Page 34 of Savage Reins
Whatever's growing between us, whatever pull I feel when he looks at me with those intense eyes—it has to stop. I can't save him any more than I could save Firecracker all those years ago.
Some things are beyond saving. Some people belong to forces bigger than love.
And some futures are worth more than the desire to brush emptiness away.
13
RENAT
The perimeter fence needs three new posts and a full section of wire. I count the gaps, try to remember the weak spots, and attempt to focus on the inventory instead of the woman training a horse two hundred meters away. The morning air carries the sound of Rusalka's hooves against packed earth, the steady rhythm of her breathing, and Mira's low voice calling commands.
It's been two days since the Karpins showed up and tried to take her horse. Two days since I put Dima Karpin's men on their backs and told them to stay gone. Two days since Mira and I fell into each other in the barn. Two days since she started looking at me the way she looks at storm clouds on the horizon—waiting for the damage, calculating what she might lose.
I don't blame her. I wouldn't trust me either.
The ridge behind the feed shed gives me a clear view of the training area. Mira moves around Rusalka in a wide circle, the lead line taut between them. The horse responds to every shift in her posture, every change in the tension of the rope. She adjusts the lead line with quick, confident movements, guiding Rusalkathrough a series of tight turns. The horse's coat gleams in the late morning sun, muscles shifting beneath the surface.
Every time she pulls away from me, I want her closer. Every time she pushes me, it makes me want to fight. Not against her—but against the timeline we're running out of. The way she moves tells me everything I need to know about the distance growing between us. She's building walls again, brick by brick, and I'm the one who gave her the fucking mortar.
In the distance, beyond the tree line that marks the eastern boundary of the property, I catch sight of movement. Two figures by a black sedan, their voices carrying on the wind. I recognize their stance, the aggressive gestures. Lev Karpin and Vadim, meeting on neutral ground.
I move closer, keeping to the shadows of the pine trees. The argument is heated, hands flying, voices raised. I can't make out the words, but I don't need to. The body language tells the story. Lev shoves Vadim hard enough to make him stumble back against the car. Vadim recovers quickly, getting in Lev's face, but there's no missing the tension crackling between them.
The Karpins are done waiting. They want blood, and they want it now.
I watch Vadim straighten his jacket as Lev spits on the ground between them before getting into his car. The sedan pulls away, leaving Vadim standing alone by the road.
My blood runs cold. Whatever patience the Karpins had left just evaporated. The timeline I thought we had—sixteen more days—just got cut shorter. I'm certain of it. I don't need to stand here watching Vadim melt down to know he's about to rip my head off, so when my phone buzzes against my ribs, I know it's him. I check the screen and see Vadim's name. The knot in my stomach tightens.
"Renat."
"How close are we?" Vadim growls, and I hear fabric rustling along his phone's mic as I slip back down the ridge toward the barn.
I watch Mira bring Rusalka to a halt, her hand moving along the horse's neck in smooth strokes. "Close."
"That's not an answer," he snarls.
"She's been working the horse hard. Making progress."
"Progress doesn't pay debts." Vadim's voice drops lower, and I hear the edge that means he's done playing games. "The Karpins are getting restless. Don't you understand this? You're lucky they agreed to wait thirty days for a new horse."
I turn away from the ridge, walking along the back of the property where the tree line provides cover. "The race is in sixteen days. She'll be ready."
"She'd better be. Because if this horse doesn't win, we're done playing house with the Petrovs. I'm not reminding you again what that means, Renat." My voice sounds like a curse word as he spits it out.
Win the race or watch everything burn. Mira, her father, the ranch—all of it goes up in smoke if Rusalka doesn't cross the finish line first. "I understand," I tell him, raising my eyes to watch her move gracefully with the mare.
"Good. I want some evidence this is going my way or I'm just going to pull the plug now."
The call ends with a sharp click. I pull up the camera app on my phone, scrolling through the morning footage until I find what I'm looking for—a clip of Rusalka taking a tight inside turn. her stride is smooth and controlled. Mira's voice comes through the audio as she calmly gives orders, and the horse responds immediately, shifting direction without breaking pace.
I send the clip to Vadim and pocket the phone. It's good footage, but I know it won't be enough to satisfy him for long.
I need to protect my family—I know that. The Vetrovs gave me purpose when my father died. I owe them all a debt of gratitude, especially Rolan. But I also need to protect her. Mira belongs to me now, even if she doesn't know it yet. Even if my family doesn't understand it.
The barn is quiet when I reach it. Most of the horses are out in the paddocks, and the only sounds are the distant hum of the water pumps and the creak of old wood settling. I tell myself I'm checking the stall doors, making sure the latches are secure. The water lines need inspection, and the tack storage could use better locks. But what I'm really checking is whether she's going to look at me again—or if she's already decided I was a mistake.
Footsteps on gravel announce her return. I turn toward the sound and watch her lead Rusalka through the barn doors. The horse is breathing hard but not winded, her coat damp with sweat. Mira's cheeks are flushed from the cold, her hair escaping from the braid beneath her cap.
