Page 114 of Jensen

He knows. He knows I have no choice.

“I’m a little drunker than I thought,” I stammer.

“That’s fine. I’ve got what I came for,” Jensen says. “We can go now.”

Just as the words leave his mouth, a folding chair flies out of nowhere and smacks him across the head. Dark blood blossoms on his temple. My jaw drops. He doesn’t move except to reel back. The entire bar goes dead silent. Brothers is glancing around like he’s trying to figure out who’s responsible.

Click. Someone’s whiskey tips over. It splashes, then drips.

“Who threw that?” Jensen says, still not turning.

A very drunk man lifts his hand. “Sorry… Accident,” he slurs.

Apparently, that’s not an excuse, because Jensen drops the AKs, kicking them back against the counter with the heel of his boot. He picks up the chair and slings it like a professional pitcher across the room, throwing the man off the table with a shattering crash. My hand claps over my mouth. The man flies back into the betting station. The rolling cover splinters. Brothers yells something, but nobody hears him, because suddenly, everyone has a fight to pick with the closest person.

All hell breaks loose. Brothers skids over the counter, snatching me around the waist and hauling me to safety behind the bar.

“Do something,” I gasp.

He ducks through the swinging doors, grabs the nearest man, and punches him in the face.

“I meant stop fighting,” I yell, “not fight more.”

The man turns around and hits Brothers right back. Jensen appears, springing up like a jack-in-the-box, and takes out the man with a right hook.

“Thanks,” says Brothers, face lit up like it’s Christmas morning.

Somehow, it’s Jensen and Brothers against the entire bar, beating the shit out of everyone who gets close enough like a well-oiled machine. Heart pounding, I reach under the counter and feel around. There’s no way Brothers doesn’t have a gun in here. My fingers touch cold metal, and I pull out a vintage Ruger.

It’s the same kind tattooed on Jensen’s dick.

That’s…odd.

A shoe flies over my head and smacks the back wall, taking out a bottle of tequila. I’m backing away into the furthest point from the fight, gun in my lap in case someone tries something with me. I don’t think I have to worry. They’re all too occupied fighting the two man powerhouse that is Jensen Childress and Brothers Boyd.

I see it again, blurring over the chaos around me—a glimpse of the past. An explanation as to why it hurt Jensen so badly whenBrothers betrayed him. For all his faults, Brothers Boyd is the man who made Jensen, for good and for ill. It’s clear, watching them fight together, that they were the dream team once upon a time. I just know they ran this city into the ground every damn weekend. Nineteen years and a lot of hurt later, they’re still going strong.

I swallow, the metal of the gun digging into my palm.

Jensen will never let me go back to Leland. He’s too protective. I saw the way he beat that man’s head, stared through the kitchen window as he did it. While I’m not sure what to call what he feels, he definitely has very strong feelings toward me. Whether it’s honor or something else, he’s not letting me walk back into hell.

Which means Brothers is right.

And I have to help him betray Jensen one more time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

JENSEN

“I can’t believe you two.”

I glance up to where Della’s sitting in the window, coffee in her hand. Not a single hair is out of place, despite the chaos of the evening. The bar is empty, and we’re in the back room. Brothers went to lock up after taking Della’s gun and threatening to shoot everyone if they didn’t clear out.

I cock my head.

“You weren’t a little turned on?” I ask.

She purses her lips. The swinging door to my left creaks, and Brothers appears with another cup of coffee. He hands it over. I ease back against the wall, stretching my legs out. Everything hurts, from tonight and the two days before. My body doesn’t have quite the get up and go it used to.