Page 8 of Dark Horse

“Slapping them. Dumping ice water on them,” I fire back.

“Yeah, well after all that, they need the fucking ice water.” His eyes follow me as I drop the used wipes and wrappers in the trash on the far side of the kitchen.

“I’m doing just fine. Those guys are paying fifty dollars for a half shot of Jack and a glass of ice water.”

“Christ,” he curses, shaking his head.

“See. You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t clever.” He shakes his head. “I just said it’s asking for trouble. Lawsuits. Guys thinking it’s an invitation for more when you—” He stops short.

“When I do what?” I dare him to finish his sentence.

“You know what you’re doing.” His eyes lift to meet mine.

“I don’t think what I do with my body is any of your business. And if they think it’s an invitation, that’s their problem.” This is exactly why I hid everything when he got here.

“I would fucking make it their problem. But if Jesse was here…” His gaze drifts to the toolbox that has Jesse’s initials engraved into the side.

Grant has a point there. No way in hell would Jesse ever let me sell that shot if he was still alive. He’d be giving me the same lecture Grant is, but I’d be talking back less. Because I looked up to Jesse. Grant is… complicated.

“Well, he’s not, and someone has to pay the bills.”

“I thought things were doing better?” His head snaps up, and he looks at me with surprise. “You said New Year’s and Valentine’s were good.”

“They are. People still come here. But the competition around here is stiff.” I narrow my eyes at him, andhe has the decency to look a touch sheepish. The Avarice’s new bar is slowly drawing some of my regulars away with its fancy specials and glittery new interior. Not that I want to admit that to him outright.

“We don’t have the same clientele,” he notes defensively.

“We don’t? You’re telling me that those college guys wouldn’t be at your bar if you had hotter bartenders?”

“My bartenders are plenty fucking hot. I hand selected most of them, and we don’t charge fifty dollars for an underpoured shot.” His jaw ticks with irritation, and I stand straighter as I imagine him handpicking his staff.

“You also don’t deliver that shot with a side of public humiliation that gets his friends cheering and him wondering what kink he’s been missing his whole life.” I press my lips together, shaking my head as I cross my arms in challenge.

“What kink he’s been…” he scoffs. “Do you hear yourself? Do you run a bar or a sex club?” he asks derisively. I inhale sharply and bite my tongue to keep from snapping at him. I wish I had a whole bottle of alcohol to douse his wound with.

“Whatever I have to run to keep the doors open and the lights on.” Every time he tells me not to do something—it just makes me want to do it that much more.

“Again, Jesse would—”

“I don’t give a shit what Jesse would or wouldn’t do. He’s not here. He’s gone because of decisions he made—the two of you made, really. So let’s not pretend either of you was particularly good at them. I make my own decisions, and I don’t give a shit what you think of them. You’re not my brother, Grant. You have zero say. I’m tired of you treating me like I’m some lost sibling of yours who needs your constant oversight.” I lash out, and I hate how bitter I sound and how invested I am in his approval—the way his lack of support for anything I do grateson my nerves until they’re raw enough to make me say things like this.

Grant stiffens and then stands. He grabs his jacket off the chair without another word and heads for the door.

“I’ll call a handyman in the morning. He should be able to fix that for you.” He’s terse now, all business, and it pricks that he’s refusing to even fight back. He always fights back. It’s just the way we work through things. We’re both too strong-willed to cede ground easily.

“Don’t you want your rent? If you give me a second, I can get it for you.” I’m just trying to buy time; find some way I can apologize for the bitchy thing I said without letting him think he’s run the board. But if I apologize now, he’ll seize it. He’ll see me as weak, someone he can manipulate. Just like everyone else in this town.

“Fine.” He pauses at the doorway.

Unfortunately for me, I forgot the part where I need to ask him for a pass on a few hundred dollars-ish of the rent. A thing I’m fairly certain is gonna go over like a lead balloon now. I cringe as I go to my safe.

“I’m a little short this month,” I say softly as I press the code into the door.

“How short?” he asks in a scolding tone.

“A thousand.”

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