Fucking hot and cold. The shock of Rachel breaking it off with him, right as their relationship promised to be something special, was like leaping into the air for a mark, missing the ball, and landing hard on his back on the ground. All the air disappeared from his lungs, leaving him winded, unable to breathe. Ever since they’d arrived at his parent’s farm today, she’d been distant, more contained, and terse than usual. He’d seen the difference between her and Mum, the way Mum drew everyone in and cared for them, while Rachel deliberately pushed everyone away, and he’d wondered if he’d made the right decision with Rachel.
She’d bolted when her brother came to pick her up after lunch, and he’d buried his unease in work. Helping Dad around the farm, fixing the bloody step and teaching The Palace how to use a hammer. Dad had laughed at The Palace, a typical city boy who had never touched tools, and The Palace entertained them all with stories about his impractical parents. The job had taken longer than it normally would have with The Palace learning as he went, but the pride on his friend’s face made the extra time worthwhile. Working had distracted him from thinking about Rachel. Together, they had freaky chemistry, a physical connection which blew him away every time he touched her. He’d been seduced by lust, not thinking with his brain when it came to her. The terse discussion when he’d arrived at Merindah Park to collect her for the drive back to Melbourne had confused him, and she’d pretended to sleep, all the way back to town. Breaking up now was sucky timing too. With his season finished, and his summer law course yet to start, he had nothing to fill his time, nothing except to wonder what had gone wrong. His lungs slowly started operating again and he gulped in some air. His leg muscles twitched, wanting to chase after her, while his hands gripped the steering wheel, tight, to stop himself. If she didn’t want him, she wouldn’t want him to beat on her door and demand she listen to him.
Jacob woke up alone the next day, not quite certain how he’d driven from Rachel’s place to his home. He’d fallen into bed in a haze of emotion—anger, uncertainty, frustration—and his stomach still churned on waking, as though he’d spent all night perched over the toilet vomiting. Rachel had gotten under his skin quickly, a searing connection between them, which he’d assumed would burn out slowly leaving only glowing embers behind. He hadn’t expected Rachel to throw buckets of water on their fire, then stamp it out before it had a chance to grow into something spectacular. Fire formed a natural part of the Australian landscape, burning fierce and intense to burst open the seed pods of the vegetation, and create new life from the ashes. He’d imagined his relationship with Rachel would settle down, like a bushfire, at first spectacular before settling into quiet steady growth, a place where they could both bloom. Obviously, the fantasy was wrong— Rachel was too bold and wild to settle into consistency. She’d always be fighting, starting new fires, chasing thrills. Somehow he had to resign himself to a memory of amazing sex, and nothing more. He rubbed the back of his neck and stretched out his legs under the covers. His knee twinged more than yesterday—too much driving, probably. He didn’t want to blame the restless night, spent in a daze of twisted sheets and dream snippets of Rachel. His phone rang, and his heart skipped a beat hoping it was her, before he saw his sister’s name on the screen.
‘Allira, what’s up?’
‘I think you know.’ His sister’s terse voice, defending Rachel, when he’d been the one dumped made him want to hit something.
‘If I knew, I’d be able to fix it. Has she said anything to you?’
‘What? I don’t know what you mean?’ Allira’s voice changed from vicious to confused.
‘She broke up with me. I assume you were asking what the hell I’d done, and I have no fucking idea.’
‘She did? That would explain her current mood. I guessed you’d hurt her.’
‘Allira, I don’t understand what is going on, and I wish I knew.’ He rubbed his forehead.
‘Talk me through what happened yesterday.’ Allira’s calm command soothed, and he knew Rachel would never be able to soothe him like that. Rachel had done the right thing, for both of them, it shouldn’t ache in his chest like this, like the burn when he’d done a mile on the rowing machine. He focused on Allira, getting out of bed to pace around his room.
‘I’m just a bloke, I have no clue about what I’ve done wrong. I mean I was a bit late getting to her farm to pick her up in the afternoon, but this is a massive overreaction.’
Allira gasped, ‘Oh, shit. How late?’
Jacob scrunched up his face and rubbed his jaw, ‘I don’t know, half an hour maybe. She didn’t say anything. What does it matter?’
‘I have to talk to her first, but it matters. And I think she needs to tell you a story, so you understand. She’s not as tough as she makes out.’
‘Are you sure we are talking about the same Rachel? I’ve never met anyone who had their life in better order than Rachel. She’s bold about herself, she knows what she wants—’ And he loved that she wanted him … scratch that, she used to want him. The whole hot and cold thing made his jaw clench. Oh …
‘—um, Allira?’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you saying that the brave toughness is just an act?’ It would explain why she swayed between wanting him and pushing him away.
‘Some of it is her, but yes, something big happened when we were sixteen, and I think it’s hurt her much deeper than she wants to admit.’
‘What?’ He had to know. He could help her fix it—whatever it was. He sighed, he was in much deeper than he’d first thought if his response wasn’t a shrug and a whatever, but a desire to be her saviour. He sucked in a deep breath—did he really want to be someone’s hero?
‘It’s not my story to tell.’
‘That’s not helpful.’ He slumped back on the bed.
‘Sorry. It’s the truth. She’s a good friend to me, and I don’t want to betray her trust.’
Jacob leaped off the bed. ‘I’m coming over.’
‘She’s not here. She’s at work.’
‘I’m coming anyway.’
‘Drive safely. Please take care.’ In a few simple words Allira summed up the difference between her and Rachel. Uncertainty added to the odd clench in his chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to invest more time in a relationship with Rachel when she kept pushing him away, especially now Allira hinted at a reason for Rachel’s reluctance to properly connect. He perched on the edge of the bed considering what to do. Action suited him, but which action?
Jacob: I’m not coming.
Allira: Ok. Whatever you think is best.
Jacob typed a response, deleted it, typed it again, then deleted it. Fuck this uncertainty. He paced to his lounge and slammed his fist against his punching bag. Exercise always helped his brain figure out stuff. After a few decent hits, his phone rang, jerking him back to reality. He checked the screen before answering—he should probably answer this one.
‘Palace, how’s things? Sore after yesterday?’
‘I’m fucking sore, mate, that’s for sure.’
Jacob sneered, ‘From a little bit of hammering. It’s just a little blister.’
‘Nah, not that type of sore. You know how we were talking about the punter’s club in the car yesterday morning. I’m sore about that.’
‘Why?’ The change of subject and the underlying hurt in The Palace’s voice made his stomach drop.
‘I emailed them last night, after you dropped me off, saying I wanted to get my money out. And the email bounced.’
‘What do you mean?’ Oh crap, this wasn’t good.
‘I mean, I checked the spelling and everything, but I kept getting a Mail Delivery: Failed error, like the whole email address doesn’t exist anymore. They’ve taken my money, man.’ The Palace’s voice got louder, almost hysterical on the phone.
‘Mate, calm down.’
‘The fuck, mate. I can’t be calm. This is serious coin we are talking. What do I do?’
Jacob inhaled deeply. ‘Have you got any other way of finding them?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘A phone number? A name?’
‘I don’t think so.’
Jacob shook his head. Who the hell trusted a random email address and gave them money? ‘How did you find the club? Did someone tell you about it?’
‘Yeah, you know the V8 driver Max Bianchi?’ The Palace asked.
‘I’ve heard of him.’
‘He invited me to join, showed me the money he was making. It seemed easy, and then I made a stack of money, so it was all good.’
Jacob sighed. ‘He recruited you. Do you have a phone number for him?’
‘Yeah. I’ll call him.’
Ten minutes later, Jacob’s phone buzzed.
The Palace: He can’t get hold of them either.
Jacob: I think you guys need a lawyer.
The Palace: Good one, Lawless.
Jacob: No, seriously. Or the police. This is stealing.
The Palace: Fuck.
***
Rachel handed the reins of Justa Lad to his strapper and patted the loyal old gelding. She’d spent the last few days in a haze of work, riding trackwork, race riding with middling results, using work as an excuse to stop thinking about anything. She’d been avoiding Allira around the house too, adding to the sense that she was a damned coward, stumbling through life alone. Allira was a true friend, and Rachel had fucked it all up by messing around with Jacob. She breathed in deep. That was simply the way it had to be, because people weren’t trustworthy. She’d end up alone—she deserved nothing else—so she may as well get used to it. She unclipped the chin strap on her helmet, leaving it resting on her head, as she walked towards the next horse she was booked to work that morning. Career was something she could control.
Lost in her thoughts, she turned the corner at the end of this set of tie-up stalls, when a hand landed heavily on her shoulder. Before she could shriek, another hand clamped over her mouth. She bit down on the palm, kicking and fighting to get away, wildly looking around her for someone to help. There were people and horses everywhere at the track in the mornings. Fuck, how could no one be around right at the second some asshole grabbed her. She flung her feet backwards in the direction of the huge man gripping her. She bit down as hard as she could on his hand, and he pulled it away with a shout. He slammed her, face first, against the wall, covering her body with his. Her chin and nose scraped the timber on the wall, her forehead saved by her helmet.
‘Listen here, bitch. I want my money back.’
‘Money?’ She spat out the metallic taste of blood. His blood. Ew, she nearly gagged. She tried to use the wall to give herself some leverage. Better that than thrash helplessly about. He’d left her hands free. If she could just get them between her torso and the wall, she might just be able to spin free.
‘You and your fucking agent have my money. I want it back.’ His body pressed her harder between the timber and his large meaty frame. Only her back protector stopped him from getting too close. The thick vest also restricted her own movements, crushing her lungs. Her fingers jerked into fists at her sides.
She knew that voice. ‘Driscoll?’ Her bravado deserted her for a second as he leered over her—she’d never worried about her own safety until now. All she wanted to do now was survive so she could tell Serena how much she meant to her. To try and be the twin Serena needed her to be. To apologise to Allira and Jacob. If she could get away …
‘Where is the money?’ He shoved her harder against the wall, her riding helmet stopping her forehead from being bashed. Her veins pumped blood through her arms and legs. If she could just figure out how to use his size against him. His weight advantage and the way he squashed her scared the living crap out of her, and she couldn’t think. Think. She forced herself to stay still. Try to breathe. Be brave.
‘Driscoll. I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.’
‘Liar.’ He grabbed the back of her shoulder, using her vest as leverage, and twisted her to face him in a jerky motion. Almost a throw as he used his superior weight against her. Apart from his beer gut, he was surprisingly strong and fit. Any bloke who wasn’t a jockey had a weight advantage over her, and Driscoll was six feet of executive man. Her head slammed against the wall, thankfully protected by her riding helmet. The impact rang in her ears. The tight-fitted helmet shifted back on her skull. The wall kept it on her head. If only she hadn’t undone the chin strap, she might have been able to headbutt him in the throat.
‘You’ve been heard talking about the punter’s club. My name was mentioned. What do you know?’ He paused, pressing her back hard against the wall, and breathing in her face with stale, faintly alcoholic breath. She squirmed as he overpowered her. Visions of his next move sent a chill across her skin. ‘You and him are in it together.’
Pain in her shoulders where his fingers dug in clouded her vision. She stopped struggling—if she could just think, she might be able to brazen her way out of this. Raspy breaths galloped over her dry tongue. And where the hell was everyone? Trackwork was always busy. Why had no one noticed?
‘Driscoll, you are making no sense.’
‘Bitch. I just want my money back,’ he spat in her face and she scrunched her eyes shut, hoping none of his saliva went in her mouth or up her nose.
‘I don’t have your money.’ She peeked out of one eye at his reddened face and his raised arm. Oh fuck.
‘Stop.’ She dragged in a loud shallow breath. ‘Don’t hit me. I know who has your money.’ She had no fucking idea, but shit, she wouldn’t be able to figure it out while unconscious.
‘You. You have my money.’
‘Why do you keep saying that? What money?’
He dropped his arm. ‘You know what money. The punter’s club you’ve been running with your agent. He told me you had access to the funds, and if I wanted it back, I should ask you.’ He shifted his feet, scuffing them on the concrete path, and she tensed again for the next impact.
‘And you call this asking? Let me go.’ She waited. Hopeful he’d relax enough for her to escape. All those times she’d wrestled with her brothers as a kid must count for something in a moment like this.
‘I’m not letting you go, just so you can run off with my money.’ He glanced sideways at a thud from the other side of the tie-up stalls. A horse kicking out at the back wall. Thank fuck. Rachel used his distraction to stamp on his foot hard. Using her momentum and the wall at her back, she struck him in the balls with her other knee. He made an ooph noise and released his grip just enough for her to headbutt him with her helmet. The front shifted as it hit him, smashing into her eyes and the bridge of her nose, and she nearly fainted with the stab of pain. He collapsed on the path in front of her, his huge frame going down hard with a loud thump, and she stumbled away from him, staggering around the wall.
‘Hey, help please.’ She gripped the edge of the tie-up stalls, breathing heavily, unable to see. She spat on the ground as a bead of her own blood seeped into the corner of her mouth. The thick moisture tasted like iron filings and she wanted to gag. She didn’t need to be able to see to know her spit had painted the concrete with brown and red marks.
‘Oh shit, are you okay?’
‘Not really.’
A couple of people grabbed her arms and helped her walk. She reached up and gingerly pushed her helmet up her forehead.
‘Oh fuck, miss, you are going to have the biggest black eyes.’
‘Yeah.’ She could feel the bruising on her nose and eyes growing, pushing her eyelids together.
‘What happened?’
‘I … Umm—’ Why couldn’t she make words come out? She tripped on the ground, stumbling forward and her arms jerked as the people helping her kept her from falling.
‘Let’s get you to the ambos.’
‘Isn’t that Rachel Bassett?’
‘Yeah, what happened?’
‘I heard that colt of yours kicking out. Did she get kicked?’
‘What a shame, she’s a damned good jockey.’
Rachel could hear people buzzing around her. She wanted to tell them to find Driscoll before he got away. The words wouldn’t come out and the whole world faded to black.