Page 58 of Bourbon and Secrets

I keep playing back Cortez’s words—if anything feels off, then get out of there. It’s like telling someone to “be safe.” It doesn’t add value other than the fact they didn’t want to see you hurt. Of course I’ll pay attention and listen to my instincts—I’ve been operating solo like this for a while now.

The car ride is quick, but I feel prepared. My make-up and jewelry, along with the weapons and the killer dress, are all a mask as I stroll up the stairs and over the red carpet leadinginto the estate. When I pass by another few security guards stationed along the main hall, I catch Blackstone’s wandering eyes canvassing my body. I shake off the grotesque shiver it pulls from me and smile instead.

“Rosie,” Blackstone says as he greets me at the threshold of the main ballroom. “You’re the prettiest little thing I’ve seen in a long time.” He kisses along my knuckles, his wet lips slobbering more than is necessary, but I do my best to school my grossed-out reaction. “Is my girl ready for me to taste tonight?” Holding up my arm, he guides me to show him a 360-degree view of what I’m wearing. I’ve already calmed my mind and made sure I’d be fully settled into my role as Rosie Gold tonight. Had I not, I would have retched all over the Brioni tux that looked a size too small around his neck and arms.

I force a coy smile and step into his embrace. “Brock, I’m always ready.”

“Good.” He raises his hand and signals a waitress over. “I’ll take a whiskey ginger and please bring a glass of champagne for my beautiful girl.” Grabbing my hand, he kisses my knuckles again.More slobber.“Come, I want to show you off.”

A ballroom like this should be bathed in rich colors and warm lighting, but instead it feels cold, stark, and almost sterile. With its modern design and clean lines, generic grays and cool-toned blacks, it’s the opposite of what most people from Fiasco would consider “rich.” The people gathered in groups throughout aren’t much better. Designer tuxedos on men who are only slightly engaged in their conversations, because each one we pass turns their head to either smile or study.

It’s not until Blackstone pulls me onto his lap, his fingers digging into my hips, that I realize he meant heliterallywants to show me off. Every single person who greets him has also been introduced to me—hisRosie Gold. Perched on his leg as my pedestal. If I wasn’t working to keep a tally of every bigname I recognize, repeating their names back to them so that they’re properly recorded, then I would have been disgusted by the smell of his breath that lingers along my skin. Or the way he moves his palm down from my hip to the hem of my dress. It takes a great deal of focus not to flinch each time. I purposefully try not to linger on one face or place for too long. My pulse races as I take in the headcount and try to remember the items in the shipping documents. Would I be able to place items with people I’ve been introduced to? I’m too in my head about all the items that need to be remembered here.

It’s why I don’t notice the small group of men approaching. Not until I see Blackstone raise his arm, signaling the group closer as he says, “Gentlemen. Come and join us.”

Chapter 20

Lincoln

Pain radiatesthrough my knuckles as the first two split open, the impact traveling up my forearm and into my elbow. I shake it out at the same time Joel spits blood and a succession of apologies that I’ve gone numb to at this point. Apologies mean less when you’re pummeling someone to make a point.

“Linc, man. I didn’t mean to do it?—”

I flex my hand and cut off his lie. “You didn’t mean to drop a case into your trunk? You didn’t mean to use your key card at 3:43 a.m. to come to the distillery and help yourself to a barrel of bourbon?” I rest my hands on my waist as I watch this man, whom I’ve shared drinks with at picnics, lie to my face that he hasn’t been stealing from us for the past six months.

“I needed the extra money, man. I got bills and people I owe.”

“Look at me, Joel.” I point to my face. “You worked for us. You earned a paycheck and full benefits. But you know that’s where it ends.” I cock my arm back and give him one last punch to the gut, just below his ribs.

“Alright,” Ace says from behind me. “I think he understands. Right, Joel? You understand?”

He coughs and nods his head.

“I’m going to need to hear you say it, Joel.”

“I understand,” he says.

“Good,” Ace says as he types away on his phone. “Linc, we need to get going.”

Joel looks at me with a bloodied nose and lip, searching for what I’m going to say next.

“Your job will be waiting for you on Monday,” I tell him as I clip off the zip tie that I used to bind his hands around the loading dock railing.

“You’re not firing me?”

“Your daddy worked here, Joel. And your uncle.” Griz speaks up from the far side of the room. “I don’t think they’d feel much pride in knowing their last name was associated with stealing from a brand they’ve helped build.” He clears his throat and the easy-going nature of Griswald Foxx slips away in these moments. Instead, it’s the man who built this brand with an iron fist. This was always how he did business—we learned by example. “You've been here for just over twenty years now yourself. Why would we fire you, Joel? From where I’m standing, you just tasted what’s waitin’ if something like this happens again, am I right?”

Swallowing roughly, he nods. “Yeah, Griz.”

“Good. Go clean yourself up. I’ll see you on Monday—expect unpaid overtime until you can work off what you stole.”

A white towel hits me in the face. “Let’s go,” Ace says.

“I’m driving,” I say as I wrap my hand. “Griz, you good to get home?”

He smiles at me. “Golf cart is juiced up. You boys go have some fun.”

“Haven’t had to do that in a while,” I say, rounding the front of my Jeep to leave the distillery. I unbutton my suit jacket to get in. There are two spots of blood on my white shirt, which is fine by me. I have an all-black tux dry cleaned and waiting for me.

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