Chapter Fourteen
The road stretched black and narrow under his tires, moonlight catching the faded lines like scars on old skin.
The town was mostly closed by now. One stoplight blinking slow, one late freight train moaning past the ridge. Crickets thick in the ditches. Somebody’s dog barking like hell at nothing. The kind of quiet that knew how to keep secrets.
He pulled up to the bar around eleven, tires crunching gravel he used to know by sound. One truck in the lot. A battered sedan. Lainey’s Jeep.
Good. Quiet night.
He stepped inside, boots hitting worn floorboards, and let the screen door whisper shut behind him. The place smelled like old cedar, spilt whiskey, and fryer grease that hadn’t died yet. Same torn vinyl stools. Same cracked mirror over the rail. Everything dulled by time but still standing.
She was behind the bar. Alone.
Lainey Claiborne.
Blonde hair up in a twist, tank top clinging to her shoulder blades, that silver chain still riding the hollow of her throat.
She was wiping down the counter like it’d said something rude.
Didn’t look up at first—just kept moving slow and steady, hips swaying like the metronome of a song only she could hear.
Ethan slid onto the stool at the far end. Not too close. Just in range.
Lainey clocked him in the mirror, lips twitching. “Look what the cat dragged in. Again.”
“Something like it.” He scratched his jaw. “You still got coffee?”
Lainey laughed under her breath and set a clean mug down in front of him. “You’re the only man I’ve ever known to roll in here after dark and ask for caffeine. Should I be worried?”
“Not unless you’re lying to me.”
Her eyes flicked up, sharp. He met them without blinking.
Coffee poured, hot and bitter. She added nothing. Neither did he.
The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was honest. Familiar. He wrapped both hands around the mug and let the heat settle into his fingers. His spine uncoiled one notch.
“Long day?” she asked, voice soft now.
“Longer night.”
Lainey leaned on her elbows, arms folded, cleavage just enough to distract a lesser man. “And what brings the watchful Mr. Kane back through my door?”
Ethan let the question hang. Took a sip.
Burnt. Strong. Good.
“I just came from Houston’s place,” he said eventually. “He’s got a nice house. Good beer. Tight lips.”
Lainey huffed a laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”
“He’s nervous,” Ethan added. “More than he should be.”
“And you think I know why?”
“I think you see more than you say.”
Her smile didn’t fade, but something behind it cooled. “Careful, Ethan. You’re starting to sound like the old you.”
“Maybe I am.”
They stared at each other across the wood, night pressing soft against the windows. The fan above hummed like it was too tired to fight. Somewhere in the back, a freezer kicked on and rattled. He could smell her shampoo, something clean and citrus. Something that didn’t belong to this town.
She poured herself a splash of ginger ale and sipped. “You’re not here for company. You’re not here to drink. You’re not here for me.”
“Didn’t say that,” Ethan said. “Maybe I’m just here to think.”
Lainey raised her glass in mock salute. “Well then. Here’s to thinking. Just don’t think too loud—I’m the only one on shift and I hate cleaning up messes after midnight.”
Ethan’s grin was quick, mean, and gone.
He sipped again. Let the burn settle deeper. Let the silence work for him.
Lainey leaned back, watching him like a cat that didn’t trust the mouse to stay in its hole. “If you’re looking for trouble, Kane, you’re gonna find it. But it won’t come in the form you expect.”
Ethan’s jaw flexed. “That’s the thing about trouble. It wears a lot of faces.”
His mind ticked back to Amara. Her mouth, still kiss-bruised. Her father, dead by his own hand. Or maybe not. Thetus Hollis, looming like a storm on the horizon. Kaleb Wooldridge with a bullet in his skull.
He again caught his reflection in the mirror behind the bar. Rougher than ever. Scarred. But his gaze turned to Lainey as she returned to the bar slow, hips in no hurry, after delivering two longnecks and a plate of fried pickles to the only table still open.
Ethan didn’t move. Just watched.
Lainey grabbed her ginger ale and took a long sip. “You still brooding, or you finally gonna order something?”
He gave her a half-grin. “You offering to drink with me?”
She cocked a hip, lips parting just enough to toy with him. “That depends. You planning to learn anything?”
He let the pause stretch, then leaned forward on his elbows, voice low and rough. “I’m all ears, sweetheart. Just gotta know which direction to aim them.”
Lainey’s lashes dipped as she pulled out two glasses, a heavy pour of whiskey in both. Hollis Whiskey. Her smile was sharp now, like a match about to be struck.
“Cheers,” she said, handing him a glass.
They raised them together, eyes locked. And he took a long pull.
“Lainey.” He put his glass down. “Last time I was here, you were saying something about the James property.”
Lainey exhaled, tucked a strand of hair back from her cheek. Her voice dropped, not soft—but lower, private. “I’m only saying this ’cause Amara won’t. And ’cause I care about her. Not ’cause you’ve still got those fuck-me eyes you think get you everything.”
Ethan smirked. “They work half the time.”
She rolled her eyes but leaned in anyway.
“This place,” she said, tapping the counter lightly, “used to be just a bar, run by some good ole boy. Now Hollis runs it, more of his side show through this building than most people know. Poker games in the back. Couriers. Sometimes a girl or two ends up here and I don’t ask questions, but I fucking notice. ”
Ethan’s jaw ticked. He didn’t interrupt.
“Lainey…” he murmured, all gravel and patience.
She looked at him hard. “All I know is Thetus wants the south line.”
“Not the whole farm?” Ethan asked.
Lainey shook her head. “Nope. Doesn’t want the house. Doesn’t want the barns. Doesn’t give a damn about the beans. He wants that southern strip—brush land, rock ridge, runs clean from the east fence out to the old quarry road.”
“Why?”
She leaned in again, voice barely audible over the hum of the bar fridge. “Because he wants a private route. Not for oil, not gas. Something else. A road nobody sees. Straight from Hollis Whiskey out toward the ridge. Away from Nashville. Away from questions.”
Ethan tightened his grip on the coffee.
“But Sarge turned him down.”
She nodded. “Told him no. Said he didn’t want blood money for dirt he bled to keep. I was in here the night Thetus got word of it. Broke a glass in his hand and didn’t flinch. Just stood there bleeding like it meant nothing. Said ‘we’ll handle it’ and left.”
Ethan’s stomach went cold. “And Amara?” he asked.
“She knows something ain’t right. But she won’t say it. She’s scared.”
He stared at the amber swirl in his glass.
Lainey leaned in once more, voice hot in his ear. “You got your answer, Kane. So what now? You gonna go save her?”
Ethan looked up slow, met her eyes like a dare. “You hear anything, you see anything—you call me, okay?”
“All right,” she said, smiling like she knew better. “Only because you asked nicely.”
He didn’t reply. Just slid off the stool, tossed a bill on the bar, and let the door swing wide into the night behind him.
Truck still warm. Night still thick. And now, finally, a thread he could pull hard enough to bleed someone.