Page 16 of Bourbon and Lies

I drop my burger on my plate and give him my bestare you fucking serious?look.

He barks a laugh. “You lose your edge, Foxx?”

“Just my appetite now,” I tell him, wiping my hands on my wad of paper-thin napkins. I take a swig of my sweet soda. “And we didn’t deal with that type of shit here.”

He nods in agreement, looking down at his plate, and I want to pull back the words I just muttered. It didn’t matter what we saw or arrested in Fiasco, no matter how mundane or fucked up a call might have been, none of them would compare to the one where his daughter was the victim. We may not have had cannibals or mass murderers, but plenty of bad things happen, even in our small town.

“Heard there’s a new tenant living on the Foxx compound,” he says, changing the subject.

I watch Marla dry the glasses that just came from the steaming washer beneath the counter. She’s not fooling anyone, trying to listen to whatever gossip Del is pitching.

But before I can refute it, Wheeler Finch, Hadley’s father, pipes in from behind us. “City girl. Heard she was keeping your brother company the past couple of nights too.”

His laugh makes his stomach shake the table in front of him. I didn’t realize he was here. Maybe I am losing my edge. I usually know exactly who and what’s happening around me.And knowing when Wheeler and his business partner, Waz, were present should always be one of those times. I’ve never liked Hadley’s family. Her father especially. He loves to throw money at anything that’ll take it as long as it gets him what he wants. He owns most of the horse trainers working in Kentucky, which means he gets an inside ear on what thoroughbreds look like winners. He’s built an empire, similar to what my brother has built, but they’re nothing alike. Ace is respected. Wheeler is feared.

“Didn’t realize you were taking over for the book club ladies and starting rumors around here, Wheeler.” I hate that he’s talking about her, never mind trying to fuel the fact that she spent the night with my brother. I hate even more that I can’t stop thinking about her thick thighs and the way she had no problem trying to put me in my place.

“It’s not gossip when I know it’s a fact.”This fucking guy.

Del moves his hand to my forearm, and then has a wordless exchange with Marla, who looks up from her phone and moves toward the tables. One more word. That’s all I need and then I’ll have no problem getting in Wheeler Finch’s face. It’s clear as day that I need to hit my heavy bag.

Del leans closer. “Not worth it, Grant. I’m not going to be able to look past you decking that rich fuck in the face. You know he’ll press charges. On top of that, you don’t need to make that water between his family and yours any muddier.”

To be clear, the only people I’ve ever punched are my brothers. When we were younger, it was over dumb shit. When Linc was nine and saw his first WWE wrestling match, he decided I was his ultimate opponent. It took a few years before I could really give him a run for his money. It was playful back then. As we got older, it was Ace who was the hothead. And Lincoln was always there for backup, regardless of consequences. They had gotten into their fair share of fightsgrowing up, but none of them resulted in an arrest because of our last name. And into our twenties, I knew they skated over some legal lines, but they didn’t involve me in that. I had always wanted to be a cop.

My brothers are the fighters, and they respect that I’m not. I wasn’t getting into fights on their behalf, but they were there to either intercept or take over if someone said something out of line. That’s the funny thing about Fiasco—there aren’t many people backing down from a fight. Verbal or otherwise. When Fiona died, and then we lost Olivia right after, nothing made much sense to me. It was Ace who folded me back into the family business and then put up a heavy bag. He said, “Go to work, and then work it out. But don’t get lost in the bottle or in bar fights.” He was my big brother, and even though he was hurting too, he made sure we’d survive it.

The last name Foxx carried a lot of weight in this town. For most, it was who made the best bourbon in Kentucky. For a few who knew our history, we were the brothers who knew too much loss. But for those born and raised in Fiasco, it was the curse that we had been dealt. It was never discussed, at least in our presence, but Wheeler’s lackey didn’t get that memo. “She’ll be gone soon enough. Everyone knows a Foxx can’t keep a woman alive for very long anyway,” he laughs out. Both men think they have the right to say that kind of shit and get away with it... Not today.

I’m moving for their table before I’ve even made up my mind to do it. At the exact same time, Lincoln walks through the front door, knocking Waz’s shoulder, as he keeps the same fast pace moving toward me. His momentum with his hand on my chest pushes me back to the kitchen. “The fuck you come from, Linc?”

Wheeler laughs boisterously behind him and Waz has that smug look on his face, like this all is just a bit of dinner entertainment for them. If I didn’t know any better, I would havethought it was perfect timing, but I did. I guarantee Marla texted Lincoln as soon as Wheeler opened his fat mouth. It would have been luck if he were on his way home from the distillery.

“Ease up,” Lincoln grits out. My big brother isn’t the bigger one anymore. He might have a couple of inches on me, but I had a good twenty pounds on him. When he shoves me out the door, I go back for him. He darts away, but he’s not fast enough for the right jab that follows. It misses his nose, but nails him in the left eye.

“Fucking shit,” he yells out and then crouches low.

I don’t expect his shoulder to plow right into my gut. I hit the mud and gravel with a thud. It knocks the air out of me and embeds a good handful of rocks into my ass and back. I try to push him off me, but he gets in two punches to the kidney that’ll likely have me hurting tomorrow.

“Fuck! Get off.”

“You done?” he yells back, out of breath.

I sit up, resting my arms on my bent knees. “Yeah. I’m done.”

“Weak jab,” he says, spitting next to where he’s kneeling.

“Fuck you,” I laugh.

“You know I’m right.” He stops smiling and asks, “What happened?”

I grab his outstretched hand to help me up. “That dipshit started running his mouth.”

“Shit. Kinda wished you got a shot in before I got here, then,” he laughs. “’Bout what?”

I shake my head.

“Anything to do with the new girl you’re acting weird around?”

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