When I’m close enough, I whistle my command to Kentucky Lightning to stop, but she urges him on.

“It’s too wet! You can’t make the jump!” I yell, but I’m too far for her to hear, or maybe she just doesn’t want to listen.

The dogs are going wild, circling, howling, anticipating. And Mercedes keeps riding like the wind.

It’s what I wanted, right? The old Mercedes back. The fierce woman I know.

I’m almost to them. If I can get close enough, Kentucky Lightning will obey my command. I can stop this. I whistle, and when the horse hesitates, she glances back at me, eyes bright in this darkness as she tugs on the reins urging him on.

But I’m close enough now. And I only have a moment before the jump. Either he’s going to stop and throw her, or he’s going to jump it and lose his footing in the mud. Either way, at least one of them is getting hurt, if not both.

I bring Temperance up alongside Kentucky Lightning, and he slows just enough at my presence, giving me the moment I need to leap onto his back. Mercedes screams as she almost topples over the other side of the giant beast, and Temperance neighs as we leave her behind. I wrap one arm around Mercedes’s waist and take the reins from her, whistling my command for Kentucky Lightning to slow to a stop, rain pelting us as the dogs bark and whine around us, confused.

“Get off me!” Mercedes yells, pulling at my arm to free herself. “Get off!”

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” I yell over the rain as Kentucky Lightning slows to a trot, and I guide him around, whistling for Temperance to follow as I grip Mercedes hard and lead the horses back to the stables.

Paolo runs out as we approach, coat half-zipped, boots muddy, hair soaked.

“I heard the commotion,” he says as I slide off Kentucky Lightning and carry Mercedes down, hauling her over my shoulder and slapping her ass hard when she won’t stop fighting.

“Can you take care of this?” I ask.

He looks at us and nods. “I’ll bring the dogs in. Go. Take care of her.”

“Thank you.” I hurry back to the house, Mercedes pounding at my back, legs kicking. It doesn’t matter how much she fights. Her strength is nothing compared to mine, and I’m as determined as she is. I get her into the house and set her on the kitchen counter. I’m so angry, so fucking angry that I can’t speak as I rip off her boots then mine and throw the muddy things on the floor, discarding our jackets on top of the boots before I scoop her back up and carry her up to my room. She still fights me every step of the way. Still screams bloody fucking murder.