Making Her Mark

by Renée Dahlia

  ‘Drive safely. Please take care.’ In a few simple words Allira summed up the difference between her and Rachel. Uncertainty added to the odd clench in his chest. He wasn’t sure he wanted to invest more time in a relationship with Rachel when she kept pushing him away, especially now Allira hinted at a reason for Rachel’s reluctance to properly connect. He perched on the edge of the bed considering what to do. Action suited him, but which action?

  Jacob: I’m not coming.

  Allira: Ok. Whatever you think is best.

  Jacob typed a response, deleted it, typed it again, then deleted it. Fuck this uncertainty. He paced to his lounge and slammed his fist against his punching bag. Exercise always helped his brain figure out stuff. After a few decent hits, his phone rang, jerking him back to reality. He checked the screen before answering—he should probably answer this one.

  ‘Palace, how’s things? Sore after yesterday?’

  ‘I’m fucking sore, mate, that’s for sure.’

  Jacob sneered, ‘From a little bit of hammering. It’s just a little blister.’

  ‘Nah, not that type of sore. You know how we were talking about the punter’s club in the car yesterday morning. I’m sore about that.’

  ‘Why?’ The change of subject and the underlying hurt in The Palace’s voice made his stomach drop.

  ‘I emailed them last night, after you dropped me off, saying I wanted to get my money out. And the email bounced.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Oh crap, this wasn’t good.

  ‘I mean, I checked the spelling and everything, but I kept getting a Mail Delivery: Failed error, like the whole email address doesn’t exist anymore. They’ve taken my money, man.’ The Palace’s voice got louder, almost hysterical on the phone.

  ‘Mate, calm down.’

  ‘The fuck, mate. I can’t be calm. This is serious coin we are talking. What do I do?’

  Jacob inhaled deeply. ‘Have you got any other way of finding them?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A phone number? A name?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Jacob shook his head. Who the hell trusted a random email address and gave them money? ‘How did you find the club? Did someone tell you about it?’

  ‘Yeah, you know the V8 driver Max Bianchi?’ The Palace asked.

  ‘I’ve heard of him.’

  ‘He invited me to join, showed me the money he was making. It seemed easy, and then I made a stack of money, so it was all good.’

  Jacob sighed. ‘He recruited you. Do you have a phone number for him?’

  ‘Yeah. I’ll call him.’

  Ten minutes later, Jacob’s phone buzzed.

  The Palace: He can’t get hold of them either.

  Jacob: I think you guys need a lawyer.

  The Palace: Good one, Lawless.

  Jacob: No, seriously. Or the police. This is stealing.

  The Palace: Fuck.

  ***

  Rachel handed the reins of Justa Lad to his strapper and patted the loyal old gelding. She’d spent the last few days in a haze of work, riding trackwork, race riding with middling results, using work as an excuse to stop thinking about anything. She’d been avoiding Allira around the house too, adding to the sense that she was a damned coward, stumbling through life alone. Allira was a true friend, and Rachel had fucked it all up by messing around with Jacob. She breathed in deep. That was simply the way it had to be, because people weren’t trustworthy. She’d end up alone—she deserved nothing else—so she may as well get used to it. She unclipped the chin strap on her helmet, leaving it resting on her head, as she walked towards the next horse she was booked to work that morning. Career was something she could control.

  Lost in her thoughts, she turned the corner at the end of this set of tie-up stalls, when a hand landed heavily on her shoulder. Before she could shriek, another hand clamped over her mouth. She bit down on the palm, kicking and fighting to get away, wildly looking around her for someone to help. There were people and horses everywhere at the track in the mornings. Fuck, how could no one be around right at the second some asshole grabbed her. She flung her feet backwards in the direction of the huge man gripping her. She bit down as hard as she could on his hand, and he pulled it away with a shout. He slammed her, face first, against the wall, covering her body with his. Her chin and nose scraped the timber on the wall, her forehead saved by her helmet.

  ‘Listen here, bitch. I want my money back.’

  ‘Money?’ She spat out the metallic taste of blood. His blood. Ew, she nearly gagged. She tried to use the wall to give herself some leverage. Better that than thrash helplessly about. He’d left her hands free. If she could just get them between her torso and the wall, she might just be able to spin free.

  ‘You and your fucking agent have my money. I want it back.’ His body pressed her harder between the timber and his large meaty frame. Only her back protector stopped him from getting too close. The thick vest also restricted her own movements, crushing her lungs. Her fingers jerked into fists at her sides.

  She knew that voice. ‘Driscoll?’ Her bravado deserted her for a second as he leered over her—she’d never worried about her own safety until now. All she wanted to do now was survive so she could tell Serena how much she meant to her. To try and be the twin Serena needed her to be. To apologise to Allira and Jacob. If she could get away …

  ‘Where is the money?’ He shoved her harder against the wall, her riding helmet stopping her forehead from being bashed. Her veins pumped blood through her arms and legs. If she could just figure out how to use his size against him. His weight advantage and the way he squashed her scared the living crap out of her, and she couldn’t think. Think. She forced herself to stay still. Try to breathe. Be brave.

  ‘Driscoll. I have no fucking idea what you are talking about.’

  ‘Liar.’ He grabbed the back of her shoulder, using her vest as leverage, and twisted her to face him in a jerky motion. Almost a throw as he used his superior weight against her. Apart from his beer gut, he was surprisingly strong and fit. Any bloke who wasn’t a jockey had a weight advantage over her, and Driscoll was six feet of executive man. Her head slammed against the wall, thankfully protected by her riding helmet. The impact rang in her ears. The tight-fitted helmet shifted back on her skull. The wall kept it on her head. If only she hadn’t undone the chin strap, she might have been able to headbutt him in the throat.

  ‘You’ve been heard talking about the punter’s club. My name was mentioned. What do you know?’ He paused, pressing her back hard against the wall, and breathing in her face with stale, faintly alcoholic breath. She squirmed as he overpowered her. Visions of his next move sent a chill across her skin. ‘You and him are in it together.’

  Pain in her shoulders where his fingers dug in clouded her vision. She stopped struggling—if she could just think, she might be able to brazen her way out of this. Raspy breaths galloped over her dry tongue. And where the hell was everyone? Trackwork was always busy. Why had no one noticed?

  ‘Driscoll, you are making no sense.’

  ‘Bitch. I just want my money back,’ he spat in her face and she scrunched her eyes shut, hoping none of his saliva went in her mouth or up her nose.

  ‘I don’t have your money.’ She peeked out of one eye at his reddened face and his raised arm. Oh fuck.

  ‘Stop.’ She dragged in a loud shallow breath. ‘Don’t hit me. I know who has your money.’ She had no fucking idea, but shit, she wouldn’t be able to figure it out while unconscious.

  ‘You. You have my money.’

  ‘Why do you keep saying that? What money?’

  He dropped his arm. ‘You know what money. The punter’s club you’ve been running with your agent. He told me you had access to the funds, and if I wanted it back, I should ask you.’ He shifted his feet, scuffing them on the concrete path, and she tensed again for the next impact.

  ‘And you call this asking? Let me go.’ She waited. Hopeful he’d rel
ax enough for her to escape. All those times she’d wrestled with her brothers as a kid must count for something in a moment like this.

  ‘I’m not letting you go, just so you can run off with my money.’ He glanced sideways at a thud from the other side of the tie-up stalls. A horse kicking out at the back wall. Thank fuck. Rachel used his distraction to stamp on his foot hard. Using her momentum and the wall at her back, she struck him in the balls with her other knee. He made an ooph noise and released his grip just enough for her to headbutt him with her helmet. The front shifted as it hit him, smashing into her eyes and the bridge of her nose, and she nearly fainted with the stab of pain. He collapsed on the path in front of her, his huge frame going down hard with a loud thump, and she stumbled away from him, staggering around the wall.

  ‘Hey, help please.’ She gripped the edge of the tie-up stalls, breathing heavily, unable to see. She spat on the ground as a bead of her own blood seeped into the corner of her mouth. The thick moisture tasted like iron filings and she wanted to gag. She didn’t need to be able to see to know her spit had painted the concrete with brown and red marks.

  ‘Oh shit, are you okay?’

  ‘Not really.’

  A couple of people grabbed her arms and helped her walk. She reached up and gingerly pushed her helmet up her forehead.

  ‘Oh fuck, miss, you are going to have the biggest black eyes.’

  ‘Yeah.’ She could feel the bruising on her nose and eyes growing, pushing her eyelids together.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I … Umm—’ Why couldn’t she make words come out? She tripped on the ground, stumbling forward and her arms jerked as the people helping her kept her from falling.

  ‘Let’s get you to the ambos.’

  ‘Isn’t that Rachel Bassett?’

  ‘Yeah, what happened?’

  ‘I heard that colt of yours kicking out. Did she get kicked?’

  ‘What a shame, she’s a damned good jockey.’

  Rachel could hear people buzzing around her. She wanted to tell them to find Driscoll before he got away. The words wouldn’t come out and the whole world faded to black.

  Chapter 18

  Jacob’s phone rang, and he jumped up, glad of the interruption, his book landing on the ground with a small thud. He’d spent the last couple of days with The Palace, trying to get in touch with the punter’s club. Other team mates had emailed the club with the same response, and the only person Rachel had connected with the scam was a fellow called Driscoll. He’d disappeared too. He knew he should just ring Rachel and ask her about it, update her on what was happening, to see if she knew anything else. If only it was simple, and she hadn’t bolted from his car like a scared rabbit, not wanting to be with him anymore. Damn it, even putting aside his complicated response to Rachel, he needed advice on what to do for his mates. If only all his downtime hadn’t been spent rehashing the conversation with Allira. He wanted to know what had happened when Rachel was sixteen. Something big, Allira had said. Presumably something traumatic to make Rachel prickly, hiding behind a bold exterior. He wanted to break this uncertainty between them and ring her, except there wasn’t much to say except that they’d guessed correctly. It was a scam, and people had lost considerable sums of money. He couldn’t call her, not when she didn’t want him. Frustrations boiled over into fidgets. He tried to pass the time in the usual off-season ways, but he couldn’t even train properly with his injured knee, just walk lengths of the pool, or do arm work.

  ‘Dad, what’s up?’ Jacob answered his phone.

  ‘Rachel has been injured.’

  ‘How bad?’ Jacob’s whole world stopped at those few words. The drama between them could be benched, he only needed to know she was going to be okay.

  ‘She got attacked at the racecourse this morning, and—’

  ‘Dad. How bad?’ Jacob paced, yelling at his dad’s ridiculous calm voice.

  ‘She has a broken nose and both eyes are blacked, but that seems to be the worst of it.’

  ‘But she’ll be alright?’ He asked the most important question. Surely Dad wouldn’t be fluffing about with other parts of the story if she wasn’t going to be okay.

  ‘Yes.’

  Relief seemed to make his bones lighter than normal, his lungs expanded with air. She would be okay. His Rachel.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘The ambulance took her to Royal Melbourne.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’ Jacob grabbed his car keys and wallet. He tucked his phone between his head and shoulder as he put on his shoes.

  ‘Drive safe, son. You don’t need to rush. She’s in good hands there.’

  ‘With Allira?’

  ‘No, but Allira was on shift in ER when she came in. She rang me because she didn’t have Rachel’s family’s contacts.’ Allira rang Dad first—before she’d talked to him? What had Rachel told his sister about the reasons they’d broken up?

  ‘Surely Merindah Park has a website with all their details on it.’ Jacob sneered to cover his own doubt. He had so many questions for Rachel—once he knew she was okay. He had to see her. Beg her. His fingers fumbled with his shoelaces.

  ‘Funny you say that, son. Even an old bloke like me can google stuff! Her family are on their way in from the farm.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘Allira said you’d want to know, and the two of you seemed pretty tight the other day at the farm.’

  ‘I think I love her, Dad.’ Jacob admitted it for the first time aloud. He pressed his hand against his chest, his pulse racing erratically as he realised just how true his statement was. It’d been Dad’s comment at their farm about Mum, a throwaway joke, and yet full of truth which reflected on how Jacob saw Rachel.

  ‘Hell, son, why are you still talking to me then? Get yourself to the hospital. Allira knows which ward she’s in.’ Dad hung up, leaving Jacob no choice but to obey. His hands shook as he dragged on a shirt. Rachel had been hurt. His blood roared in his ears, the sense of being winded returning just like the day she’d broken up with him. The second Dad had said Rachel was hurt, he knew the truth. He loved her. This wasn’t a bit of a fun romp with a bold athlete, this was real and forever. He didn’t bother to finish tying his shoelaces, his shaking fingers couldn’t manage the dexterity required. His heart raced, blood buzzing in his veins—he needed to see her now—as he rushed out of the house, barely remembering to lock the front door. Car. Drive. Hospital. Now. His thoughts became fractured and urgent, each second spent away from her taking too long. She had to be okay.

  The sight of Rachel in a hospital bed, surrounded by equipment, slayed him. Her eyes were swollen shut by colourful bruising, with a sharp red line across the bridge of her nose. He rushed to her side, his hands outstretched to hold her hand.

  ‘Rachel. It’s Jacob.’ He touched her hand and she clasped it tight.

  ‘You came.’ The weight in her voice gave him hope that he meant as much to her as she did to him.

  ‘Of course, I came.’

  She opened one eye a crack, and peered at him through swollen lids, a slow smile growing on her face. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Fucking Driscoll happened, that’s what.’ Her voice hardened.

  ‘I meant with your face.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve probably broken my nose, and you can probably see the black eyes.’ Her smile grew.

  ‘Damn, you are tough. How can you grin while lying here with a broken nose?’ No wonder he loved her. Her determination came with a decent dose of humour. She knew what she wanted, and she chased after it with everything she had. If she ever decided he was worth the same effort … He swallowed. Loving someone who didn’t yet love him back seemed poignant in the hospital where Allira worked. An act of selflessness that made his chest tight.

  ‘Because I floored the fucker. Have the cops caught him yet?’

  ‘That’s my Rachel.’ He squeezed her hand. He would be here for her, love her, and not worry about whether she love
d him back. Wasn’t that love at its finest? ‘What do you mean, the cops?’

  ‘Did no one tell you?’

  ‘Nope. Allira told Dad you were here, so he could tell your family.’

  ‘But not you?’ Rachel tried to sit up.

  ‘Relax.’

  She lay back against the pillow and he stroked her wrist with his thumb. Jacob had figured it out as he’d driven to see Rachel.

  ‘I’m guessing Allira didn’t want to interfere with you and me. She knew we’d had a fight, so she got Dad to tell your family. Dad rang me after ringing your farm. Your family are on their way, by the way. Allira was on the ER shift when you came in, and I’m guessing she didn’t have your family’s contacts.’

  ‘Why your dad?’

  ‘Same town?’ He shrugged, ‘Now what is this about the cops?’

  ‘Driscoll attacked me.’

  Rage filled his veins, hot and heavy, and he bounced on his toes. ‘That fucker.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Her smile grew and she squeezed his fingers. The simple gesture relaxed him away from the brink of an angry outburst. She didn’t need his anger when she was hurt. She needed his support. Love was what he had to offer her.

  ‘I told Allira when I arrived in the ambo from the track, and she said she’d pass it on to the cops. But it’s been hours since then and nothing …’

  ‘Hours? Was this at work this morning?’ Jacob asked.

  ‘Yeah. What’s the time now?’

  ‘It’s only lunchtime. These things take time. I’ll chase it up if you want so you don’t have to tell the story more than once.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She paused, and he started to leave, but she grabbed his hand and held on tight. ‘Hey, I’m sorry I overreacted the other day. It’s just you were late, and I freaked out a bit.’

  ‘It’s okay. Allira told me you—’

  ‘What?’ Rachel barked out the word with a desperate note in her voice.

  ‘Settle.’ He wanted to wrap her in a big hug, comfort her but wasn’t sure where he could touch her without hurting her injured body. ‘Allira said it wasn’t her story to tell, but I should ask you.’

  ‘Okay?’ Rachel tried to frown, and flinched, her whole body wincing in pain. He reached up, automatically, to brush her hair and soothe the pain, stopping before he touched her.