protective. I saw the way he beat that man’s head, stared through the kitchen window as he did it.
While I’m not sure what to call what he feels, he definitely has very strong feelings toward me.
Whether it’s honor or something else, he’s not letting me walk back into hell.
Which means Brothers is right.
And I have to help him betray Jensen one more time.