Page 14 of Dark Things (Payback Duet #1)
Haunt
A fter the win this afternoon, I’m floating on the best kind of high. Reb and I have to work tonight, but it was awesome to just be normal for a little while. Cat took us to her favorite burger place, and we laughed like we’ve all been together for years.
I knew Reb and Cat would get along, and now seeing them after their time together, it proves my theory.
They need each other. Reb always has me, but it would be nice for her to have others to rely on, too.
She’s such a multi-faceted person. She has parts of herself that need to shine.
My part is all the darkness inside of her, the ones that would make lesser men run screaming, but the softer side needs help coming through. Cat could be that for her.
Now we’re standing next to Black Caviar’s trailer in the middle of the night.
It’s dark in the corner of the track, but we need to move him before someone notices him gone.
There’s a guard and a few security guys after hours, but Stan pays them enough to look the other way.
Still doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be careful.
“You ready?” I ask, picking up the last of the bags and throwing them in the back of the pick-up.
“Yeah, let’s get this over with. Let’s hope I don’t end up in the ICU later,” she growls, walking over to the passenger side.
I grab onto her waist and kiss her head before depositing her into the seat. Could she have gotten in by herself, yes. Will I take any opportunity to hold her, also yes.
“I’m not a damn baby. I can jump into the truck, and also, who the fuck put these big ass tires on here? It’s not like we’re going to a monster truck rally,” she complains while I walk over to slide into the driver’s seat.
“They’re normal size truck tires, Reb. You’re just a little sprite.”
I laugh as she punches my arm, mock rubbing it. While Reb could definitely put me on my ass in an all-out fight, which she has done plenty of times, this is another way of showing love. My little Pitch.
Our call signs have become something of a joke to us. Mine is Ghost because once my father decided we had to go into hiding, he changed my name to Haunt from Spiro, which roughly translates to spirit in Italian, so not too much imagination there.
Reb's scary just as she is. They call her Pitch because the first time she killed for Stan, she did it so ruthlessly, they decided her soul is black as pitch.
But anyone who knows Reb, knows that her soul is as bright as the sun at mid-day. What they did to her made all the shadows cover it up. So she’s my little Pitch, but really she’s the best part of me.
We pull down dirt roads and through a copse of trees. They’ve been cut down to let a truck with a trailer through, but other than that it’s like the wilds back here.
“Jesus this is some fucking Deliverance shit. Leave it to these country gangsters to put a damn track in the middle of the woods,” she says.
I grunt and drive us through to the other side of the area that’s been cleared out for the trailers. Some of the other jockeys and trainers are unloading their horses, but I sit and wait a moment.
“You have your knife?” I ask, turning toward her.
She scoffs, opens the door, and jumps down from the truck with no answer. I roll my eyes and meet her around the back.
“I’m only making sure we’re prepared,” I say, unlocking the latch and swinging the door wide.
“I’m insulted you thought I wouldn’t have my head in it, Ghost. Give me one instance where I didn’t have my shit together,” she says, moving the ramp down so I can get Black Caviar to unload.
“Um, how about that time in Maryland? The three gun runners we needed to take out. You didn’t pack the extra ammo. We had to scramble to find a damn clip that fit your gun in their stash.”
I smirk at her face as Caviar walks backward out of the trailer. He snorts and throws his head a bit, but I shut him down with a firm hold, not letting him get away with his terrible behavior. This horse is beautiful, but he’s such a dick.
“Oh my god, that was one fucking time. Like seriously, are you ever going to let that go? We got them eventually, right?” she says, taking out the saddle and her helmet from the bag in the back of the truck.
Most people don’t realize that racing saddles are much smaller and more lightweight compared to an English or Western. I help her tack Caviar while she switches out her boots, tapes her number on her back and clips on her helmet.
“You know I’m not going to. I live for your fuckups, gioia mia ,” I purr in her ear, grabbing her ass before pulling away.
She scowls, but I see the fire in her eyes. I want to finish this race and get the hell out of here. Cat is sleeping at a friend’s house, and I want to make Reb scream later.
We walk over to the makeshift starting gate, eyeing up the competition.
There’s a lot of people here from the local crime rings, but others look like it’s their first time.
I scan the crowd looking for anyone who’s out of place.
There’s a group of guys hidden behind others, but one guy is tall like me.
His hat is pulled down low, so I can’t make out his face, but his build sparks recognition.
Seems my teammate wanted to come out and see what the excitement is all about.
I need to keep Reb away from him tonight.
Large spotlights highlight the bends in the oval and the hay barrels they use as partitions from the track and the crowd. In the middle of the oval, instead of a rail with fancy landscaping or the manicured gardens of other racetracks, is a wall of…
“Is that fucking corn?” she asks, turning to me. She’s trying to hold in her laugh.
“I mean, we’re not in Louisville anymore.
This is probably all they could get together.
Cut out a track in the middle of a cornfield,” I chuckle.
Is it a poor attempt to make the track pretty or so that no one notices a makeshift track in the middle of nowhere?
Either way, we need to race and win tonight so that Stan stays off our asses.
People part as we bring Caviar to the starting line. The other horses here don’t even compare to what Caviar can do. He’s a well-oiled machine compared to toy cars.
“Who the fuck are you?” says a chubby guy wearing overalls and a red baseball cap. Bet you he planted that corn .
He moves, coming to crowd over us, a couple of his buddies walking with him. I could have done without this posturing.
“Graves, riding Black Caviar,” I say, handing the lead to Reb moving in front of her slightly. Caviar snorts and stamps his foot a little.
Huh, maybe he’s not such a dick . I give his neck a scritch.
“A chick? As a jockey? Are you fucking kidding me. She can’t race. This is a man's race,” he says, lifting his cap and putting it back on again.
The crowd hushes a little to see what the commotion is about, but I just smile wide.
“You know who this chick is?” I ask, slowly lifting the back of my shirt from the hem. I feel Reb coming closer to me, her free hand climbing up to the small of my back, right where my SIG is holstered.
“No, why the fuck would I? I also don’t give a shit. She has a pussy and she ain’t racing. Go cry to your Daddy.”
He goes to walk away, but my voice stops him in his tracks.
“This is Pitch, she’ll be riding Black Caviar tonight. You have an issue with it, you can take it up with her. I won’t even suggest calling Stan.”
His back straightens as he spins around, jaw almost to the floor. Reb steps around me, gun in hand.
“I’m sure if you need a demonstration, I can give you one. Or you can shut the fuck up, open the line, and let us race. It’s your choice, though,” she says, with a bright smile on her face.
He stammers a bit before swallowing. “No, Pitch, it’s cool. We’ll just start, okay. Let me get back over to the others. When you’re ready, just get into position.”
He practically runs away, which causes a few of the crowd around us to watch more closely. I’m sure this is why Stan didn’t want anyone to know who was jockeying tonight. Reb tends to make her own statement.
She clicks the safety back on and hands me the gun as we walk Caviar over to the rest of the horses. He starts to do his prance, which is more like a toddler being wrangled into a pair of shoes they don't want to wear.
“Hey, cut it out, fucker. I still need to ride and you are not going to kill me tonight,” she whispers.
I can see the nerves on her. We watched Caviar’s previous jockey’s skull get smashed in by his back hoof. It’s in the top ten things I do not want to witness again.
I give her a leg up, and she flings herself over, grabbing his reins while I grip the bottom lead and take them over to the other horses.
We line up in between the hay barrels one of the guys gestures to.
They create a small gate, rising up to around my shoulder height.
This does not help Caviar calm at all. His front starts to lift up, but Reb pulls the left rein back a bit and tilts his head.
He tries to back up, but I hold firm—not that he couldn’t rip my arm out of its socket if he chose, but he seems to agree this isn’t the time to fuck around.
I unclip the lead and walk back out of the shoot, grabbing Reb’s leg. “You got this. I’ll see you on the other side. Ti amo, gioia mia .”
She mouths back the words before pulling down her goggles and sitting forward, her crop in her right hand. I stand back enough to keep safe, and send up a little prayer to the universe this goes well.
A bell dings, and the horses race into the darkness. My pulse speeds up when I can’t see how she’s doing. I climb up on a barrel on the side of the track, and look out toward the first spotlight. That’s when I see it.
Black Caviar is a blur of movement. His coat matches the night, but his rider is a halo attached to a demon, her white silks standing out among the darker silks of the other jockeys. She’s also almost a furlong in front of the other horses.
I start yelling, cupping my hands. “Get it, Pitch!” She raises her crop and puts her head down, giving Black Caviar enough room to let go. He’s got two speeds, fast and get-the-fuck-out-of-dodge. She just activated second gear.
As they come back to the start, the other horses are so far behind that there won’t be any arguing who won.
She crosses the line and lifts onto her feet, fully standing, throwing her arm in the air with three fingers pointed upward.
She does this at every race and competition.
I asked her about it once, and she said it’s her way of thanking whoever is looking out for her.
Today on the field when she did it for me, I was a little misty-eyed. She’s never done that for me before.
I run over to where she’s easing her pace and jump into the oval to help Caviar settle. He’ll need to walk a bit to cool off, but I have to reach her.
“Holy fuck; that was awesome,” she screams when I approach. “Who knew this fucking asshole could fly like that? After that first bend it was like the devil was coming to collect this motherfucker. Why in the shit is he not racing for real?”
I laugh, clipping the lead back on Caviar and walking us away from the rest of the crowd. We’ll do a short circle before going back to the trailer.
“Because he can’t pass to get his gate card. Fucker doesn’t understand the race starts after you get into the shoot.”
“Well let me tell you, all that fear I had went out the goddamn window. He’s a fucking dream under me. Like fucking Secretariat or Giacomo dream.”
I smile up and tap her leg. She swings around and lands on my shoulder before doing a flip and dismounting.
“All right, showoff. Let’s go collect, and then I’m taking you home for a bath and maybe some gnocchi. I heard Marc made some this afternoon.”
She pretends to swoon, holding onto my arm for support. “Gnocchi and bubbles? What did I do to deserve you?” she asks .
She unclips her helmet and puts her gloves inside before sticking it under her arms. I want to pull her into me, but if it got back to Stan he’d be in a mood, saying this was business and not the time to fuck around. Not worth it.
Overalls comes over to us, handing me a stack of bills before flinching back when he notices Reb step up. “Nice race, Pitch. Um…hope we see you again. Next time I’ll be betting on you.”
He scurries away, and I pocket the cash. “Jesus, you put the fear of God in that one.”
“What can I say? I make an excellent first impression.” She smiles, all teeth, nothing sweet about it. But that’s my little Pitch. She knows just how to catch her prey.
As we walk through the crowd, my eyes land on Brooks, who is trying really hard to hide himself behind a tree. It’s so comical, I almost can’t hold in the laugh, but if he’s here, there’s a reason for it, and I’ll be finding out what it is before I let Reb know.
He might be a good teammate, but nothing will get in the way of keeping Reb protected. What we’re doing might be unsafe and, yeah, a little illegal—okay, a lot illegal—but no one is going to fuck with what we’ve planned to do. And getting locked up would definitely put a kink in our plan.
I’m going to have to keep a closer eye on these boys.