Page 9 of The Bourbon Bet
“Can’t I? Who do you think the property managers listen to? Who has connections with every major bank in Kentucky? Hell, throughout the U.S?” The threat emerges as a hushed promise. “I can ruin her, Sebastian. Not just evict her—destroy her. She’ll never recover.”
My hands curl into fists. “This is blackmail, Thorne. You’re using an innocent woman as collateral damage in your power play.”
My brother’s smile doesn’t falter. “I prefer to think of it as creative negotiation, but you can call it what you want. Business leverage. Incentive structure.”
“There’s nothing creative about it,” I snap. “Are you really willing to destroy an innocent woman’s livelihood over our feud? Commit actual criminal extortion?”
“Don’t be so dramatic.” He waves his hand dismissively. “In bourbon and business, we all use the leverage we have. Dad taught us that, didn’t he?”
“Dad never taught us to be criminals,” I growl, but it’s more from frustration than indignation. Our father had his own moral blind spots when it came to getting what he wanted.
Thorne shrugs. “If your precious principles are too expensive for you, then refuse the bet. I’ll continue with the eviction process and follow through on everything else I promised,” he says in a silky whisper. “But if you accept and she proves me wrong about her character, I’ll not only leave Kentucky, but I’ll sign over ownership of the building to her. She’ll never have to worry about eviction again.”
“And if I lose?” The words scrape my throat.
“You step down as master distiller. The position is mine, as it should have been all along. And you sell me your controlling shares at half their value.”
“That’s absurd,” I scoff.
“Is it?”
I stare at my brother, seeing the malice behind his smile. “Yes. You’re threatening to demolish everything she’s built. All because you’re pissed Dad named me head of Blackstone Bourbon.”
Thorne doesn’t answer, just continues to stare at me. I’m trapped. If I agree to this twisted wager, any genuine connection I might have built with Rosalia will be poisoned from the start. I’ll be courting her under false pretenses, manipulating her to win a bet. And even if she passes his test, even if she chooses loyalty to me over saving her store, how could I ever tell her that our relationship began as a bargaining chip? The thought of her warm brown eyes turning cold with betrayal makes my chest tighten.
“What’s to stop me from telling her everything the moment we’re alone?” I challenge.
His smile turns predatory. “The agreement will state that if you tell her or hint at our arrangement in any way, you forfeit immediately. Meaning, I’ll win. And, Bastian, I’ll know.”
“How? Planning to spy on us?”
“I don’t need to. You’re my little brother who’s painfully transparent when you feel guilty.” He leans forward. “Besides, part of you wants to know if she’s different. If you can really trust your judgment when it comes to women.”
His words hit like a sucker punch, targeting my deepest insecurity: that I’m blind when it comes to reading people I care about. Tiffany isn't the first to leave me bleeding after I handed over my trust.
“This way, you get certainty,” Thorne continues, his voice almost gentle, like the sociopath actually cares. “If she passes, you’ll know for sure she’s different. If she fails…” He shrugs. “Better to know now than later.”
The worst part is, some wounded part of me finds his logic appealing. But then I picture Rosalia, trapped by this arrangement, believing she has to betray me to save her store.
“You know,” Thorne says, swirling the last of his bourbon espresso, “this is just the latest in our long line of competitions, isn’t it? From the science fair in seventh grade to the bidding war for the Wilkerson estate whiskey collection.”
“This isn’t a competition. This is you ruining an innocent woman over our personal vendetta.”
“It’s about character. Like when Dad would test us.” His eyes darken. “Remember when he’d leave cash on the counter to see if we’d take it? Or how he’d ask one of us to cover for his affairs to see if we’d lie to Mom?”
The memory of those “tests” burns like cheap moonshine. “Don’t compare this to that.”
“Why not? We learned something valuable, didn’t we? That people will always disappoint you, given the right incentive.” His voice hardens. “You think your bookworm is different? That she’s somehow above basic human nature?”
“And this ‘test’ is as faulty as one of Dad’s. You’re asking her to betray me before she even knows me. Of course, she’d agree now. Why wouldn’t she? She’d be saving her bookstore by betraying a stranger.”
“But she’ll know you by the derby party,” Thorne counters.
“And by then it will be too late. She’ll know me better, might even care about me, but she’ll still be bound by an agreement she made when I meant nothing to her. She’ll have wasted months that could have been spent finding another location.”
“I’m not a complete monster,” he says, leaning back. “The deal will have an out clause. I’ll tell her she’s free to find another building for her bookstore from now until the party. I’ll even provide names of bankers and lawyers who handle real estate and business ventures. If she finds another place, showing she’s willing to take the harder path rather than fucking you over, I won’t hold her to our agreement.” He smirks. “Hell, I’m such a nice guy that if she passes our test, I’ll make up some excuse for renewing her lease. You two can keep dating, build your life together, whatever. She’ll never know it started as a wager. And you’ll know she’s worth trusting.”
“Why are you really doing this?” I frown, unable to piece it together. “Either way this plays out, you won’t get her bookstore for the Willow Hotel purchase and expansion.”
