Page 28 of Snake

She’d oversimplified things, but yeah, the Horde, or old ladies of the Horde, owned most of the most profitable businesses in town: Saxon and his family owned Marie’s. Lilli Lunden and Shannon Ryan owned the B&B. Tasha Westby, Len’s old lady, owned the medical clinic. The club itself owned Signal Bend Construction and, with Bart’s old lady, Cory, Valhalla Vin. And several individual patches or their old ladies had owner’s shares—not necessarily controlling, but significant—in various shops and other businesses in town.

Cox did not. He wanted no part of owning anything but his own damn life. He took his share of the profits from SBC and Valhalla because he was a dues-paying patch and the club owned that shit, but there was not an entrepreneurial bone anywhere in him. He had no interest in being any richer than he needed to be to keep himself and his mom sheltered, fed, and secure.

Still, because he was Horde, he was richer than he needed to be. What Autumn had said made him feel like he was on the wrong side of this thing, which irritated the fuck out of him, so he found something to say that might tip the scale back where it belonged. “And you think your fancy strip mall makes that better?”

He knew she resented her ‘Heartland Homestead’ being called a strip mall, it was the stick he’d meant to poke her with, but she ducked this one and answered his real question. “I think every element that revives or replaces a dead building, creates jobs, attracts paying customers to your businesses, makes that better.”

Cox took the opportunity to make some scare quotes of his own. “Your ‘element’ is putting people out of their homes.” With his bandaged hand, he gestured toward her bruised throat. “You ain’t makin’ friends that way.”

She looked away and caught Vince’s attention for her next round, then indicated Cox’s empty bottle as well.

“I’m good,” he said. He’d had five over about—he checked his watch—two hours or so, and he was barely loose, but he had a feeling he’d have an unruly drunken redhead to manage fairly soon, so he was done drinking for the night.

Autumn shrugged and tapped her empty glass again. Vince glanced Cox’s way as if asking him for permission to serve her. He had no interest in actually being her babysitter, so he shrugged to convey as much. Vince nodded and got busy putting her on the express to unruliness.

When she had her next—sixth, he thought (fuck)—Jameson on the rocks, she turned back to him and picked up right where she left off. “I told you we paid over market for every property we’ve purchased, and we’ve upped the offers on the holdouts. We’ve offered to buy out every tenant’s lease and pay their moving expenses, and we’re honoring the lease terms of those who refused that offer. We’re doing everything we can. I’m in trouble because we’re doing so much. If this project fails—"

She cut off abruptly, grabbed her glass, and tossed about half of it back.

“If this project fails, what?” he pressed. That felt like a glimmer of insight—hell, maybe even intel—into why she had her teeth into this thing so deep.

“It doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m doing everything I can to do this the right way.”

A quiver of sympathy climbed his spine. Cox mostly ignored it, but he let it soften his voice a little, and he leaned in. “You’re makin’ people leave houses they’ve lived in for years. People ‘round here ain’t much for change. We don’t move around much, whether we rent or own. I’d need both hands and feet and yours, too, to count out all the folks I know who live in the houses their grandads were born in. Some families’ve been livin’ in the same house since the homestead was claimed, two hundred years ago.”

Autumn sat up straight. She pitched her voice lower and pushed every word out like each one was its own argument. “I’m not making them move. I have no contract with them. I bought property that was willingly sold, and I paid a fair price—more than fair. If you think that’s a raw deal, take it up with their landlords.”

He was glad he’d ignored that momentary impulse for sympathy. Now he sat back and frowned at her, surprisingly disappointed. “That, Ms. Rooney, is how a big-city snake spins the story.”

She blinked. She stared. Cox stared back. Eventually, with a deep, chest-swelling sigh, she turned, finished the rest of her drink, and ordered yet another. This time, Vince didn’t check in with Cox before he poured it.

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~oOo~

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Cox was impressed. This tiny woman had put away a good half-handle of expensive whiskey, and she was only now slipping into deep drunkenness. Even so, she wasn’t sloppy. Just ... flimsy.

They’d spent close to half an hour in near silence while she sipped her next drink and sullenly looked anywhere but his way.

He hadn’t tried to engage her. He meant to stand here and wait her out, whether that meant picking her up when she passed out and fell off her stool, or if she held out until the bar closed.

Finally, she told Vince, “O-kay. Time ‘a go. Needa pay my tab.”

She hadn’t spoken since he’d called her a big-city snake, and her words were now soaked in expensive booze. Listing strongly to starboard, she tried to dig into her jeans pocket—and promptly fell off her stool. If Cox had been standing on her other side, she would have landed on the floor.

But he caught her and kept her on her feet. “You’re right. Time to go, city girl.”

Fuck. Her car was at Marie’s. It was only the length of a couple city blocks away, but ... fuck. Would he have to carry her all that way?

Probably. Great.

To Vince, he said, “Put her on mine.”

“No!” Autumn yelled boozily. “Pu’ me on mine. Thi’swassna date ... s’wassa hossage sisssuasion.”

Cox shook his head. Grinning sympathetically, Vince acknowledged him with a nod.

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