Chapter 42
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Ace
Harper is spending some time with her parents while I'm in for a fun day at the auction. Colten apparently desperately needs this horse, and Hunter is giving us five million to play with. Under his supervision, of course. I’m secretly on a mission to find a new mare for Harper.
But Colt knows what he's doing with this fancy horse shit.
He has a team that travels the country showing them, our family ranch branded on everything.
Trailers, blankets, saddle cloths. It puts our name on the map.
This was what Dad loved. Making sure everyone knew who the Sterlings were. Making sure they remembered.
"This ain't quite a cattle market," I joke, nudging Colten's side as we lean against the rails overlooking the showing area.
He grunts.
"Ace, I just need you to not fuck around today. I need this horse. Alright?" His jaw is tight. Eyes already scanning the arena. He’s on edge, and I’m not sure why.
I straighten my spine. "I'm not sure why you thought bringing me was the right idea if it's that serious."
He runs a hand over his face, then grabs the rail.
"I have regrets, Ace. But weirdly, I wanted to spend some time with my little brother."
I frown. "Why? You worried about me?"
He laughs as they bring out the first mare, price tag of five hundred thousand flashing on the board.
"Not worried. No. You seem good since Harper came back."
I smile. "I am. That's why."
He nods, but he’s quiet for a beat. "And what happens if it doesn't work out again? What happens to you then, Ace? That's my concern." He still doesn't look at me. "You jumped on the back of a bull that could have killed you, and that was when your mind was sound."
The words sit between us, heavier than they should be.
"If it goes wrong again, I ain't going to do anything stupid, Colt. It'll hurt. But it ain't happening."
He claps me on the shoulder. Squeezes once. "You've always got us, Ace. Remember that."
I swallow. Are they seeing something I'm not?
"Ace." Hunter's voice from behind me. I turn. He's walking in with most of the guys from the ranch. Not a casual amount either. Hunter looks like he’s turning up to a fight.
I glance at Colt. He shrugs, all he cares about is bidding on this damn horse.
Paulie and Xander take positions by the doors as Hunter approaches.
"What's up?" I ask.
Hunter runs his thumb along his lip. "Ranch 42 are here. With the Greeks. This is just a precaution. Colt needs this fuckin’ horse."
"What the fuck do they need with horses? They wouldn't know how to ride one, let alone show one. Even Carson is shit at that."
Ranch 42 ain’t known for being good at what they do.
Hunter laughs. "Exactly my point."
He looks past me. I follow his gaze, and sure as shit, there they are.
The usual suspects from Ranch 42. The same ones we beat bloody at the bar on my birthday.
Except this time they've got company. Greek bodyguards by the look of it, big men in expensive jackets that don't belong at a horse auction.
I clench my fists. The pieces fit together. There’s only one reason why two mafia families would be here over a horse.
"Colt." I turn to my brother. "What is so special about this horse?"
He doesn't blink. "The price ain't for the animal. It's for the coke I get with her when she's delivered." He pauses and tips his hat back. "She is a fucking great horse, though. She'll make us the money back on her own."
"Incredible," I laugh.
Won’t be so funny when I have to help haul the supply to Mikhail Volkov in Vegas, though.
"Well, that figures out that riddle," Hunter mutters.
"Any news on Carson's whereabouts?" I ask him.
He shakes his head. "Not yet. Enzo and Romeo are on it. Just gotta sit tight. They heard chatter about him being in LA, but I doubt it."
I arch a brow. "Would make sense, though. If we can't step foot there, and neither can Enzo, then in a fucked-up way, he's kind of protected. So long as Gianna doesn't find out."
A shiver runs down my spine. Every day, the web gets deeper, and all I can think about is Harper sitting right in the middle of it. Which reminds me.
"Hunter, I need you to read this and approve it. Gianna wants a meeting with you and details about us. Me and Harper stayed up last night writing something I think should keep her happy. Get her out of Harper's hair for a while."
I pull the folded paper from my back pocket and shove it at him.
"You about to pull out some glasses, old man?" I tease.
In reality, he’s only seven years older than me.
He snatches the paper, unfolds it, and starts reading.
"What is this, a fucking autobiography? Jesus."
"Shut up. I worked hard on that."
He turns the page. "Wow. Even the date of Dad's death. You really got invested in the Sterling lore."
I shrug. "Look, I'm giving a lot of nothing dressed up as something. Are we good for Harper to type it up and send it to Gianna?"
Hunter hands it back. "Yeah. Fine. She ain't getting her meeting, though. I'm not interested." He stops. “Yet.”
I run my hand over my jaw. "She said to tell you she's your enemy's enemy."
Hunter and Colt both laugh. "Yeah. Still our enemy, though. Let's watch this play out before we start inviting the devil onto our doorstep. We got our leverage, we know we can outgun the Greeks and Ranch 42."
I nod. We don't go looking to start wars. But if we get dragged into one, we aim to end it.
"Shut the fuck up, both of you," Colten hisses. "They're announcing her."
The auctioneer's voice booms through the speakers, and the arena goes quiet.
"Lot seventeen, ladies and gentlemen. Sovereign's Gold.
Four-year-old American Quarter Horse, AQHA registered, sired by Shining Spark out of a Colonel Freckles dam.
Fourteen national halter points, three reserve championships, and undefeated in her last eight showings across the Southwest circuit.
Starting bid is set at three million dollars. "
She walks into the arena, and even I have to admit it. She's something.
Sixteen hands. The palomino coat so bright she looks like she's been dipped in honey and polished with a cloth. Muscled through the shoulder and hindquarters, clean legs. Her handler barely has to guide her. She moves through the arena with every step placed and powerful.
Three fuckin’ million though. Well, and a shit load of coke.
Colten hasn't blinked.
"Here we fuckin’ go," he says under his breath.
"Three million to start," I mutter. "We've got five."
Surely this will be a steal.
"We'll need it."
The auctioneer opens the floor, and the first paddle goes up immediately. Three million from a rancher near the front, I don't recognize him.
"Three-one," Colten says, lifting our paddle.
Three-two from across the room. Three-three from the front row.
Colt doesn't flinch. "Three-five."
It climbs fast. By the time it hits four million, half the room has dropped out. There are three paddles left. Ours. The rancher in the front row, who's starting to sweat. And a paddle on the far side of the arena, held by a man I do this time know the face of.
Jake Holloway. Ranch 42. Carson's right hand. Standing with two of the Greek bodyguards flanking him.
"There it is," Hunter says quietly behind me.
Four-one. Holloway.
"Four-two," Colten says calmly.
Four-three. The front-row rancher. He's done a second later when Holloway jumps to four-five, and he shakes his head. It's just us and them now.
I’m holding my breath.
"Four-six," Colten says.
"Four-seven." Holloway doesn't even pause. He's not thinking about numbers. He's not calculating margins or show returns or breeding value. He's spending someone else's money for one reason, and that reason is standing right next to me.
They're here to outbid us. To take something we want because they can. Because the Greeks are bankrolling it, and the only currency that matters to them is making the Sterlings bleed.
They want to show us, even after the shit they pulled with Hunter, that they can get to us. But all their other plans failed. My brother ain’t in jail. And the two men of ours who turned are both in unmarked graves.
"Four-eight," Colt says.
"Four-nine." Holloway turns and looks directly at us for the first time and smiles. The kind of smile you want to put your fist through.
I look at Colten. His jaw is set so tight I can see the muscles jumping. Four-nine. We've got five. One more bid and we're at the ceiling.
"Five million," Colten says.
The auctioneer looks at Holloway. The whole arena looks at Holloway.
He lifts his paddle.
"Five-one."
"Motherfucker," Colt breathes.
I turn to Hunter. He's already looking at me. That calculation behind his eyes, running the math. What it means to lose this horse to Ranch 42 in front of every rancher in the state. What it says about the Sterlings if we walk away.
"Hunter," I say.
He holds my gaze for three seconds. Then he nods at Colten, just once.
One million more. That's what that nod is worth.
"Five-five," Colten calls out, and his voice doesn't waver.
The arena murmurs. That's a half-million jump. A statement bid.
Holloway's smile falters. He turns to the Greek beside him. The Greek guy shakes his head.
The auctioneer's voice cuts through. "Five-five million on the floor. Do I hear five-six? Five-six anywhere?"
Holloway stares at us. His paddle doesn't move.
"Five-five going once."
Nothing.
"Going twice."
Silence.
"Sold. Sovereign's Gold to Sterling Ranch for five-point-five million dollars."
Colten exhales. He doesn't celebrate, not even the faintest grin. Just adjusts his hat and says, "Good horse."
I clap him on the back. "Good horse that just cost us an extra million."
"She's worth it. I ain’t let this family down yet," he says.
And he’s right.