Page 3 of Bourbon and Proof

Full set. Brand new.

THE JEWELER

Timeline?

ACE

By sunrise. Between us only. I’ll owe you a favor.

THE JEWELER

My favorite form of payment.

It’s just past midnight, but my colleague will work fast. I know the travel distance and exactly what needs to be done to erase this.

I don’t check for a pulse. If he isn’t dead yet, he will be shortly. There’s too much blood for it to coagulate and clot. One of those nails nicked an artery, pulsing red out in time with his heartbeat that looks like it’s already slowing.

Fuck him for dying so quickly.

I send another text to make sure all loose ends will be tied up if worse comes to worst with witnesses.

ACE

I’m going to need a list of everyone who was at this house tonight.

I pin the address to the Finch estate.

THE ARCHITECT

Easy enough. Any trash to sort?

ACE

Already handled.

As I glance at his slumped-over body, the silver glint of an obnoxious, oversized belt buckle catches my eye. I bend down, flip it open, and take it off him in one quick pull. He doesn’t look like any kind of bull or bronc rider. His lanky body barely looks like he’s worked a day at the ranch, never mind riding pissed-off animals for a living.

I step outside, needing to breathe and think through the kind of repercussions this might bring my way. The ripple effect of someone’s life coming to an end. Someone who has people who’ll look for him. It isn’t regret I’m feeling, but rather theweight of inconvenience. I have people for this. But tonight turned into a clusterfuck I wasn’t prepared for.

Small flashes of lightning illuminate my surroundings, but not a single light shines anywhere amongst the property. The trainers, farrier, and whoever else Finch employs are in their housing on the far side of the property, likely sleeping or still out for the night. I’m pissed that not a soul was here to help Hadley when she needed it. Lincoln mentioned she had her father’s obligatory Independence Day dinner party, and yet nobody’s here.

Just as I pocket my phone, I take a step out onto the dirt road and glance down the main drag, catching on the lights still on at Finch’s estate. I shouldn’t provoke this situation, but there’s a part of me that knows, even with Switcher dead, this won’t be the end of Wheeler Finch pimping his daughter out to the highest bidder. The thought of her being used as a bargaining piece makes my stomach sour.

Bourbon is in my blood—how to make it, age it, sell it, drink it. A Foxx knows bourbon better than anything else. An art form and business that began in backyards and basements. It survived being outlawed, oversold, and under delivered. The point is, it survived. It came back stronger. Better. For just about anyone, it should have been enough. Luck and hard work aren’t the forces that allow our brand to succeed. It’s what we’re willing to color outside of the lines that built its longevity. There’s more to being a Foxx that lingers under the surface. Gray lines and moral compasses that never really pointed due north. Hadley lives among the gray as Wheeler Finch’s daughter. The most important difference is that my family doesn’t use each other. We support, fight for, and protect each other. No matter the cost. Hadley’s been treated as if she’s an expendable commodity. And that makes me want to hurt someone.

The businessman persona is level-headed and strategic. But I have a wicked temper if provoked. And I am fucking provoked.

I turn over the silver buckle in my hands as my cleaner pulls up and gives me a nod. He takes in the situation in front of him and starts to process what will wipe this clean.

“Ace, does that need to disappear?” he asks, looking at what I’m holding.

I give my friend a tight-lipped smile. “Probably.” But I’m walking away before I can think any better of it. I ignore the last bit of cleanup that needs to happen in order to erase James Switcher’s existence from ever being in this stable.

“You look like you’re about to make a bad choice, Foxx,” Julian calls out.

I ignore him. He knows me as well as, if not better than, my brothers sometimes. My brother, Lincoln, had an inkling, but not the level at which I’m willing to cross lines. And right now, I’m fueled by more than anger or even adrenaline—it’s the need to protect someone who means something to my family. To me. Too many people would ignore this and chalk it up to it somehow being Hadley’s fault—saying the wrong thing, wearing the wrong thing, being in the wrong place at the wrong time. No fucking way is this going to be a preamble to what lies ahead for her. It’ll be easier to plant this mess on Hadley’s father, to create a situation that looks like he killed a man in cold blood, but even more than that, I want his daughter out of his business dealings. There has never been a chance for Griz to step in and demand it, but now there’s enough here to threaten him.

Most homes are left unlocked in this part of Kentucky. It’s a bad habit and one that I imagine Wheeler won’t make again. I throw open the front door, not caring that my entry is loud and aggressive. Quiet threats aren’t in my repertoire. At least not tonight.

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