My brows pull. “Allowing your nephew to encroach on our business doesn’t change our agreement?”
“Do you understand how capitalism works, Mr. Harden?” he asks.
I bite my tongue to keep from pointing out my position as an economics grad student. “I might know a thing or two, yes.”
“Then, I’m sure you understand the importance of competition. Until today, you’ve been playing Monopoly. It’s made you greedy. Lazy. Overly confident. That changes now.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, you may still use The Drift to plan your evenings. My nephew, however, may now also accept bets, and we’ll let the people decide who they’d rather use to book their wagers.”
Is he serious? Heat surges up my spine at the thought. Trouble is, I can’t see a way out. Not without burning every bridge we’ve built. It’s problematic at best. Life-ruining at worst.
“And if we don’t agree?” I ask.
His black, lifeless eyes hold mine from across the table. “Then our agreement is terminated.”
57
JAGGER
The gravel crunches beneath my shoes as I walk toward Roman’s car. He’s leaning against the passenger door with one ankle crossed over the other. His breath is a cloud in the cold night air while his expression is as impassive as ever.
“Where’s Ford?” I ask.
“In the back.” Roman pushes himself away from the door. “Pissed.”
I nod and climb inside as Roman rounds the front. Peering behind me, I find Ford staring blankly out the window. Roman’s right. He’s pissed. “How screwed are we?” he asks numbly.
“Pretty screwed,” I answer before filling them in on everything they missed. By the time I finish, we’re pulling up to the house. All the lights are off, and Hawke’s bike is still missing. I bet we won’t see him until morning, which is—I check the time on the dashboard and let my heavy eyelids close—two hours from now.
Perfect.
“What are we going to do?” Ford questions.
I’ve been asking myself the same thing. Scrubbing my hand over my face, I answer, “We’re going to take a smaller cut for thetime being. We have the market. We have the better odds. Once Morgan learns how tight shit can be, he’ll give up and leave. It’ll be fine.”
Ford stays quiet, processing my explanation, and likely analyzing the numbers in a way only he’s capable of doing. After a few seconds, he warns, “No more rigging bets.”
“Never again,” I promise him, and damn, if it isn’t the truth.
The house is quiet. The girls must be sleeping. Roman heads up first while Ford and I go to the kitchen. As Ford fills up a couple glasses of water, I grab some painkillers for my throbbing headache and wash them down with the drink Ford hands me. “Thanks,” I mumble, but when I go to move past him, he steps in front of me.
“Listen.” His shoulders hunch as he stares at the ground. “I lost control tonight, and…”
“Don’t worry about it.”
When he meets my gaze in the dark kitchen, I don’t miss the guilt shining back at me. “Jag–”
“It’s going to be fine,” I tell him. It has to be. I’m not sure he believes me. Hell, if the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t believe me, either. But at least we know where Gus stands now. Right? “Things will look better tomorrow,” I tell him, using our mom’s words.
With a subtle nod, Ford murmurs, “I won’t lose control again.”
“Neither will I.”
“One more thing,” he adds, continuing to block my way. “I know I can be a dick sometimes, but you’re right about Vi.” My brows raise in surprise. “She didn’t have to step in and tell you to win tonight, but she did.”
It’s not much, but considering who I’m talking to, Ford’s concession might as well be a big, bold stamp of approval on my relationship with Violet. And even though I know I actlike I don’t care, and that I’m claiming Violet regardless, his endorsement means more than he knows.
