Page 37 of Savage Reins
Karpin men. They're here, in our barn, setting fires.
I turn to run, to get back to the house and call for help, but my foot catches on a loose board and I stumble, nearly faceplanting next to a rack of old horse shoes. The sound echoes through the barn like a gunshot. The voices stop immediately.
"What was that?"
"Someone's here."
Footsteps pound across the floor, moving fast. I run toward the door I came through, but it's too late. They're between me and the exit, cutting off my escape route.
"Well, well. Look what we caught."
The voice belongs to the same man Renat threw to the ground days ago. His face carries the bruises to prove it, purple and yellow marks across his jaw and cheek. His eyes burn with humiliation and rage.
"Little Mira Petrova. Out for a midnight stroll."
Two other men flank him, both carrying gasoline cans and disposable lighters. Behind them, small flames lick at the base of the hay bales, growing stronger with each passing second.
"You picked the wrong night for wandering around," A thug says, moving closer. "But maybe it's better this way. Front row seats to watch your world burn."
I back away, looking for another exit, another escape route. But the barn only has two doors, and they're blocking both. Smoke begins to fill the air, making my eyes water.
"Let me go. This doesn't solve anything."
He laughs, the sound harsh and ugly. "Doesn't it? Your boyfriend embarrassed me in front of my men. Beat me down in my territory. Now I return the favor."
"Renat isn't?—"
"Isn't what? Your boyfriend? Your protector?" His smile turns cruel. "Then he won't mind watching you burn."
One of the other men grabs my arm, dragging me toward an empty stall at the back of the barn. The wood is old and dry, perfect kindling. They shove me inside and slide the bolt home, trapping me behind walls that won't hold against flames for more than a few minutes.
"Enjoy the show," he calls, already moving toward the door with his companions.
The fires spread faster than I expected. What started as small, controlled blazes quickly grows into something hungry and wild. The old wood catches immediately, sending sparks and smoke toward the rafters. The temperature rises, making the air shimmer and dance.
I throw myself against the stall door, but the bolt holds firm. The wood is thick, reinforced with iron brackets that won't give way to desperate shoving. My hands are already raw from trying to force it open.
"Help!" I scream, knowingBatyais too far away to hear me over the crackling flames. "Fire! Someone help me!"
The smoke gets thicker, making me cough and gasp for clean air. The flames climb the walls with terrifying speed, consumingeverything in their path. Heat presses against my skin, making sweat run down my back and arms.
This is how I die. Trapped in a burning barn while the ranch burns around me. All because I wanted to seduce a man into giving me more time.
"Help me!" I scream again, my voice cracking with smoke and fear. "Please, somebody help!"
The flames reach the rafters, sending burning debris raining down around the stall. I press myself against the far wall, covering my head with my arms, and pray that someone—anyone—will hear me before it's too late.
15
RENAT
Ipace the narrow space between the bed and the window in my loft, feeling like my boots are wearing grooves in the floor. Each footstep makes a rhythm that matches the restless energy clawing at my insides. The walls close in around me, and I can't shake the image of Mira's glare, the way she looks at me like I'm diseased now.
I didn't ask to be born to this life. Even had my parents lived, I'd still have been brought into the fold, just much later in my life. This was my destiny, my fate, not something I could control—just like meeting her. Just like the way she crossed my path and now I have to have her. She doesn't know the wall of fire I'm holding back just to try to save her and this God-forsaken ranch, and if I told her, she'd think I was exaggerating things to manipulate her emotions.
I turn at the window and start another lap. My reflection catches in the glass—dark eyes, the stubble I haven't bothered to shave, the tattoos that mark me as Vetrov property. What woman in her right mind would choose this? Would choose me?
But Mira isn't most women. She bargained with me when she should've run. Stood her ground when I towered over her.Worked beside me in the stables without flinching from the violence written across my skin.
