24 Hours of Trouble

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

I SLOWED MURPHY to a walk, and we headed for the arena. Outside, we paused as the rider before me finished her round. I recognised her—she’d only joined the tour this year, and her horse was young but a nice type. I took a quick look up at the screen. Four faults glowed yellow in the corner, and when I looked past, I glimpsed a giant baguette lying in the sand.

Her face relaxed as she slowed to walk past me. “Good luck,” she whispered.

I sure needed that.

Pasting on a smile, I legged Murphy forward, only for him to go in the opposite direction. The little sod shot backwards and nearly ran the steward over in the process.

All eyes were on me, and I could feel my cheeks colouring.

“Make that damned animal behave,” was Antonio’s gem of advice.

What did he think I was trying to do?

Murphy kept reversing, the world’s media scattering in his wake. As his backside touched the wall, he shot forward as if he’d been branded with a hot poker, and I hung on by the skin of my teeth.

Thankfully the bell rang as we galloped in, and not being brave enough to attempt a circle, I aimed Murphy at the first fence. As we got under the spotlights, his ears pricked forwards, and he switched to the bouncy canter he’d need to clear the fences. Show off.

And that was why I loved him.

At sixteen hands, he was four inches smaller than Harley, with a lighter build. We flew around the course, shortcuts included, and had eleven seconds to spare as we crossed the line.

“Wonders will never cease,” said Antonio. “I’ll hold off on sending him for dog meat until after the jump-off.”

Because at that level of competition, a jump-off was inevitable. That meant we’d have to race against the clock over a shortened course. My opponents would be all those who went clear within the time limit.

I gripped the reins as Murphy danced sideways past his nemesis and headed back to the warm-up arena. Now my job was to keep my horse settled for the final part of the competition.

That was harder than it sounded because the nearer it got to the end of the show, the closer it got to the time when Antonio would take me back to the hotel room. A cold finger of fear ran up my spine at the thought.

My fear transferred to Murphy, and Antonio looked on, his jaw clenched as Murphy jogged along with my heart matching the staccato rhythm of his hooves.

The twenty minutes I had to wait were excruciating as Antonio glowered at my every move, and when the announcer called us back to the ring, I did my best to block my darling boyfriend out. As was to be expected, they’d left the five nastiest fences in—the baguettes, the treble, the stile, the clapperboard, and the car, in that order.

“Go inside the Arc to get to the clapperboard,” Antonio told me as we walked up to the ring.

I looked at it. Even for Murphy, that turn bordered on the impossible.

“I can’t. It’s too tight. He won’t have a stride to jump from.”

“You’ll lose otherwise. And you don’t want to do that. Trust me.”

He was right. I didn’t.

Murphy and I were joined by a flock of butterflies flapping around my stomach as we cantered through the timing beam. He flew over the baguettes and the treble, giving a swish of his tail over the third part as if to say, “That was easy.”

Then I had a split second to decide whether or not to heed Antonio’s advice. Could I take the repercussions if I didn’t?

The answer was no.

I wrenched the poor horse around to the right and kicked him on hard. His ears flicked back in confusion as he attempted to work out what he was supposed to jump.

He tried, bless him. He tried so hard. I closed my eyes as he launched himself as high as he could, clearing half the wing before the whole fence crashed to the ground around us. My beautiful Murphy tripped on landing, going down on one knee as I exited stage left over his shoulder.

And as I lay there in the sand, a thousand camera flashes going off above me, my thought wasn’t for the pain in my ankle, or even for my beloved horse.

It was for what I knew would happen when Antonio got me back to the hotel.

“You should have used your stick on that damned horse,” Antonio said as we sat in the car. “What do you think you carry it for? Decoration?”

The paramedics had iced my ankle and strapped it up. It was swollen, but they were happy I hadn’t broken any bones. Just sprained ligaments, they said. And luckily, Murphy had trotted up sound for the vet.

“He tried, Antonio. He really tried, but the turn was too tight.” Even to my own ears, I sounded like I was whining, and Antonio hated that.

“Excuses. You’re full of them, aren’t you? Every time you lose, it’s always someone else’s fault. Well, I’ll tell you now, it isn’t. It’s all on you. If I decide to shoot that horse where he stands, it’s your doing.”

A tear rolled down my cheek, and I tried to look away so Antonio wouldn’t see. He was having none of it.

He pinched my chin and turned me back to face him. “So, now you’re a cry-baby. Grow up.”

I didn’t feel grown up. I felt like a naughty child under his gaze. What I would have given to have my mother’s arms around me at that moment. I missed my parents so, so much, and last month, Antonio had even grumbled when I wanted to put flowers on their grave because the anniversary of their death clashed with one of his business meetings.

“We’re at the hotel, sir,” the driver said through the intercom. “Shall I open the door?”

“Yes.” Antonio didn’t take his eyes off me. “And you, Amelia, will be making up for your abysmal performance when we get inside. I expect obedience, and you can put a bit of effort into it this time.”

As we walked into the lobby, I looked around for someone, anyone, who might be able to help me. But there was nobody. The doorman stared studiously towards the pavement as Antonio gripped my arm so hard his knuckles turned white while he forced me into the lift.

My last thought as the doors closed behind us was that one day this man would kill me.

Maybe even today.

Upstairs, Antonio shoved me through the door to the penthouse suite, and I tripped down the step. A yelp escaped as I landed hard on my bad ankle.

“Now there’s a sound I like.”

He regarded me from above, imperious, as he strode towards me. The sound of blood whooshing in my ears drowned out the crack of his knuckles. Time slowed as he stopped a foot away from where I was supporting myself against the wall.

“Strip.”

My hands shook as I wriggled out of my jacket. He snatched it off me and threw it on the nearby sofa next to his.

“Not like that.” His lips curved up in an evil smile. “I want you to put on a show. The one you didn’t manage earlier.”

He strode over to the sound system and put on some music. Rhianna’s “Russian Roulette.” If I’d had a gun in my hand at that moment, I’d have aimed it at Antonio and pulled the trigger six times, just to be sure of getting the job done.

The prison sentence would have been worth it. I wasn’t free, anyway.

Nor was I a dancer, and how was it possible to be sexy while peeling off a pair of sweatpants, for crying out loud? One of the other riders had donated them after the ambulance crew cut my jodhpurs off me. My fingers fumbled at the drawstring as I tried to undo the hastily tied knot, and Antonio tapped his foot as he waited.

Finally, I got it undone and dropped the trousers. The cuff got stuck on my bandage, and a twinge of pain shot through my ankle as I pulled it free. Swaying my hips in time to the music, I undid the buttons on my shirt, one at a time. Antonio had bought it, so they were sparkly, overly ostentatious, and totally impractical. I slipped the sleeves down my arms and past the bruises that were already forming from his fingers earlier.

That left me standing in my underwear—a lacy bra and a thong, which chafed when I walked.

He stalked around me, perusing what he knew was his, and twisted my hair around his fist to pull my head back. I had no choice but to meet his eyes.

“You won’t disobey me again, will you?”

“N-n-no, Antonio.”

“Good.”

He reached down and popped open my bra. I’d say I spilled out of it, but there really wasn’t enough of me to do that. He palmed one of my breasts, pinching the n****e hard between his thumb and forefinger.

“Maybe we should do something about these. I like the idea of a touch of enhancement.”

Was he serious? He wanted me to go under the knife? I hated needles; he knew that. The thought of having someone cut me open was a hundred times worse, and I grew a little faint.

He held my eyes with his, daring me to challenge him.

I couldn’t.

I didn’t dare.

With his other hand, he reached down and tore my panties off. In books, that always sounds so sexy, but in reality, the elastic bit into my skin before it gave way, leaving me with an angry red welt.

“Fetch me a drink then get on the bed. Oh, and take your birth control pill, first. We don’t want any little accidents, do we?”

He let me go and walked into the bedroom, unbuckling his belt as he went. I’d felt the lash of it before. I had to do as he said if I didn’t want it again.

My handbag sat on the couch by the door where I’d left it after lunch. I rummaged through, trying to find the blister pack of pills. He was right about one thing. Having his child would be the end of my world.

Where were they? I fished through until my hand closed around a packet. No, that wasn’t them. Those were the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed me for when I lay awake, dreaming of my escape.

I looked at the packet.

Then I looked into the bedroom and saw Antonio walk past, now shirtless.

Did I dare?

Quickly, I found my other pills and swallowed the one for that day. Then I popped six of the Temazepam out into my hand. I usually only took one, so I figured that ought to do it.

My hands were shaking so much, I could hardly unscrew the top of the bottle of single malt that Antonio was so partial to. When it finally came off, I poured a generous measure into the glass. The water in the bathroom flowed as I broke each capsule in half and tipped the contents into the glass. How considerate. Antonio was brushing his teeth before he raped me.

Dammit! The powder had sunk to the bottom. What if it wouldn’t dissolve? I stirred it with my finger. Slowly, slowly, it disappeared. I just hoped it didn’t affect the taste. If Antonio noticed something wrong, I’d be dead. Of that I was certain.

But it was worth the risk.

Every night he did this, he killed off another little piece of me, anyway.

I shoved the broken halves of the capsules back into my handbag, making a mental note to flush them later. Then I sashayed as best I could into the bedroom.

The man upstairs hadn’t been too kind to me lately, but I said a silent prayer that he’d make Antonio drink his damn whisky before things went too far. Surely, he could do that one thing for me?

Antonio snatched the glass from me as I walked through the door. “About time.”

He jerked his head at the bed and took a mouthful, just the one, then glared down at the amber liquid.

I held my breath.

“I don’t like this brand. It’s bitter. Remind me to have the hotel get something else in.”

Oh hell, he wasn’t going to drink it, was he?