Page 50 of Taming Mika

Joel?If he’s back, maybe he forgot something and swung by to pick it up while he was in the neighborhood. I haven’t had my phone on me all day since I was riding. Striding across my office, I pull open the door.

Javier takes a step back, gesturing to where I can just make out the hood of Joel’s massive trailer truck.

“Thanks, Javi.” Striding quickly down the aisle, I find Alfie’sguard who seems to be in charge of the security up here. I probably should learn his name, but none of the men have introduced themselves or seem particularly interested in doing so. “Tell your men to let him up. That’s Joel. He’s the one who brought the horses home yesterday.”

The tall Man in Black glances at me skeptically, his gaze clearly saying he’s already gotten his head chewed off on my account once today. He’s not eager to do it a second time.

“It could be urgent,” I say, gesturing toward the truck.

It’s unlikely, but if something’s gone wrong and Joel needs somewhere to unload horses to avoid anyone getting hurt, I don’t want to turn him away. I’ve heard horror stories of animals burning alive in trailers because the transporter couldn’t get them unloaded in time, and a mechanical issue sparked a fire in the trailer. With all that hay in the back, it doesn’t take long for the fire to spread.

Sighing heavily, Alfie’s guard gets on the radio and says something in rushed Italian. It’s close enough to Spanish that I can make out the general meaning as he asks what the driver wants. Then, he commands the person on the other end of the radio to let him pass.

I release a breath, my shoulders relaxing as I stride forward to meet Joel, but the guard grasps my arm, pulling me to a stop.

“We search the trailer before you get near it. This could be a trap,” he states frankly, and despite my confidence in Joel, a trickle of cold fear pools in my belly.

His warning is all it takes to revive the image of my truck exploding, and suddenly, I’m anxious as I watch the truck and trailer roll slowly down the drive. As he nears the barn, I can just make out the transporter’s familiar face—the red Cardinals baseball cap he wears when he’s not sporting a cowboy hat. Relief eases the tension in my chest when he looks calm, and he’s driving with his typical sense of caution. Alfie’s men form a circle around the semi all the same, their guns drawn and at the ready.

As soon as Joel puts his truck in park, his hands raise—the universal sign to say don’t shoot. Then he reaches slowly for his door handle and pops it open to climb out.

“Stop right there!” Alfie’s man shouts as Joel stumbles across the ground.

My heart skips a beat when something moves unexpectedly in the cab, and a moment later, a man follows Joel out of the truck, grasping the collar of the transporter’s shirt as he presses a gun to his head. At the same time, the grates on the trailer windows drop open, and several rifle butts jut out, aiming at the men at large.

A collective gasp behind me tells me that the grooms came out to see what the commotion was about. Now we’re all exposed—countless men’s lives are at risk if anyone decides to open fire—and it’s my fault.

“We have a message from Nikolai,” the Russian holding a gun to Joel’s head states, his accent thick. He sounds incredibly calm about the situation, though he keeps his body well covered by the truck door. Without warning, he pulls the trigger, and I scream as Joel’s head snaps sideways, his body collapsing in a lifeless heap on the ground.

My ears ring from the gun’s loud blast and the shock of what just happened. I can’t tear my eyes from the sight before me. I’ve known Joel for years, relied on him countless times to help me safely get horses where I need them to go, and now he’s just—gone. My stomach turns as bile floods my throat, but all I can do is stare wide-eyed at the horror scene unfolding before me.

Several guns cock, Alfie’s men taking aim, but the leader beside me shouts for everyone to hold their fire. If they shot now, we might all end up dead.

The man who shot Joel pulls the truck door closer so he can peer over it without losing any cover. “We’re here for the whore,” he states coldly, jerking his chin in my direction. “If you hand her over, no one else has to die.”

I shudder as the full meaning of his words hits home—if I don’t go with them, someone elsewilldie. Murmurs rise behind me, and my stomach quivers as I turn to see the grooms holding a hushed discussion. Though I know Spanish, they’re speaking too quietly for me to be sure what they’re saying, and resignation settles heavily inmy gut as I realize they must be considering the option. It stings a little, but I get it. My life isn’t worth more than any of theirs—and as terrifying as the alternative is, I couldn’t ask any of them to die for me. I don’t think I could live with myself if they did.

Taking a shaky breath, I dig deep for courage. Then, I square my shoulders and take a step forward. A firm hand grasps my wrist—Alfie’s man, who I convinced to let Joel in. He doesn’t even glance my way as he keeps his gun raised with one hand and hauls me behind him with the other.

“You think we would hand over an unarmed woman to you bastards?” he demands. Then he bellows a command in Italian.

The driveway erupts in chaos as both sides open fire, and I stifle a scream as my heart does its best to escape my ribcage. Several of Alfie’s men drop as others herd the grooms back toward the barn, and the one with a firm grip on my arm keeps me shielded as he does the same to me. The sound of bullets puncturing metal and shattering glass only adds to the chaos of the scene. I can smell gasoline spilling onto the drive, hear the shrill cries of panicked horses, and all I can do is desperately hope that none of the animals get caught in the crossfire.

Tears stream unchecked down my face, and I can’t stop thinking that this is because of me—this is all because of me. They’re here for me. Joel died because of me, and if anyone else dies, that will be on my conscience, too.

After several agonizing seconds of exchanging gunfire—that feels like it stretches for an eternity—the Russians seem to realize that, even with cover, they’re too outnumbered. The one in the cab steps back up to the seat, slams the door, and starts the motor after a few failed attempts. The engine roars to life, black smoke billowing from the exhaust pipes before he throws the truck into gear. The tires miss Joel’s lifeless body by less than a foot, and as they get the truck and trailer turned around, heading back down the long drive, Alfie’s men continue to chase them down with rifle fire.

“The horses!” I scream, thinking about all the animals out in the pasture that could take a stray bullet if they aren’t careful.

The leader orders a ceasefire, and immediately, the shooting stops. In the wake of the violence, the echoing silence is deafening, and I press a palm to my stomach as I try to keep myself from completely falling apart. I can’t look away from poor Joel, and the guilt that tightens around my throat is suffocating. I take a step toward him, but my legs give out, and I drop to my knees as I curl in on myself. Sobs rack my body, making it impossible to breathe.

What have I done?

I wish Alfie were here with me—here to hold me and keep me in one piece. But the emotion seems all wrong when it’s his presence that has brought all of this horrific violence into my life. I’ve never seen a man die before—I’ve never even personally known someone who was shot—and witnessing it is so shocking, that I can’t keep my thoughts straight. I think I’m going to vomit—if I don’t faint first. But as the dust starts to settle and I wade through my murky, panic-logged thoughts, I realize my first priority needs to be checking on the animals and then men who care for them.

Alfie’s men seem to already be pulling themselves together, gathering to help any injured men. As horrible as I feel about what happened to Joel, I need to get myself together and make sure no one else got hurt. Forcing myself back to my feet, I wipe the tears from my cheeks, and stagger back towards the barn. The wood siding is decorated with bullet holes, and I’m immediately grateful that most of the horses are out in the pasture right now. None were occupying the stalls nearest the doors.

The grooms are gathered in the alley, all looking shell-shocked as they process what just happened.

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