Page 112 of Jensen

“Alright, let’s get a couple of Angel's Envy, neat,” he says. “Jen, come here.”

Right then, someone whistles, sharp and loud. The band goes silent. Brothers leans over and hits a button, the TV turning all theway up. There’s something about the races that always gets my blood flowing. I go to the far end so I can see over everyone’s heads.

The gates clang.

The entire bar inhales. I glance sideways at Jensen, but he’s glued to the screen.

“Come on, come on,” Brothers murmurs.

The horses go around once. The tension grows. Everyone moves closer, like it’ll make their horse go faster. There are murmurs offuck yeahandcome on, come on. The energy shifts, rising as the horse in the middle breaks out into a clear lead. Brothers leans in, knuckles white on the bar.

“That’s my horse,” he murmurs.

“You own it?” Jensen asks.

“Yeah. Cost me a heavy stud fee to get that filly,” he says.

“She’s a good looking horse.”

“Thanks. She’s from Chariot Racer.”

“Fuck, that’s a stud fee. Better hope she takes it.”

My brows are up by my hairline. They’re talking, like it’s all water under the bridge tonight. It’s making Jensen’s anger towards Brothers make a lot more sense. There was a strong bond there, once upon a time.

It must have been one hell of a falling out.

“Alright there, sweetheart,” Brothers says as his filly picks up speed. His arms are crossed over his chest, body tensed.

The entire room starts clamoring, beating on the table with rising aggression. The filly blazes through the finish line, and the room roars, a huge wave, deafening me.

Brothers slaps the counter. “And that’s how it’s done, motherfuckers.”

Everyone loses their heads, beating on the bar, moving in a surge to the betting stations. Brothers turns around and grabs the bourbon bottle, pouring Jensen and I another glass.

“Alright, let’s talk,” he says, putting a hand on Jensen’s shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s get to getting,” Jensen says.

Well, his mood is improving. I wonder if this was all part of Brothers’ plan; get him loosened up with something they bond over, then slide right in through the open door. Frowning, I watch them retreat to the end of the bar and start talking quietly.

One of Brothers’ men leans on the counter. I glance up, screwing the cap off the whiskey. He’s a burly man with bright blue eyes and a full, dark beard. I think he took over as Brothers’ right hand after Jem died, if I recall.

“What can I do you for, Angus?” I ask.

“Good to see you, Miss Della,” he says. “You bartending tonight?”

I glance back at Brothers and Jensen. “The boys are talking, so I’ve got to do all the work.”

He laughs. “Get me a beer, your choice.”

Reaching in the cooler, I take out a Guiness and pop it, handing it over. He has a swig then leans in.

“You know, it was a bit rough when you up and run off,” he says.

“How’s that?” My forehead creases.

His eyes dart to his boss, like he’s breaking the rules. “Brothers is being pushed pretty hard by the Caudills. They’ve taken a good bit of territory. If Jensen doesn’t help Brothers, well, it won’t be pretty for anybody involved.”