Chapter 20

Lincoln

Pain radiates through my knuckles as the first two split open, the impact traveling up my forearm and into my elbow. I shake it out at the same time Joel spits blood and a succession of apologies that I’ve gone numb to at this point. Apologies mean less when you’re pummeling someone to make a point.

“Linc, man. I didn’t mean to do it?—”

I flex my hand and cut off his lie. “You didn’t mean to drop a case into your trunk? You didn’t mean to use your key card at 3:43 a.m. to come to the distillery and help yourself to a barrel of bourbon?” I rest my hands on my waist as I watch this man, whom I’ve shared drinks with at picnics, lie to my face that he hasn’t been stealing from us for the past six months.

“I needed the extra money, man. I got bills and people I owe.”

“Look at me, Joel.” I point to my face. “You worked for us. You earned a paycheck and full benefits. But you know that’s where it ends.” I cock my arm back and give him one last punch to the gut, just below his ribs.

“Alright,” Ace says from behind me. “I think he understands. Right, Joel? You understand?”

He coughs and nods his head.

“I’m going to need to hear you say it, Joel.”

“I understand,” he says.

“Good,” Ace says as he types away on his phone. “Linc, we need to get going.”

Joel looks at me with a bloodied nose and lip, searching for what I’m going to say next.

“Your job will be waiting for you on Monday,” I tell him as I clip off the zip tie that I used to bind his hands around the loading dock railing.

“You’re not firing me?”

“Your daddy worked here, Joel. And your uncle.” Griz speaks up from the far side of the room. “I don’t think they’d feel much pride in knowing their last name was associated with stealing from a brand they’ve helped build.” He clears his throat and the easy-going nature of Griswald Foxx slips away in these moments. Instead, it’s the man who built this brand with an iron fist. This was always how he did business—we learned by example. “You've been here for just over twenty years now yourself. Why would we fire you, Joel? From where I’m standing, you just tasted what’s waitin’ if something like this happens again, am I right?”

Swallowing roughly, he nods. “Yeah, Griz.”

“Good. Go clean yourself up. I’ll see you on Monday—expect unpaid overtime until you can work off what you stole.”

A white towel hits me in the face. “Let’s go,” Ace says.

“I’m driving,” I say as I wrap my hand. “Griz, you good to get home?”

He smiles at me. “Golf cart is juiced up. You boys go have some fun.”

“Haven’t had to do that in a while,” I say, rounding the front of my Jeep to leave the distillery. I unbutton my suit jacket to get in. There are two spots of blood on my white shirt, which is fine by me. I have an all-black tux dry cleaned and waiting for me.

As I finish with my cufflinks, Ace says, “You do realize that this is black tie, right? Not just all black attire?”

“My last one got ruined. Besides, I’m not going to put on a fucking bow tie to play poker and schmooze some asshole who wants a cut of our sales, Ace.”

“The sales from Blackstone Auctions last year alone doubled our net profits. It’s a higher scale than what Maggie’s been able to accomplish with her secondary market sales. If we want to stay in front of the reselling of our most valued bottles, then we need to have a direct connection to who’s curating those sales. Blackstone might be a prick, but he’s the kind of man who gets people things. Our bourbon is on the playing field, and if we shake some hands tonight, it’ll have been worth the connections alone. Just need to decide how dirty we want to get here.”

Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling into an estate just outside of Fiasco’s town line. It feels a bit ostentatious as we make our way up the long drive. It looks more like a museum than a home. The landscaping is meticulously kept, with the large fountain in the center of the circular driveway and uplighting that disappears into the night sky.

“What else is being auctioned off here?” I ask Ace.

“The only thing that I know is what I’ve negotiated directly with Blackstone—our rare bottles. I want to see where they land and for how much. Beyond that? No idea.”

The valet opens both mine and Ace’s door at the same time. I stand and button my jacket, pocketing my glasses for now. “How much money we spending?”

“We’re not,” he says as we walk through the double doors. A rolled-out deep red carpet runs from the threshold to the main ballroom at the end of the long entryway. “We’re only here to play the politics on this.”

People, mostly men in tuxedos, are peppered throughout the event. The few women who are here are either serving cocktails or are dressed like showpieces. It’s evident it’s a boys’ club.

“Atticus and Lincoln Foxx, what an interesting turn of events.” Wheeler Finch greets as he walks closer. And just on his heels is Waz King. Wheeler walks around Fiasco as if he runs the place, while Waz acts as his crony. I fucking hate both of them. Finch & King might be the premiere brand in Kentucky horse racing, but they’re self-serving, sleazy hustlers to the core.

I hear Ace mumble, “Goddamnit” just before he signals the cocktail waitress circulating close by.

I’m not surprised to see Wheeler at something like this—if it felt shady before, his attendance confirms it. I’ll have to tell Hadley I got to see dear old dad tonight, looking as pretentious as ever in his white suit jacket and black bow tie, rubbing elbows earlier with a circuit court judge and the rumored candidate running for governor next election year.

“Wheeler.” Ace nods. “Waz,” he says with a glance.

Wheeler tuts, “How’s my daughter doing? She’s still nannying for you?”

“Your daughter runs one of the most successful spots in Fiasco.” I clap back, trying to make him feel like an asshole for the backhanded question. “She spends time with my family. That includes my girls.”

Waz pipes in, “She doing favors for you too, Ace?”

Just as Ace starts to tell him to shut his mouth, Wheeler cuts in, “Take a walk, Waz. Blackstone wanted to show off something shiny. Maybe go see what it might be.”

But it’s the sound of laughter behind Wheeler, who’s circled by a set of leather club chairs and candlelight, that captures my attention. More than that, it has my heart racing and stomach clenching.

I hadn’t talked to Ace about what’s happening with Faye, but he shifts closer and quietly asks, “That’s who I think it is, isn’t it?”

I grit my teeth, grinding down on my back molars so hard that I’m surprised they aren’t cracking. “Yeah. It is.” I take in every inch of what I’m seeing and still can’t process what the hell she might be doing here. She said they were “friends,” but that “show-and-tell” game he’s playing doesn’t look like the kind of friendships I know.

Blackstone raises his meaty hand holding a rocks glass and calls out, “Gentlemen. Come and join us.” He snickers to himself like we’re not close enough to hear him say, “Two Foxxes and a Finch.” But it’s where his other hand is gripping that has me fuming. Faye sits perched on his lap, his other hand resting on her thigh, nearly at the fold of where her thigh crease meets her hip. As if she’s his. What the actual fuck?

I pull in a steadying breath, something to ground me so I don’t react and yank her off him. His hand doesn’t belong on her. Why is she allowing it? I can feel Ace glance at me as I stare at Blackstone’s hand. Motherfucker.

The moment we step forward and her green eyes meet mine, I see the panic immediately. She tenses, her bare shoulders lifting slightly as her chest stutters with a subtle gasp. Her dusty pink cocktail dress shimmers in the low lighting, her hair tucked beneath a wig of pastel peach and pink streaked hair right around the same shoulder-length as her natural blonde.

She doesn’t look anywhere else except at me, searching for what I might say or do next. I give her nothing, because as much as I want to rip her off of his lap and into my arms, I know that she’s been telling me half-truths since she showed up in Fiasco, and this isn’t the place or time for explanations. I expect to get those later, as I’m officially done waiting. For now, I’ll play along.

“Gentlemen, I’d like you to meet some of my guests,” Blackstone says, starting introductions to the half-dozen men peppered around him. But I don’t register any of their faces or names. I’m only focused on one. “And this beautiful, shiny thing is my Rosie Gold.”

Her eyes stay connected to mine for only a moment longer before she smiles and greets us politely. But it's Wheeler who says, “Rosie Gold. How interesting. You’re not what I was expecting. The burlesque dancer at Midnight Proof. Isn’t that right?”

Looking up at him, she smiles, but it’s one for show. “Mr. Finch, it’s very nice to see you. And yes, I’ve been dancing at Midnight Proof. Your daughter was more than generous, booking a short residential spot at her beautiful speakeasy.”

Wheeler watches her for a beat before he taunts, “You remind me of someone, but for the life of me, I thought that person hadn’t set foot in Fiasco in years.”

“Fortunate coincidence,” Blackstone says as he drains his glass. “This lovely girl perched this pretty little ass right on my lap in Nashville, and it ended up being a helluva coincidence that she’s performing right here in Kentucky while I take care of some business.” He rubs his lips along the curve of her shoulder, as if he’s earned the right to touch her like that. It has my fist clenching at my side, something Faye takes notice of as her eyes flick to me again. “I knew she’d make a nice little showpiece for tonight.”

I’ve heard enough. “If you’ll excuse me. I’m going to take a look at what your bar has for bourbon.”

Ace follows with a nod to the small crowd of people. I won’t look at her again. I can’t. When we reach the bar, I fix the cufflinks that peek out from my black jacket, my mind running through some of the inconsistencies I’ve noticed with Faye back in town.

I glance at the bartender. “Foxx Bourbon, the Prohibition bottle, neat.”

“Make that two,” Ace says as he turns to look back at the group we just rushed away from. “She’s not just here in Fiasco to dance at Midnight Proof, is she?”

“I had a feeling that something was...I don’t know, the timing of her being here felt off. Then she was out with Cortez.”

“A date?” Ace asks, brow furrowed as he looks at me.

I smile knowingly, thinking about how that “date” ended with my fingers making her unravel outside of that bar. “It wasn’t a date.”

“Grant said he was surprised that she hadn’t ended up in some part of law enforcement,” Ace says as he sips the bourbon just placed in front of him and watches. He nudges my arm to look as she slinks away from the crowd and moves down the hallway, out of sight. “Graduated best in her class, had a job practically lined up at Fiasco PD, and then leaves town and pivots to dancing?”

“If I told you I knew exactly why that happened, but I wasn’t sure of the details, would you trust me and cut your losses with this business regarding Blackstone?” I say to Ace while I watch as Blackstone follows the same path she just went. “This doesn’t feel right.”

My brother studies me for a moment before he finishes his glass. He claps my shoulder. “Then it’s done.” He looks in the direction I just was, but Wheeler Finch cuts in.

“Interesting seeing you here, Atticus. I wasn’t expecting another businessman like myself attending this event.”

Ace lets out a small sniff, a laugh I know is more annoyance than anything else. “We both know I’m nothing like you.”

“Be nice, Foxxy. Let’s not forget how much you both enjoy things that belong to me,” he says as he smiles at the bartender. I swear I hear my brother practically growl at that comment.

But I answer because my best friend deserves more respect than that. “If you’re speaking of your daughter, then I’ll kindly ask that you remember Hadley doesn’t belong to you.”

He ignores me and kicks back his bourbon. Pretentious asshole. He looks around toward the group we had just come from. “You recognize the Calloway girl, I assume? Interesting coincidence, her ending up in bed with Blackstone. He’s given me quite lurid details about his little Rosie Gold .”

My chest tightens at the thought. As much as I want to get out of here—I scan the room for her again—there’s no way I’m leaving without her.