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“But it won’t be my horse that does it.” Mr. Rimkus scowls. “This is as much to repair our image as it is for any other purpose.”

I hate this guy. I already gave him half a million euros, and he’s loaded as sin, clearly. Quicksilver’s nostrils are flaring, and he looks ready to kick the jerk. I really don’t need that happening.

“Give him to me, and I’ll agree to it.”

Oh, no. He’s definitely going to bite him now. “That’s not possible,” I say. “I’ll ride in your colors. No one has to know he’s not yours, but that’s the closest I’ll come.”

“Anyone who sees the paperwork will know.”

I shrug. “I can ride that nag, and you can hold me to the terms of the bargain, but it won’t repair your image, and it won’t earn you a single euro.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’ll buy him from you.”

“He’s not for sale,” I say. “I’ll ride Minnie, or I’ll ride Quicksilver, and either way I’ll wear your colors. You can bet on him and make a fortune, or you can run her and lose. Those are your two options.”

His smile’s disgusting. Far worse than Nojus’s ever was. “But if you lose, I still win.”

“I remember,” I say. “But I don’t think you value that kind of win the same way that your brother did.” Though, with the way he’s changed the terms, maybe he does. I suppress my shudder. That last thing I need to do is arouse Alexei’s suspicion further.

He huffs. “Show me what he can do. Then I’ll decide.”

I warm Quicksilver up, and once he’s warm, I ask him to move out a little. It’s really the first time I’ve ridden him on a track, and I don’t think he’s been ridden by many other people. What I initially mistook as some experience under saddle was more likely to be experience in the saddle that roughly translated because of his human intelligence. Even so, as soon as I ask for speed, he shoots forward. The ground’s literally blurry underneath our feet, and when I fly past Lukas, his jaw’s dangling.

It’s satisfying.

After our third time around, Mr. Rimkus shouts. “Enough, enough.”

I slow Quicksilver halfway around and trot him near the edge until we reach them.

He doesn’t look pleased, in spite of our performance. “I’ll buy him.”

“Sometimes,” I say, “we can’t get what we want. This is one of those times. But I’ll ride him in that race, and you can tell people whatever you want. I won’t argue with your story.”

He spins around and walks away, no big movements, no loud outbreaks, just headed out. He’s nearly to the parking lot when he stops. “Fine.”

I barely hear the word.

He’s the kind of man who never, ever shouts. He expects others to simply hear and obey. It makes me hate him even more.

“Well, that’s one problem solved,” I say.

“What does that mean?” Lukas asks.

“I do own him, but I have zero papers.”

Lukas swears.

“I couldn’t admit that to him, because he’d get fake papers saying he owned him and steal him from me.”

“He would, yes,” Lukas says.

“And now you’re thinking of doing that.” I frown.

Lukas laughs. “It’s not a terrible thought. I mean, I’ve never seen a horse move like that. He flies, Adriana.”

“He does,” I say. “But look, if you knew what I went through to get him.” I slide off his back. “He’s not really in condition for a race. How aggressive should we get with just three weeks to go?”

“Are you training him here or at home?”