“Save the princess and let her white knight bleed out on the floor?”
“Brantley, it’s not like that,” Courtney said, speaking up for the first time and looking sincerely remorseful about what had happened.
Brantley’s gaze shot to her, the blue-gray irises dark with fury. “It’s exactly like that.” His gaze snapped to Max. “And you didn’t give two fucks, did you?”
Max’s countenance smoothed out, and Reese knew this was going to turn into a knock-down, drag-out if he didn’t do something. Unfortunately, the words that might ease the tension didn’t come because his guilt strangled him.
“I nearly lost him because he defended your sister, and your guy left him for dead,” Brantley seethed.
“Which is why you’re here,” Max said with an understated calm. “I owe Reese for what he did. This is my way of payin’ that debt.”
Brantley barked a laugh. “Adorite, you’re gonna owe him for the rest of your fuckin’ life. Don’t think you’re gettin’ off this easy.”
The two men stared at one another for an uncomfortably long time while Reese remained motionless, wishing not for the first time that he could go back a year and change history. If he had that superpower, he would start by deleting that first text Madison sent him.
After all, it was what had set the dominoes in motion.
Chapter Twenty
Brantley had intended to come here, tokeep things professional. His goal was to get the information that might lead them to Toby and get out. Unfortunately, his hatred for this man had bled through his good intentions and left a red haze of fury obscuring his vision.
It was one thing that Reese had gone to meet Madison that night. Another for those who’d left Reese for dead to keep living as though nothing had happened. For months, Brantley had imagined this exact scenario, confronting Max about his actions. He wanted nothing more than to reach across the table, grab Adorite up by his neck, and rip his head clean off his body.
He might have if it wasn’t for Reese’s hand curling around his forearm, soothing some of the anger that coursed through his veins.
“Tell us what you know about Johnathan Hartwood,” Reese insisted. “And don’t leave anything out.”
Max’s gaze bounced back and forth between them for a moment before settling on Reese and that eerie calm smoothing out his features.
“Hartwood’s a small fish in a big pond, but he’s lookin’ to make a name for himself.”
“You’ve met him?”
“No,” Max said simply. “And I haven’t done business with him, either. Until recently, he wasn’t in my way.”
“But now he is?”
As he had numerous times already, Max glanced at his wife as though seeking her approval. Brantley wondered why that was. He seriously doubted Max was asking for permission because he got the feeling the man didn’t bow down to anyone, not even the woman he loved. Brantley did, however, believe that Max trusted Courtney enough to accept her approval as fact, which was why, when she nodded her head again, Max turned his attention back to them.
“Moving anything from Mexico requires the use of the interstate. And since I-35 runs through Austin, it’s a major thoroughfare. Since Sabrina Moroso is makin’ an attempt to impede on my business dealings, she’s makin’ a play for territory to the south of us.”
Meaning Sabrina was trying to interfere with Max’s shipments, although the man had been far too vague for anyone to pin that on him. He was good; Brantley would give him that.
“And Hartwood’s her go-to guy?”
“No.” Max took another sip of his coffee. “But he works for a man she wants to do business with.”
“Who?”
“An Irishman by the name of Patrick O’Brien.”
“You’re tellin’ me Hartwood works for the Irish Mafia, and Sabrina Moroso’s tryin’ to get in bed with him?”
“I’m tellin’ you if there’s anyone who’d know where your friend is, it’s O’Brien.”
Brantley wasn’t buying it.
Oh, sure, he could believe the Irish Mafia had a foothold in Texas. Hell, half the country was moving to Texas as of late for a variety of reasons, many of which were tech companies looking for tax breaks. However, he also knew the cartels had populated the region, which meant there wasn’t a lot of room for more mobsters to fit in.
