Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
“Leon will support you with all that,” he said. “He’s the best at what he does.”
“But I’m asking you,” I said back, boldly. Something Jasper seemed to like if the subtle flaring of his eyes was anything to go by.
He was silent for a beat, before he said, “You hold your breath on the approach to a jump. It affects your balance.” I did do that. He was right. I tried to change it, but in the moment, often forgot.
“What else?” I pushed, feeling like the twelve-year-old wannabe rider getting coached from her hero.
“Your hands are too high, especially in the jump-offs when you’re pushing your horse to the brink.” My cheek twitched at just how easily Jasper gave feedback. Ever the perfectionist. “That’s what I’d work on between now and Doha.”
“Thank you,” I said, and meant it. Jasper nodded his head, then I asked, “What are your weaknesses?”
His expression was serious as he studied my face. I wanted to know that a world champion had things to work on too. I wanted him to talk to me like I’d told him he could. Jasper folded his arms over his chest, then said, “These days?” he asked, and I nodded eagerly. “I just have one,” he said, cryptically. “One I’m not sure I’ll be able to overcome.”
With that, Jasper left through the barn doors, but I was sure I heard “’Night, Angel” as he walked down the hallway. My heart kicked into a heady sprint, and my body filled with lightness, a far cry from where I’d been only hours ago.
Lifting my shaking hand to my forehead, I traced the spot Jasper’s lips had just kissed. He had come to apologize to me. He was in a dark place because of all he’d gone through of late. And I was pretty sure that weakness he was referring to? Had nothing to do with his riding skills.
I dropped down to the bench and stared into space.
Jasper Knighton was a deeply layered man. A man I had vowed to stay away from. Only now the thought of leaving him to go on tour brought pangs of pain to my heart.
But it was probably for the best. I had vowed to be here with no distractions. To ride with the sole intent of being top of the rankings. If Jasper came with us, I wasn’t sure I could stay focused.
Him not coming on tour was certainly for the best.
I just wished I could convince my soul of that fact too.
Chapter Ten
Jasper
Golden Oaks
Two weeks later
My hands shook as I held the letter in my hand. I had read it, and read it again.
How is Dahlia?
If you take measures to protect things I want to destroy, I will always find a way around them.
I rubbed my hand over my face. The state-of-the-art electric barn we’d had built for Dahlia had been hacked. Dahlia escaped and almost broke her legs because this prick was pissed off that we’d managed to keep her in a secure place and he couldn’t get to her.
But how did he know? Only the close members of staff knew, and we’d questioned them all. They had worked with us for years and were trusted. It wasn’t them, something inside of me just felt it. The company providing the state-of-the-art electric stables had never been hacked before and were now changing their security to make it bulletproof.
Who the fuck was this person?
The tour begins soon, and I will be watching.
Your father made sure to destroy my life, so I will destroy yours in return.
You worshipped your father but didn’t know the secrets he took to the grave.
He wasn’t the man you thought, and now the son shall pay for the sins of the father.
I slammed the letter down and gripped my hair. I took a deep breath and replayed all the measures I had to keep everyone safe on the tour—the horses, the staff, the riders . . . Hallie.
I had contacts all over the world in this industry, friends in all the high places, and I was using every one of them to ensure there was no drama, no issues for my team this year. But still, I felt helpless, knowing they were going to be traveling around the world, while I was here, having to trust that I’d done enough.
You worshipped your father but didn’t know the secrets he took to the grave. He wasn’t the man you thought, and now the son shall pay for the sins of the father . . .
The threats in the letters were nothing new, but the letters of late seemed to be getting more personal, like I could feel the anger toward my father growing stronger, more unhinged.
I looked up at my father’s picture. My stomach rolled. He was a good man, I knew . . . wasn’t he?