Page 57 of Bourbon and Proof

“What do they want?”

“Wheeler owed them money—quite a bit, from what I can tell. That, and he likely promised more jobs, but I’m not sure what else. I’ll get you answers...” Seraphine says with a slow smile that lets me know she has them tied up somewhere, ready to be interrogated. It’s laced with a twinge of giddiness that scares most people. And only a select few of us know the real reason why.

Hadley comes walking around the corner just as I’m about to ask another question, her head down, eyes focused on her phone. My new wife isn’t going to be happy to see Seraphine again, and I’m not in the right headspace to explain what she’s doing here.

“We need to wrap up this discussion,” I say, watching Hadley getting closer.

“That’s fine. Care to dirty up that suit a little? Julian will be here for cleanup by midnight. Leaves us with a little time for some Q&A.”

I don’t get my hands dirty often. That’s what she and Julian are for, among some other colleagues I’ve made over the years. But this is personal, and I’m fucking pissed. I give her a curt nod.

“We should look more closely at the last few names on this list. Figure out if they’re going to be a problem,” she says.

“We can look into them, but I’m not going to make any decisions just yet,” I tell her. I’m not going to get rid of people unless they prove me right. I trust people; it’s one of the few things I want to keep. Trust isn’t something that needs to be earned with me, only taken away.

Seraphine turns on her chair and covertly says, “You might want to tell your bride you're going to be home a bit late, then,” as she nods toward the bar. “She doesn’t look very happy to see me.”

When I shift my focus, I’m met with glaring blue eyes. She looks down the front of me as she folds her arms and smacks on a piece of gum. There’s not an ounce of amusement on her face as she says, “Already breaking agreements, husband?”

Fuck. I know this doesn’t look good, and she’s right to think I have something to hide.

“It’s not like that, Hadley.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Oh yeah?” With her hands on her hips, a sarcasim-laced look of amusement aims my way. “Mind telling me what it’s like, then? Because I’m making all sorts of assumptions.”

I kick back the rest of what’s in the glass. I'm not processing any of this with logic, only emotions. The fact that there were dangerous men trying to intimidate her is enough to set my blood to boiling. Add in that these two tried stealing her horses and have been wrapped up in her father’s dealings. I’m not interested in talking about anything right now. “Then you can assume what I’m telling you is the truth,” I say, turning on my heel, fully prepared to deal with the fallout of this later.

“And I’m just supposed to believe that?” Her voice raises from behind me.

I don’t respond as I move up the stairs and out of Midnight Proof. I hate the insinuation—that she can’t trust me. But she’s right; there’s plenty I’m keeping from her. And the relationship I have with Seraphine is just the tip of it.

My fist hitshis cheekbone on the first jab, and he smiles and slurs out, “Suka.”

“You like that?” I smile back.

“I think he just called you a bitch,” Seraphine says as she sucks on a red lollipop, perched on a metal barrel in the corner.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” The cracking sound with my left hook is followed up by a grunt and a stream of blood and spit. A broken nose usually adds enough dramatics to get people talking. “Say it again,” I seethe.

His accent is faint, but recognizable, when he says, “He said his daughter wouldn’t be a problem.”

Two more hooks have my knuckles splitting. I take a step back and try to catch my breath.

Seraphine crosses her arms, as if this was boring her. “Ace, I have other, moreeffectiveways to get what you want from him.” She glances at an ice pick and mallet that are laid out on the bench beside her. The old tobacco mill along the edge of town is abandoned and condemned, which means there won’t be anyone around to witness any of this.

I throw an elbow against his jaw, and his head snaps to the left, where his friend is silent and bleeding out from the slices along his torso, courtesy of my colleague.

“What were you doing at Finch & King Stables? And this time, I’d like something that resembles the truth.”

He spits out a jumble of words in Russian, before answering, “We have not been paid what’s owed. So, we collect. The horses. He said the girl might be worth something?—”

I cut him off with another punch, only this time, I don’t stop. I know exactly who they’re referring to, and I could guess whowould give them the green light to take what they wanted if they weren’t paid. When I take a deep breath and twist, driving my elbow clean across his face, the eye that had quickly swelled closed busts open, spurting blood along my arm. My knuckles hurt, but I’m long past the point of caring about a little bit of pain. The thought of either of these men coming near my wife is enough to throw my fists without letting up, the only sound bringing me any sense of relief being my fists colliding with his flesh. When I’m satisfied, and he’s unconscious, I give Seraphine a nod, and she finishes the job. They were never walking out of here, not after knowing what they were capable of and how close they had come to hurting Hadley.

“You never get this angry,” Seraphine says as I wipe my hands. “This is about the one you married, isn’t it?”

I glance at her, trying to calm my breathing and ease the adrenaline.

“The one who you’ve mentioned before. Your brother’s best friend. The one you look out for.”

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