Page 48 of Savage Reins
I meet them halfway between the bunkhouse and the main barn, my hands loose at my sides but ready. The sun beats down on the back of my neck, and sweat gathers beneath my shirt despite the autumn air. This isn't a social call.
"Renat." Vadim doesn't even fake a plastic smile this time. I see the shiner left by a Karpin last week still healing on his left cheek and his lips are pursed in anger. He's dressed for the city—pressed slacks, expensive jacket, gold watch catching the light. It's a stark contrast to the worn wooden fences and patched barn siding around us. "You look… rustic." One eyebrow rises as Anton chuckles at his joke.
"What do you want, Vadim?"
He ignores my directness, turning to survey the property like he's conducting an inspection. His gaze moves across the pastures, the outbuildings, the house where Mira is probably watching from behind curtains. When he speaks again, his voice carries a tone of casual menace. For years he's learned that people fear him, and he thinks I'm one of them.
"The Karpins are antsy." He picks up a handful of gravel from the drive, letting the stones fall through his fingers one by one. "Their boss is furious. Lev called me yesterday, said his patience is running thin. They want blood, Renat. They want to see the Petrov name buried along with ours, and we both know the debt is theirs."
"The horse will be ready." The debt, as he called it, isn't Mira's. it's not Yuri's. That debt is squarely on Vadim's shoulders for promising the Karpins a horse as a peace offering after we slaughtered too many of their men when exacting revenge for an incident at the track, and it was their jockey who pushed that horse too hard to begin with.
"Will it?" Vadim's eyebrows rise. "Because from where I stand, it looks like you've gotten comfortable here. Playing house with the girl, drinking tea in wash stalls, forgetting who pays your bills." His voice hardens. "Though fucking her over that hay bale was a nice touch. She likes it rough, huh?"
The guys chuckle, and I glare at them. They know better than to spy on me, but someone clearly was watching when Mira and I were together in the barn last night. Good thing it wasn't Ivan or I'd have my gun out and pointed at him right now.
Vadim continues, "That's not the Renat I know. The Renat I know follows orders."
My jaw tightens, but I keep my expression neutral. "I'm doing the job you sent me to do."
"Are you?" He steps closer, close enough that I can smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. "Because the job was supposed to be finished weeks ago. Barn burned, family scattered, problem solved. You asked for time, but now you're training horses and playing protector, bedding the asset. That wasn't what you told me would happen."
"The situation changed."
"No." His voice drops to a whisper. "Your priorities changed. And that makes you a liability."
Anton and Boris shift their positions, flanking me on either side. The message is clear—I'm outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and entirely at Vadim's mercy. But I've been in worse spots, and the rage building in my chest gives me clarity instead of panic.
"If you let them near Mira again," I say, my voice steady despite the fury burning through my veins, "I walk. Deal's off, horse goes nowhere, and you can explain to Rolan why his lieutenant couldn't handle one girl and a broken-down ranch."
Vadim laughs—a sound like breaking glass. "You think you're in a position to make threats?" He gestures to his men, to the cars, to the entire display of force he's brought to intimidate me. "You think your feelings for this girl mean anything to me?"
"I think?—"
"You don't think." He cuts me off, stepping so close our chests almost touch. "That's your problem, Renat. You've stopped thinking and started feeling, and that makes you weak. Useless. A romantic fool instead of the weapon you were trained to be."
The insult hits its mark, but I don't flinch. I refuse to show weakness in front of him. I told him I’d do the job and he gaveme thirty days. I know he will not renege on his timeline and that this is just a pressure tactic. I may end up with a few bruises, but I'm going to hold my ground.
"Let me make this simple for you," Vadim continues, his voice taking on the patient tone of someone explaining basic concepts to a child. "You have one job—get that horse ready to race. Win or lose, the debt gets settled. But if you don't deliver, if you keep playing games and wasting time, the next move won't be a warning."
I grunt in return, smart enough to know when not to speak.
His smile returns, cold and predatory. "You shouldn't have grown attached, Renat. It'll be a shame to watch you writhe in pain when you smell the stench of her burning flesh."
I can see the threat in his eyes—he means every word. Vadim has killed for less than this, burned families out of their homes for the crime of inconveniencing his schedule. Mira is nothing to him, just another obstacle to be removed.
"The Karpins want their pound of flesh," he says, turning to walk back toward the cars. "If they can't have it from the horse, they'll take it from the people who wronged them. That's how this works, Renat. You know that." He turns, walking away.
He pauses at the door of his SUV, looking back at me with something that might be pity if it were on the face of a different man. "You forget who's in charge here. Who signs your pay. Who decides whether you're family or expendable." His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Don't make me remind you which one you are."
He climbs in, and the men—my men along with his—join him. The engines roar to life, and gravel sprays as the convoy pulls away, leaving me standing alone in the dust and exhaust fumes. My hands are shaking—from the effort of keeping them at my sides instead of around Vadim's throat. The acidic rage burns through my chest, demanding release, but there'snowhere for it to go. No one to hit, nothing to break that won't make things worse. So I swallow it down, let it settle in my gut like poison, and turn toward the burned barn.
The structure looms against the afternoon sky, a skeleton of what it used to be. The walls are blackened and hollow, charcoal streaks running down the siding where flames licked upward. Most of the roof is gone, leaving only a few scorched rafters pointing toward empty air. What's left looks fragile, ready to collapse at the first strong wind.
I stand there until the sound of the engines fades, until the dust settles back into the gravel and the ranch is quiet again. Vadim’s words hang in the air like smoke—threats I can’t ignore, promises I can’t allow him to keep.
He’s not wrong. I was sent here to break something, not save it. I was supposed to burn the barns, scatter the family, deliver a message that could be understood without words. But somewhere between the ash and the silence that followed, I let Mira get under my skin.
I told myself it was temporary, a distraction from the monotony of the job. That her stubborn mouth and fierce eyes were a challenge I couldn’t resist. But it’s more than that now. I catch myself listening for her footsteps in the barn at night, for the sound of her voice when she talks to the horses like they’re listening. I find reasons to be near her, to watch her work, to stand in the same space and breathe the same air. I’m not just protecting her anymore. I’m protecting us.
