I nodded slowly, nervousness billowing in my chest. “Yes...”
“Well, here is your crash course in riding. Hold your reins tight but not too tight. Don’t jerk on her mouth. Pretend you have a twenty-pound note between your arse and the saddle and under no circumstances is it to fly free. Keep your heels down and back straight, and if you fall, roll away anddon’thold onto the reins.”
The more he spoke, the more my heart raced.
“Got it?”
Everything he just said went in one ear and out the other. “No. I don’t have it. Not at all.”
Kes threw me an evil grin. “Too bad.” Raising his whip, he kicked Black Plague and shot away as if this was the Championship Derby. “Hold on, Nila!”
I pulled on my reins as Moth bunched and collected beneath me. “No...you arenotgoing to follow him, damn horse. I like my neck being attached to my body.”
Moth tossed her head, snatching the reins from my hands.
“No. Stop!”
A moment later, I went from standstill to full-blown gallop.
I became a blur of grey.
I became the girl from my past who believed in unicorns.
I became...free.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jethro
THE PAST FEW days, I’d done nothing but conspire on how to end this mess. I played my role, took my pills, and avoided the love of my fucking life.
Every time I thought up a plan, I researched each angle and plotted. But each time there were flaws, hurtling me deeper into despondency. The longer I couldn’t solve my problem, the longer I avoided Nila.
I was so fucking close to destroying everything.
Imissedher. So much.
So far, I’d discounted eleven different ways of murdering my father.
Option four: Invite him to go for a hunt. Shoot him and make it look like an ‘unfortunate accident.’
Flaws:Too risky. Witnesses. He would have a weapon to retaliate with.
Option seven: Invite him to dinner. Poison the bastard’s food with cyanide—just like he’d threatened me all my life.
Flaws:Dosage might be wrong. Contamination to others.
Option Nine: Arrange a mercenary to attack mid-shipment, dispatch him and keep my hands free from murder.
Flaws:Kes might be with him and get hurt in the crossfire.
Each one seemed plausible enough until deeper inspection. But all of that was shot to shit the afternoon he called me into his office.
Once again, he somehow knew.
How the fuck does he always know?
Was it his uncanny sixth sense? Constant monitoring of my behaviour?
