Their Vicious Games(30)

“No. We were just talking about Margaret. That’s all. She wanted to make sure I was okay,” I whisper back.

“Does she know…?” Saint trails off.

I bite my bottom lip. “Yes, but we’re good,” I hiss back.

Saint gives me a look, like she doesn’t believe me. I look away at the other girls, hoping she won’t ask anything else. Hawthorne is at the other end of the long arc, but she doesn’t look my way. Some of the girls next to her are staring right back at me, though, curious and accusing in equal measure.

“Ladies, thank you for being so prompt,” Leighton breathes. “Today marks the true beginning of your training. Here is the first lesson: Life will throw many obstacles at you. Don’t allow them to unseat you. Keep dignity and grace, always. Three days from now, you will embark on the Ride, a horse race through many challenges. The winner will be ranked first, and will gain the special privileges that that rightly entails.”

“Special privileges?” one girl asks.

Leighton hums and tilts her head. “Cocktails with the family and private dinners with the Remington heir to discuss… future career opportunities and otherwise.”

Jacqueline straightens, and sharp inhales crackle with the tension that suddenly fills the stable.

Meals with Pierce Remington. An alleged advantage.

I may not want that particular prize, but having his ear would give me another ally in the house. This is allegedly all for him, after all. He picked me in the woods. Me. All because of the attention I paid him. I could do that again.

“If you have ridden before, step to the left. You will be instructed by Trainer Rogers. He will introduce you to your steeds and give you the proper equipment you will need,” Leighton commands. A man in riding jeans steps out from around the corner in the stable and snaps his fingers.

“This way, ladies,” Rogers says gruffly.

Penthesilea moves first. The knot in my throat throbs. Penthesilea is a decorated equestrian. She’s clearly at an advantage here. Saint squeezes my wrist one more time before she gives me a meaningful look, one that tells me that she’ll definitely interrogate me later, and then she’s off with the other girls, because of course she’s ridden. As they head off, I realize I’m alone except for that one girl who asked about special privileges.

I recognize her briefly as the beachy Californian model, though she looks different without her makeup. It’s clear she works out, though. God, if I’d only known that all that time spent studying would’ve been better spent working out, of all things.

“Uh, hi, I’m Adina,” I murmur.

The girl’s nose wrinkles. “I know,” she says dismissively, without introducing herself back.

Okay.

“Do be polite, Hannah G,” Aunt Leighton warns, but turns to look at something.

“Hannah G?” I repeat.

Hannah G’s sneer deepens. “Well, I’m clearly not Hannah R,” she spits.

I can’t remember who the hell Hannah R is.

But then Hannah G puts her hands on her hips and sidles closer to me, turning a more doe-eyed expression on just as Aunt Leighton turns back. She looks suitably unimpressed, thankfully.

“As the pair of you are novices, I have elected to go with a much more personal and aggressive approach for your training to put you at less of a disadvantage. You will be trained by my nephew,” Leighton says, her voice dripping with a strange amount of distaste.

Hannah G straightens hopefully. “Pierce?”

“No, I’m the shorter, less impressive brother. Sorry to disappoint.”

Graham. Hannah G deflates entirely, and she crosses her arms, cursing under her breath. Graham swans in from around the corner, dressed far more casually than I’ve ever seen a Remington. I don’t think I’ve ever seen any of them in a pair of jeans. Even as a child, Pierce was perpetually dressed in chinos.

Leighton gives him a warning look. “Do your job, Graham. If they fail, there will be consequences.”

“For who?” Graham retorts pointedly.

“I’m being serious, Graham. For once in your life, do as you’re told,” Leighton commands coldly. She turns to me and warms, just the tiniest bit. “Now I’m going to speak to Esme about last night. Good luck.”

Graham groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, looking up at the vaulted ceiling.

“Okay, Graham, get it together. You volunteered for this job,” he mutters under his breath.

“Do you even ride?” Hannah G asks. “I know your brother does.”

Graham glares at her. “Every Remington rides. And I volunteered because I’m trying to minimize the amount of death here, in case last night didn’t clue you in to what’s at stake. And you will if you don’t fix your attitude.”

Hannah G opens her mouth and then closes it, more fish-than model-like now, and I choke on my own spit.

“The Ride is an obstacle course as much as a race,” Graham explains. “You will be faced with hedge jumps, bank climbs, river swims, and mud pits. Horses have died on the Taxis Ditch jump.”

“And girls?” Hannah G asks, her voice smaller. Suddenly, she looks young, quiet, and terrified. She looks like Margaret did, when she died in my arms, and I can tell for all her bravado that she’s thinking of her too.