Four-one. Holloway.
"Four-two," Colten says calmly.
Four-three. The front-row rancher. He's done a second later when Holloway jumps to four-five, and he shakes his head. It's just us and them now.
I’m holding my breath.
"Four-six," Colten says.
"Four-seven." Holloway doesn't even pause. He's not thinking about numbers. He's not calculating margins or show returns or breeding value. He's spending someone else's money for one reason, and that reason is standing right next to me.
They're here to outbid us. To take something we want because they can. Because the Greeks are bankrolling it, and the only currency that matters to them is making the Sterlings bleed.
They want to show us, even after the shit they pulled with Hunter, that they can get to us. But all their other plans failed. My brother ain’t in jail. And the two men of ours who turned are both in unmarked graves.
"Four-eight," Colt says.
"Four-nine." Holloway turns and looks directly at us for the first time and smiles. The kind of smile you want to put your fist through.
I look at Colten. His jaw is set so tight I can see the muscles jumping. Four-nine. We've got five. One more bid and we're at the ceiling.
"Five million," Colten says.
The auctioneer looks at Holloway. The whole arena looks at Holloway.
He lifts his paddle.
"Five-one."
"Motherfucker," Colt breathes.
I turn to Hunter. He's already looking at me. That calculation behind his eyes, running the math. What it means to lose this horse to Ranch 42 in front of every rancher in the state. What it says about the Sterlings if we walk away.
"Hunter," I say.
He holds my gaze for three seconds. Then he nods at Colten, just once.
One million more. That's what that nod is worth.
"Five-five," Colten calls out, and his voice doesn't waver.
The arena murmurs. That's a half-million jump. A statement bid.
Holloway's smile falters. He turns to the Greek beside him. The Greek guy shakes his head.
The auctioneer's voice cuts through."Five-five million on the floor. Do I hear five-six? Five-six anywhere?"
Holloway stares at us. His paddle doesn't move.
"Five-five going once."
Nothing.
"Going twice."
Silence.
"Sold. Sovereign's Gold to Sterling Ranch for five-point-five million dollars."
