Page 82 of Whiskey Burn

Syd rubs his hands together. “Let’s talk logistics. It’s the same as it’s always been. When we get the call from our contact, we place an online order for two hundred bottles of whiskey. In the notes section, it’ll have the date of the run. Should be end of the summer, but no guarantees.”

I cross my arms, steeling myself. We’ve done the runs at least four times a year, and it never gets easier. We’re only one fuckup away from getting caught.

“You and Warren stake out the off-ramp to I-90.” Syd swings a finger from me to Ezra and River. “You two are on County Road 294. This way, if the cops show, you pull your trucks out there and jam up the roads.” There’s only one way out of Tempest. Main Street links up with the freeway. A straight shot, but also a bottleneck.

“All that matters is that truck getting out of town,” Syd finishes.

“Oh, we’ll get it out of town, all right,” Ezra grumbles. “Then be done with this fucking bullshit.”

“Nice doing business with you too, Ez.” Syd flips him off.

I shake my head. “Are we done talking about this?”

“Yeah. We’re done.”

Syd steps back and heads toward his men, leaving me with my brothers.

“You gonna stand sentry all night like some grumpy cowboy?” River’s deep voice echoes as he inclines his head toward the men assembling the pallets. The gold necklace of April’s he wears wrapped around his wrist glitters in the dim light. “They’re not going to move any faster if you keep watching ’em.”

I narrow my eyes at the hand-rolled cigarette tucked above his ear. “You’re gonna get lung cancer by forty.”

He shrugs. “Fingers crossed.” Not like River cares. Ever since April disappeared, since prison, his attitude is all devil-may-care.

A smile tugs at River’s lips. “Heard you had a sleepover last night.”

I scowl and look at Ezra. He’s the responsible one, but not even he’s immune to good family gossip.

He shoves his glasses up on his nose. “What can I say? Word travels fast.”

River stares at me for an amused beat. “So you’re almost human after all.”

I shift uncomfortably, run a hand through my hair to squeeze the back of my neck. I feel a headache coming on, courtesy of two younger brothers. “Nothing happened.”

The words feel like a lie. Even though I didn’t fuck Delilah, I shared a meal, a conversation with a woman. I told her about my parents. I told her about Jack. Two things I haven’t done in years. It was more intimate than sex has ever been. I should tell my brothers that, but I don’t.

River arches a brow. “You gotta lighten up, man. Have some fun.”

“Delilah isn’t fun. She’s an employee.”