Quentin (The Bourbon & Blood Series Book 4)

by Seraphina Donavan

  “I bet she was mad as fire and gave your granddad what for,” he said.

  Lowey shook her head sadly. “She didn’t actually. It was about a year after we’d lost Mamaw and she just told him how sorry she was, and how it had to be so hard for him having a little girl there that he didn’t know what to do with… Then they had a drink together and the next thing I knew I was taking cotillion lessons that I know, in retrospect at least, we couldn’t possibly have afforded.”

  It was so typical of his mother that it cut him to the quick. “I miss her. I miss her every goddamn day of my life… and I get so fucking mad. I’m a horrible person, Lowey.”

  “You’re not a horrible person, Quentin! Not for being mad because of what happened to her!”

  “I’m a horrible person, Lowey,” he said softly, “Because I’m mad at her. Because I think, all the fucking time, that we’d all be better off if she’d just died. Then there would have been an end. There’d have been a point we could have just moved on from. But we’re all still stuck.”

  He’d never admitted that to anyone. Those words, those thoughts, had eaten away at him for years and he was afraid to look over at her, afraid to see the way she’d look at him after.

  When she finally spoke, her voice was soft and for Lowey, it was impossibly tender. “That doesn’t make you horrible… The truth of the matter is, Quentin, what happened to your mother is worse than death. And what you’ve had to deal with—it’s worse than grieving for someone who died. Because the world lets you fall apart then. People stand back and let you just wail and scream and carry on. But for this, they tell you to be strong, to be there for your family, to pray because God never gives you more than you can handle. I call bullshit on that. What you’ve had, with Samuel and with your Mama, that’s more than any body should ever have to handle.”

  Six

  The drive into Lexington was quiet. After his earlier admission, he’d retreated into himself. Lowey understood that. It still amazed her that he’d opened up to her at all. Quentin didn’t talk about feelings. Hell, he didn’t acknowledge having them. Just moods. And God above, he could be a moody bastard. But at least now she understood why. There was a lot of pain trapped inside him, a lot of guilt and misery that he just didn’t know how to let go of. And she was nobody’s savior. The last time she’d thought she could save a man he’d nearly killed her.

  “Where are we headed exactly?” she asked as they approached New Circle Road.

  “Downtown. I’m meeting someone at the Hyatt.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Business, pleasure? Do I need to run you by an ATM first so you’ll have cash to pay for whatever services are being rendered?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I’m not meeting a hooker!”

  “Then stop being so damn vague. Not everything has to be a mystery, Quentin!”

  He sighed and leaned his head back against the seat. “Fine. I’m meeting an old friend of mine who may be interested in investing in Fire Creek. Now that we have Samuel’s share of the company in our control, we’re looking to make some changes and try to expand.”

  “That was very informative,” she replied. “Thank you… You know, I just have to ask, is it me that you keep things from specifically, or are you just this closed off with everyone?”

  “I just told you something that I’ve never told anyone else in my life. And I’m letting you accompany me to a meeting that could literally change the course of not just my family’s business but our entire town. What do you think?”

  Lowey turned off New Circle onto Nicholasville Road and headed toward Main Street. When he put it in those terms, it felt big. Momentous even. And that made her equal parts uncomfortable and hopeful. In all, it was just an awkward as hell position to be in.

  “I think I don’t know what prompted your sudden openness and it terrifies me,” she admitted. “I can’t afford for you to suddenly be the man I need… because we both know it won’t last. You’ll go back to being a closed mouthed, hard hearted son of a bitch and I’ll be stuck pining for you all over again.”

  “Did you pine for me?”

  Shit. She should never have said that. It was bad enough she’d done it. Admitting to it just added humiliation on top of it. Brushing it off as it wasn’t important, she replied, “For an hour or two. Then I got over it.”

  “I didn’t.” He said it softly, his voice pitched low. But in the quiet confines of the car, it still resounded like a shot. It was what she’d wanted him to say, what she’d wanted so desperately to hear. Trusting him wasn’t easy though. Trusting anyone wasn’t easy for her and he’d already burned her once.

  “Don’t do this, Quentin. Not now,” she implored. “Neither one of us is in a place for this.”

  He continued, never taking his eyes off her and speaking so resolutely that it just cut straight through her. “It wasn’t just an hour or two. I’ve missed you every goddamn day. I regretted walking out that door the second it closed behind me.”

  “Then you should have thought about that before you walked out!” she said, turning the car into one of the parking structures near the hotel. “I’ll wait for you here.”

  He reached for the door handle but paused. “This is not over. You and me… we’re not over.”

  “You’re starting to sound a hell of a lot like Joey Barnes,” she said. “You don’t get to decide for me!”

  He looked back at her then, his gaze direct and challenging. “Then tell me that you don’t feel it… You tell me that and I’ll walk whether I want to or not.”

  She couldn’t make herself utter the words even though she wanted to. The need to say them was so strong that they burned on her lips, but she couldn’t force them out. After a moment of torturous silence, he gave a slight nod that was packed full of ‘I told you so’ and got out of the car.

  “Asshole,” she muttered. Even then, her gaze was locked firmly on his perfectly sculpted ass as he walked away from her.

  ***

  Quentin walked into the hotel and headed directly for the restaurant where Deacon Mallory was waiting for him. They’d gone to college together. Partied and drank together. Somehow they’d mostly sobered up and got their shit together in tandem, as well. Or as together as his could be, Quentin thought, since he was about as fucked up emotionally as any one person could be.

  As he approached the table, Deacon let out a low whistle. “I hope she was worth it,” he said with a grin.

  They were friends, and Quentin could tell him that it wasn’t over a woman. But then he’d have to tell him that it was about family drama instead and since he was there to get him to invest in the family business, it seemed like a stupid move to him. So, he just smiled and kept his mouth shut as he eased into the chair. The ribs hurt. Everything hurt, but it wasn’t as bad as the day before. He felt like his lungs could actually expand.

  “A gentleman never tells,” he replied smoothly.

  Deacon nodded. “Find me a gentleman and we’ll ask just to be sure… Have you got the numbers for me?”

  Quentin pulled out his phone and flipped through the numerous documents on it until he found the proposal. “It’s all there. Profits were down, but you know why. We talked about that. I’ve also included the plans for expanded production and distribution, but that’s a long haul return. This will make you money, but it’s going to take at least five years before you see any of it.”

  “I know what I’m getting into here, Quentin. I know about your fucked up father and what he’s done… I also know that you wouldn’t try to sell me on this unless you were solid that it would work. I’ve always loved Kentucky… loved it since I played college ball here. But I know that if I want to fit here, to make a home here, I have to be part of something and not just an observer. Buying into Fire Creek gives me that. So, I’m in. Send the contracts to my attorney and we’ll get the financing sorted out…By the way, I’m buying a house in Fontaine. Have an appointment to look at it this afternoon.”

&nbs
p; Quentin shook his head. “No half measures with you… ever. Are you sure you want to live in Fontaine? Your entertainment options are pretty limited.”

  “As long as I can get beer and Sportscenter, I’m good to go.”

  Quentin rose to his feet as did Deacon Mallory. They shook hands. “I didn’t realize your standards had lowered so much.”

  “I’m too old to party without jeopardizing my good looks,” Deacon answered with a grin.

  “Cocky bastard.” Quentin shoved his phone back into his pocket and turned to walk away.

  Deacon called out. “I know you weren’t fighting over a woman… cause you don’t do that. But I also know you well enough to know that one’s got you tied up in knots.”

  Quentin shrugged, though it cost him. God above he hurt. “Just wait until you meet the one who does that to you.”

  Deacon grinned. “I can’t fucking wait.”

  Seven

  Ciaran eased his truck to a stop at the end of the formerly graveled but now mostly mud driveway of the Barnes house. House was probably pushing it. The ramshackle trailers all cobbled together looked more like something out of a Mad Max movie than like something that would be sitting in the middle of Bourbon country.

  Picking up the file from the seat beside him, he skimmed the documents and photos inside. Yes, he was helping out Quentin to appease Mia, but he was also helping out his soon to be brother-in-law, Matt Crawford. It seemed that during his recent stint at Blackburn, Joey had shared a cell with a talkative Russian fellow by the name of Sergei. And since Sergei was no longer talking to anyone, Joey Barnes might be their best shot out getting more intel on where their original source for the drugs were.

  Getting out of the truck, he walked casually up the driveway, as if he had every right to be there. Sneaking up on paranoid ass drug dealers was worse than doing a night drop in a war zone. A large dog chained in the yard growled and barked as he made his way onto the porch. Boards shifted beneath his weight and he wondered that the whole thing didn’t just fall through.

  Ciaran knocked on the door and waited. Then he knocked again. From inside, he could hear the shuffling of trash, bottles being knocked over. They might have had a party or they might just live that way. He didn’t know and he honestly didn’t care.

  Through the closed door he heard someone shout. “Answer the fucking door, bitch!”

  Ciaran clenched his fists at his side. He’d never spoken to a woman that way in his life and it pissed him off to hear it from someone else.

  When the door did finally open, it wasn’t some strung out young girl like he’d expected. The woman was probably middle aged, and yet she could have been a hundred. Rail thin, her hair gray hair tied back in a messy knot, and dressed in clothes so old and threadbare it was a wonder they didn’t simply disintegrate on the spot—she was probably the saddest creature he’d ever laid eyes on.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  Her voice was rough from chain smoking for years, but still timid and weak. She ducked her head and wouldn’t make eye contact with him, but it allowed the bruise on her cheek bone to stand out in stark relief.

  “I’m looking for Joey… I need to talk to him,” Ciaran replied evenly. The whole time he was wondering if Joey was responsible for that bruise.

  “He’s not here,” she replied and started to close the door.

  Ciaran caught it with his palm, keeping her from closing it in his face. “Where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know. He’s a grown man and doesn’t have to tell me where he goes or when he’ll be home.”

  “But he will be home?” Ciaran demanded.

  She sighed again, heavy and broken. “Maybe. I don’t know. He’s been running wild ever since he got out… It was better when he was still locked up. Least then I knew where he was.”

  “Don’t say another damn word!”

  The man, if he could be called that, who’d been yelling and cursing inside was making his way to the door. It wasn’t her husband, Ciaran realized. It was another of her worthless sons. The wifebeater, which was ironic, the dirty jeans, gauged ears, neck tattoos and sideways hat were pretty indicative of that he didn’t have any sort of legitimate employment. But the brand new truck parked in the yard said he clearly had money.

  “What the fuck do you want with my brother?” he demanded.

  “I want to ask him why he shot up Harlow Tate’s bar,” Ciaran said. “And then I want to ask him, politely, to not do it again.”

  The little punk laughed. “That’s between him and his old lady… ain’t nothing to you.”

  Ciaran smiled. “Since they are divorced, you can’t really call her his old lady. And it is very much something to me as she’s now dating my brother.”

  “I don’t give two shits who she’s dating… She belongs to Joey.”

  “Kyle, don’t cause trouble!” the mother warned.

  “He’s the one causin’ trouble,” Kyle replied. “Walking up to my door and telling me what me and mine can and can’t do. That shit don’t play.”

  Ciaran, already disgusted by the way the little shit had talked to his mother, reached out and grabbed him by the throat. His fingers pressed the carotid artery on one side and his thumb on the other, with just enough force to leave him weak and disorient him. If he pressed harder, he could knock him out cold in under ten seconds, or he could kill him. “I asked you a very polite question. You can give me a very polite answer or I can snap your neck like a goddamn twig.”

  Ciaran kept his eyes on the mother. It didn’t matter that her son was an asshole, he was still her son. Beaten down, abused, she would still defend him with her dying breath.

  “Now, Mrs. Barnes, tell me where to find Joey. I only want to talk to him.”

  “Don’t hurt him,” she said. “They’re good boys! They just got their daddy’s temper is all!”

  “I will do my best to avoid it,” he replied. They both knew that wouldn’t be possible, but he made the offer regardless.

  “He’s in Lexington… staying with his cousin down off 4th street.”

  “The cousin’s name?”

  “Tommy Barnes,” she replied.

  Ciaran released Kyle who stumbled backwards and sank to the ground looking dazed. “You should leave them. Every one of them. They don’t appreciate you and they’re only going to treat you worse the longer you stay.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “They’re my kids. And they don’t hit me.”

  “Just your husband, then?”

  She said nothing more. Ciaran shook his head as he walked away. You couldn’t save someone who didn’t want to be saved, he reminded himself. They had bigger problems to deal with, at any rate. Tracking down Joey Barnes, finding out what information he had on the Russians, and making it perfectly clear that even if the law didn’t stop him from targeting Lowey Tate, someone would.

  ***

  The drive back to Ash Grove Farm was quiet. Lowey wasn’t saying much and Quentin had talked more in the last two days than he had in his whole damn life, or at least it felt that way. At the very least, he’d said more meaningful things than he had in his whole damn life. Evasion. Misdirection. Distraction. Those were the tactics he normally preferred. Laying it all out on the line was much more Clayton’s style than it was his. But the last year had changed things for them both. Clayton had decided to become more like Samuel in order to bring him down.

  As for himself, he’d looked in the mirror one day and saw a hell of a lot more of Samuel Darcy staring back at him than he’d ever wanted to. He was using people, getting what he wanted from them and then walking away. And that wasn’t the kind of man he wanted to be. It sure as hell wasn’t the kind of man Patricia had been raising him to be.

  One could argue that at twenty years old, he was already raised by the time she’d had her accident. But the truth was that no twenty year old had achieved actual manhood yet. He’d been a little boy in a man’s body, and at thirty, he’d recognized tha
t he wasn’t much better. Drinking too much, partying too much, going through women like they were disposable. That included the one beside him, or at least he’d wanted it to.

  There was something about Lowey, something that had just crawled inside him and wouldn’t let go. For the past two months, he’d driven by her bar at least daily. Every time he’d been tempted to stop, tempted to grovel, and pride wouldn’t let him. It had taken getting his shit handed to him by a brother he’d just met to humble him enough to go in there and face her, to face what he’d done.

  The night that everything had gone south played over in his mind. It had started like any other. He’d worked late and after finally leaving the office, he’d headed to the Kicking Mule for a drink. When the crowd had thinned out and Lowey could leave everything to the bartenders, she’d slipped away to her little apartment upstairs and he’d followed.

  It had hit him then, walking up those stairs behind her, that she’d become a habit. Coming to her house every night, sinking into the welcoming heat of her, it was more than just scratching an itch. Everything else in the course of his day was just killing time until he could get back there and be with her again.

  That’s when the panic had set in.

  He’d done the only thing then that he could. He’d lashed out.

  “This isn’t working for me anymore,” he’d said.

  She’d stopped at the top of the stairs and looked back at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Look, Lowey, we both knew when this started that this wasn’t a permanent thing for us. We’re just not long term kind of people.” The doucheyness of his behavior was haunting him as he remembered the look in her eyes. All the life, all the fire had just faded from them. And having her look at him with such cool loathing had made him want to squirm even then.

  “With all due respect, Quentin Darcy, you’ve been way more interested in my ass than my mind. Why don’t you ask a few questions before you decide you know just who I am and just what I want. The answers might surprise you!”