Page 36 of The Bad Brother

E THAN WASN’T EVEN OUT OF THE parking lot before I had my phone in my hand and the number for the security company I use, ringing on the other end of it.

Two hours later, I had a six-man team upstairs, installing hidden cameras and motion sensors that cover nearly every square inch of the loft.

The only space I left uncovered was the bathroom.

On a whim, I added physical security—another six-man team, this one dressed in Wranglers and cowboy boots—to mingle with the normal Friday night crowd with the sole objective of keeping an eye on River and Sera while they run around the bar delivering drinks as fast as Cade and I can make them.

“Where are all these people coming from?” I gripe, shoulders tense while I watch River disappear into the crush of people crowded around the bar, tray of margaritas and tequila shots held high while her personal security detail—an unassuming-looking man with a belt buckle the size of a dinner plate and strict orders to hurt anything that even looks at her funny—follows after her.

Even Colt is here, sitting at the end of the bar, nursing a longneck while he scans the crowd like he’s waiting for something to happen.

“Someone took a shot at the king,” Cade tells me, his voice raised over the twang of live country music. “People are curious to know if they missed or not. Probably hoping for a front row seat for when it happens again.”

Fucking vultures.

I must’ve said it out loud because Cade laughs. “Get used to it. The longer this shit goes on, the busier it’s going to get.”

Which means there’s no end in sight because Ethan is completely off the rails. He’s got the taste of blood in his mouth and he’s not stopping until one of us is dead.

“Then we’re gonna have to hire another weekend bartender and a waitress or two to keep up,” I say while scooping ice into my shaker for a round of margaritas. “Because we’re in for a long summer of Pryce family bullshit.”

Shoveling ice into a rocks glass, Cade gives me a quick glance while he pulls a bottle of well vodka from the rack. “From what I hear, Gemma Pierce is looking for work.”

“ Gemma Pierce ?” I say the name on a are you kidding? snort. “Seriously? Is she even old enough to work in a bar?”

“She’s twenty-six,” he tells me, his tone going irritable. “Plenty old enough.” Topping the vodka with soda and a lime wedge, he passes it over the bar in exchange for cash.

Doing some quick mental math, I come up with the same age, even though it still doesn’t sound right. “I thought she was busy taking care of her grandfather.”

“Not anymore. He died a few weeks ago,” Cade says while popping the tops on a couple of longnecks. Passing them over the bar to a pair of moon-eyed Creekers—a blonde and a brunette—who’ve undoubtedly come to gawk at the hot bartender at the Mill who also happens to be a convicted murderer.

“Is it true you killed someone?” The brunette blurts out while the other looks like she’s about to pass out. When she asks, I watch the line of Cade’s jaw snap tight for a split second before it goes lax.

“That’s what the jury said,” he tells her while slipping his bottle opener into his back pocket. “That’ll be seven dollars.”

Pulling a fifty out of her pocket, the Creeker slaps it down on the bar, keeping it covered with her hand while she looks at Cade like she wants to ride him like a rented mule.

“I heard it was your wife—that you came home and caught her fucking someone else so you bashed her brains in with a tire iron.”

Leaning into her, Cade looks her in the eye. “She wasn’t my wife,” he tells her, a cruel curl to his upper lip. “And it wasn’t a tire iron. It was a baseball bat.”

Jesus Christ.

Mouth open to tell the both of them to get the hell out of my bar, I’m cut off when the brunette is yanked off her barstool by her hair and thrown to the floor.

“The fuck you just say to my brother?” Sera hisses down at the stunned brunette, a massive clump of dark brown hair clenched in her fist. Catching the eye of her security detail—a burly no neck in a beat-up Stetson and a black T-shirt—I give him a get her the fuck out of here chin jerk.

“What the fuck, you hillbilly psycho!” The blonde, who up until now hasn’t said a word, lunges at Sera, beer bottle in hand. Before my guy can get his hands on her, Colt sweeps in and hooks an arm around his little sister’s waist and starts hauling her away.

“How many times do we have to tell you, you dumb creeker sluts— we’re rednecks ,” Sera yells at her over the din of the live band playing Amarillo by Morning.

“Oh—and here are your friend’s shitty extensions.

” She throws the wad of hair at them over her brother’s shoulder with a laugh.

“Next time, I’ll shove ‘em down her goddamn throat.”

Left with nothing to do, Sera’s security detail reaches down to help the brunette off the ground while Colt and Sera disappear into the crowd.

“I’m calling the police,” she says, face white, hands shaking, completely oblivious to the fact that they just had the county sheriff right in front of them.

“There’s no way in hell I’m going to let some?—”

“I’d be careful about the next words that come out of your mouth, if I were you,” Cade tells her in a low tone.

“Nobody in this place gives a shit who your daddy is and I promise there’s plenty more of my sister where she came from—now, you wanna call the cops—go ahead.

Call ‘em.” He gives them both a shrug while he pulls two rocks glasses from the rack before snagging a bottle of top shelf tequila. “But it’s your word against hers.”

“The hell it is,” The blonde says on a scoff. “Everyone in this place saw what that crazy bitch did.”

“You’re in Barrett, darlin’.” Tipping the bottle of tequila over the rim of each glass, Cade pours a double into each of them on a laugh.

“Nobody here saw shit.” Pushing the glasses across the bar, he shakes his head.

“And my baby sister isn’t the only crazy bitch in here,” he says before jerking his head at the drinks he just poured.

“So, maybe you should just let it go and have a drink on me before calling yourself an Uber to take you back over the bridge.”

Looking around, the pair of them blanch slightly when they notice the half-dozen women surrounding them, waiting for them to make a decision while halfway hoping it’s the wrong one.

Properly reading the situation, the brunette lets out a loud bark of laughter.

“Whatever.” Reaching out, she snags the double shot of tequila off the bar and downs it in one shot.

“Your sister’s crazy,” she hisses at Cade before slamming her empty glass down on the bar.

“And you’re a sick, wife murdering piece of shit. ”

“Yeah…” Cade gives her a smirk before snagging the last double off the bar and downing it himself.

“But you still came in here looking to fuck me, didn’t you?

” Lifting her empty glass off the bar, he stacks it inside his own.

“Matter of fact, you still want to fuck me, even after all that. Think that might make you sicker than I am.” The smirk he’s giving her turns caustic.

“And like I already said—she wasn’t my wife.

” When he says it, the brunette jerks back like Cade took a swing at her while the blonde opens her mouth, probably to spew enough insults to get the both of them dragged outside and tossed around like a couple of beach balls.

“You ladies get home safe,” I say, cutting the blonde off before she can really step in it. My tone makes it clear that this is their last chance to leave on their own. “Have a good rest of your night.”

“Fuck you.” The brunette backs away from the bar, taking her friend with her while she lifts a hand to jab a manicured finger at Cade’s face. “And fuck you.”

“Rather dip my dick in honey and fuck an anthill,” Cade call after her on a laugh. “You should ask your Uber driver, though—he might fuck you if you tip him enough.”

Giving Sera’s security detail another chin tip, I watch him follow the pair of creekers out the door to wait with them until their ride shows up. As soon as they’re gone and the crowd disperses, I turn to look at Cade on a sigh. “Remind me again why I hired you?”

“Because we’re family.” Dropping the empty glasses into the sink on a laugh, Cade give me a shrug. “Besides, I’m good for business—that crazy-ass sister of mine is another story, altogether.”

“Christ Almighty,” I bark out on a laugh because he’s not wrong. Reaching a hand into my pocket, I pull out my cellphone to check the time. It’s well after 1AM, rolling toward two. Sloane’s shift at the hospital ended hours ago.

She should be home by now.

Ignoring the queasy flipflop of my stomach, I remind myself that Ethan has no idea who she is.

That he’s probably at the country club, blind drunk on our father’s tab, smoking cigars with his shitty frat boy friends.

Unable to convince myself, I move further on down the bar, trying to gain some privacy before I pull up the app on my phone that’ll allow me to access the newly installed security cameras.

Pulling up the feed, I’m just in time to watch the troublemaker twins feed themselves into the back of a Tesla.

Relieved they’re gone, I scan the still-crowded parking lot for Sloane’s car while I hold my breath.

There.

Under the giant oak tree across the road.

Touching my index finger and thumb to the screen, I widen them to zoom in on a familiar red compact parked across the street, along the side of the road between a lifted F350 and an Escalade.

Still unsure, I switch the camera feed from the parking lot to the loft. Instantly spotting her bag on the kitchen island, I feel my shoulders sag. She must’ve slipped past me while I was dealing with Sera and Cade’s bullshit.

Sloane is home.

She’s safe.

Backing out of the app before shoving my phone in my pocket, I reach up to grip the rope tied to the tongue of the large brass bell mounted to the wall above my head to give it an ear-splitting ring. The sound of it is met with a loud, collective groan.

“You heard the man,” Cade bellows on cue. “We’re closed—drink up and get the fuck out.”