Nice Day For A White Wedding

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Even the most experienced rider gets thrown sometimes. It’s just one of those things. I hope it hasn’t put you off riding.”

“No, of course not. I love riding.”

“Nikita is usually so calm and it generally takes helluva of a lot more than outside noises to spook her,” I say, thinking about the incident rationally for the first time.

“Yeah. Like someone making a noise that sounded like a gunshot, for example?” Cindy says.

I frown. “What do you mean?”

She shakes her head. “I’m probably just being paranoid.”

I realize in my panic I didn’t ask what happened leading up to Cindy being thrown from Nikita. “Paranoid is not a word I would have associated with you. Tell me everything.”

“There was a noise, a damned loud one. It sounded like a car backfiring, or a gun shot. That’s when Nikita reared and I fell. I realized I’d seen a flash of pink through the trees right before hearing the noise. It appeared to be the same pink as the dress Petra wore at lunch. It sounds crazy, but I can’t help feeling that she was the one who spooked Nikita. That she wanted me to fall and hurt myself. But even as I’m saying it out loud now, I know it sounds ridiculous.”

I feel anger coming over me in waves. Fucking Petra. I don’t know what game she’s playing exactly, but this is a damned sight more serious than spooking Cindy in her room. Letting her think the ghost of some crazy old relative was in her room was child’s play compared to this. This could have caused a serious injury. Hell, it could have paralyzed, or even killed her.

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. It sounds exactly like something Petra would do,” I say in a low voice so filled with anger that Cindy recoils slightly.

I stand.

“Where are you going?” Cindy asks.

“To have a little chat with my bitch of a cousin,” I reply.

“Don’t do that, Alex. What if I’m wrong?” she says.

“Petra is sly, vindictive, and one hell of a liar, but I have always been able to see through her lies. I’ll know whether she is behind this or not, don’t you worry about that.”

“I’ll come with you,” she says immediately.

“Cindy, please, just stay here and don’t move your ankle. I won’t be long, I promise. I’m not going to hurt Petra, even though I would love to give her the hiding she never got as a child. I’m just going to let her know I’m onto her dangerous games and make it clear she stops right now or she’ll have a very different me to deal with. I promised you nothing would happen to you while you were here with me, and now something has. But I’ll make damned sure nothing else does.”

She nods but she doesn’t look overly happy about it. The fact she gives in so easily tells me she’s scared of what Petra is capable of and what she might do next. She won’t be doing anything else, I’ll make damned sure of that.

I stalk out of the room before Cindy can say anything else. I have to. I can’t let her see how mad I really am, or she’ll be hobbling along behind me trying to calm me down. I wasn’t lying to Cindy. I’m not going to hurt Petra. This time.

I need to get a handle on my temper before I look for Petra. If I go in ranting and raving at her, she’s not going to take my threats seriously. Everyone knows I have a temper and my immediate family learned quickly to just ignore my outbursts. I need to dig down inside of myself and find that cold anger I know still lurks there. The kind of anger that terrified people back in the days before I sorted my life out and began making my money through legit businesses.

I push all thoughts of Cindy away, because when I think of her, hurt and in pain, my emotions take over and all I can see is red. I know deep down this isn’t about Cindy. Petra couldn’t care less about Cindy one way or the other. This is about me. This is between me and her. Cindy is collateral damage in this, and that’s how I need to think of her for the moment. I will protect my assets, just like I always have in my business.

It works.

The rage inside of me shifts, becoming a cold, deadly focus. By the time I reach the bottom of the stairs, I am different. Gone is the emotion, the ranting and raving. In its place is a ruthless determination that I have never allowed myself to show in front of my family before today.

I move through the house. A maid who is carrying a tray of coffee informs me Petra is in her bedroom. The coffee is for her. I tell her to take the coffee back to the kitchen. Then I go back upstairs and tap on Petra’s suite of rooms. She shouts for me to come in.