Page 6 of Bourbon and Lies

Standing there watching the taillights get smaller, the quiet plays tricks on my ears as the humidity in the air licks at my skin. I lift my hair and knot it high enough to keep it from sticking to my neck.Now what?My lower back is sore from sitting in a car for too many hours, and the fatigue hits me hard.

The shuffle of feet behind me alerts me enough to remember I can’t sleep just yet. “We’ve got an empty cottage on the property that you can call yours while you’re here.” Ace’s voice sounds from the front porch. “But it’s after three in the morning, and I’ll need to get it cleaned up for you first. I wasn’t exactly expecting you.”

“I could sleep just about anywhere right now,” I joke.

He doesn’t smile, just nods in response. “Need help with your things?”

I hold up the red bag covered in bullseyes. It’s not even packed to the brim. But there’s a week's worth of underwear, deodorant, some black liquid eyeliner, mascara, and a bright red lip that looked like a good tone with my new hair color. I didn’tsecond guess the color; I picked what I wanted. I also grabbed a bag of sour gummy bears, but I ate most of it already. A toothbrush and a curling iron. In a rush, apparently, these were my necessities. I’ll figure out extra clothes eventually.

“That all?”

“I didn’t get to pack before I left.” Through the archway at the end of the hall is a kitchen on steroids, stacked with stainless-steel industrial appliances, all lowly lit by recessed lights peppered around the vaulted ceilings.

“Beautiful,” I mumble. “How many people live here?”

He seems amused by my knee-jerk reaction to the impressive size and style of the room. Flicking on an electric tea kettle, he says, “It’s just Griz and me in the main house.” He pauses, mouth kicking up in the corner. “But my brothers aren’t far from here. And they’re here often. I host a lot of business things. Happy hours with my teams.” He looks around. “The space was necessary.”

Saddling up to the sprawling island counter, I choose the end seat from a row of eight. “It’s big.” I clear my throat and think about how the entire grounds, even in the dark, look like the perfect venue for a wedding. “Thank you for saying yes to me staying.”

He pours the boiling water into two cups, with a tea bag in each. Giving me a tight-lipped smile, he says, “You overheard an argument that had less to do with you and more to do with Bea.” His focus drifts to the steaming mug in front of him. “As long as you don’t cause any problems, then you’re welcome here, Laney. For as long as you need. As much as I don’t love strangers on my property or in my business, I’ll make an exception if it gains me a favor I can call in later.”

The way he glances at the clock as he sips from his mug makes me do the same. And the fatigue, that bone-deep tired, crashes over me like I’m trying to stand up in the face ofa tidal wave. I could sleep for days. My limbs are tired and sore, and my mind could use a break from hyper-fixating and overthinking. And that’s when I suddenly feel nervous to sleep. To be somewhere new and all alone.

“I’ll have a job waiting for you when you’re ready. We work hard and it’s busy, but this is a helluva place. Take a few days to get your bearings. It’s not a big city, so it won’t take you very long to get acclimated here.”

He shifts his eyes to my neck as I nod at that suggestion.

I touch the small cuts that surfaced as she screamed and begged me to help her. Her nails grabbed onto whatever she could. It wasn’t to hurt me. It was hysteria and panic. The only visible marks from a night I don’t think I’ll be able to scrub from my memory any time soon.

“I didn’t mean to stare.” He stands from leaning against the counter. “I don’t know the details, but if I had to make bets, my money would be on you, Laney. You’ve got nothing but respect from me.”

I look into the mug, and since I’m not much for a filter, especially right now, I ask, “Shouldn’t respect be earned? Isn’t that the saying?”

“No, not here. There are plenty of people I’ve lost respect for, but people don’t have to earn it with me.” The sincerity in his tone instantly has me never wanting to disappoint or lose it with him. Something tells me that having Atticus Foxx’s respect might go a long way in Fiasco.

“I’m going to head to bed. There’s a guest suite on this floor just on the other side of the butler's pantry. Down that hall. Help yourself to whatever you might need, and I’ll make sure you get a full tour of the grounds tomorrow.”

He walks past me with a nod goodnight.

“This is going to sound…” I shake my head and smile as I turn toward where he was headed. “When you say grounds…?”

He smiles and mutters, “Fucking Bea.” Taking a deep inhale, with frustration on the exhale, he says, “That woman likes to leave nothing but questions in her wake. You’re at Foxx Bourbon. That includes the distillery, cooperage, and rackhouses, and all of it happens on this land. It also happens to be my home. And well”—he winks at me, lightening the mood—“looks like it’s your home now, too.”

If you’re any kind of bartender in any large city where the patrons like to throw money around on expensive alcohol and not just happy-hour drafts, then you’ve poured Foxx Bourbon. I’m good at a few things and exceptional at a handful of others. Bartending fell into the exceptional category before I started planning events with limitless budgets. Foxx Bourbon isn’t some up-and-coming brand or only popular in certain places. No, if you know the difference between scotch, whiskey, and bourbon, then you’ve heard the name Foxx.

I’ve ended up in the heart of Bourbon Country with a new name and a clean slate. And for some reason, when Ace calls this place my home too, my shoulders relax, the weight of what I’m hiding from easing up just enough that I feel lighter than I have in a long time.

Chapter 4

Laney

My body jerks awake,and despite the thick duvet and cool room, I can’t get comfortable. Anxiety wakes me up every twenty minutes. My migraine has calmed, but the exhaustion doesn’t keep me sleeping soundly. I keep seeing the same images over and over again from different angles: torn flesh and blood that wouldn’t stop dripping. At the time, I hadn’t known exactly what we were running from, but we had been leaving a trail. There wasn’t enough time to stop it. The pace was on a constant loop every time I shut my eyes. I didn’t want to fill the prescription meds that the government-issued therapist prescribed to me on our way out of town. Now I regret that decision.

I pull the throw blanket from the bottom of the bed and drape it over my shoulders, walking out the double doors to the patio. The transition from the cool hardwood to the blue slate is a welcome warmth under my bare feet. I tilt my head back, taking in a deep breath of that sugar-dusted smell. The sky’s just starting to turn, with the faintest hues of peach and yellowpainted along the dividing line that separated the earth from the sky.

Horse paddocks are to the left, far enough away that even if there were horses out this early, I wouldn’t be able to see them as anything larger than a speck in the distance. The steps down to the grass are slick with the morning’s dew, but I want to feel it between my toes. There are only a few times I can remember walking barefoot in the grass back at home; during concerts on the main lawn or lazy Sunday picnics in Central Park. Those were plans and a weekend destination. This is a stark contrast to all of it. A quiet change from the concrete, cabs, and smoking grates of a typical morning commute. This is steps from where I slept. It’s Ace’s overly exaggerated backyard.

A quick whistle, followed by “Whoa, girl,” in a low, deep gravel has my head turning so fast it’s entirely possible I’m going to have whiplash. Add it to the roster of things I’ll need to work through. It seems far too early for someone to be riding up on horseback, but then again, I have no idea what people do in Fiasco, Kentucky. Maybe this is entirely normal.

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