Manny rode up in the guy’s face. «Don’t even think about it. Stabilize the break and get her over to Tricounty right now. Clear?»

«She’s never going to race again — this looks like a multi—»

«Get my fucking horse off this track and over to Tricounty—»

«She isn’t worth it—»

Manny snap-grabbed the front of the vet’s jacket, and hauled Mr. Easy Out over until they were nose-to-nose. «Do it. Now.»

There was a moment of total incomprehension, like being manhandled was a new one to the little snot.

And just so the two of them were really clear, Manny growled, «I’m not going to lose her — but I’m more than willing to drop you. Right here. Right now.»

The vet cringed away, as if he knew he was in danger of getting corked a good one. «Okay. . okay.»

Manny was not about to lose his horse. Over the last twelve months, he’d mourned the only woman he’d ever cared about, questioned his sanity, and taken up drinking Scotch even though he’d always hated the shit.

If Glory bit it now. . he didn’t really have much left in his life, did he.

Two

CALDWELL, NEW YORK TRAINING CENTER, THE BROTHERHOOD’S COMPOUND

Fucking. . Bic. . piece of shit. .

Vishous stood in the hall outside the Brotherhood’s medical clinic with a hand-rolled between his lips and a thumb that was getting a terrific frickin’ workout. No flame to speak of, though, no matter how many times he masturbated the lighter’s little wheel.

Chic. Chic. Chic—

With utter disgust, he fired the POS into a trash bin and went for the lead-lined glove that covered his hand. Ripping the leather free, he stared at his glowing palm, flexing the fingers, arching it at the wrist.