Page 52 of Savage Reins
When I set the bottle down in the grass, Renat shifts beside me. I feel his hand touch my face, fingers tracing the line of my cheek with surprising gentleness. When I turn toward him, he's close enough that I can see the starlight reflected in his dark eyes.
He kisses me slowly, thoroughly, as if we have all the time in the world instead of eight days before everything changes. His lips are warm and taste of wine and possibility. I kiss him back, allowing myself to sink into the sensation, to forget about consequences and complications for just a few precious moments.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathing harder than I should be. The wine and the late hour and the emotional intensity of the day have left me feeling unsteady, exhausted in away that goes beyond physical tiredness. My eyelids feel heavy, and I have to fight to keep them open.
"Tired?" Renat's voice is soft, concerned.
"Exhausted," I admit, not bothering to hide it. "It's been a long day."
I try to sit up straighter, to shake off the drowsiness that's settling over me like a blanket. But the wine and the warmth of Renat's presence and the emotional weight of everything we've discussed have combined to leave me feeling boneless, unable to summon the energy to move.
My head falls back against his shoulder, and I feel him go still beneath me. When I don't pull away, his arm comes around me, holding me steady. The gesture is protective rather than possessive, offering comfort without demanding anything in return.
"Maybe we should head back," he suggests quietly.
"In a minute." But even as I say it, I can feel myself losing the battle against sleep. My eyelids drift closed despite my best efforts, and the sounds of the night—crickets, distant horses, Renat's steady breathing—fade into a peaceful hum.
I'm dimly aware of being lifted, of strong arms sliding beneath my knees and shoulders, and it lulls me deeper into drowsiness. I curl against Renat's chest, feeling safe and warm and utterly protected.
The walk back to the bunkhouse passes in a dream-like haze. I'm vaguely conscious of doors opening, of gentle movement as he carries me inside. When he lays me down on something soft—his narrow bed, I realize—I barely stir.
"Mira?" His voice comes from very far away.
I make some sound of acknowledgment, but I'm already more asleep than awake. I feel him remove my boots then my jeans, feel a blanket settle over me. The mattress dips as he lies down beside me, careful not to disturb my position.
His arm slides around my waist, pulling me back against the solid warmth of his body. I should probably protest, should maintain some pretense of propriety. Instead, I sink deeper into his embrace, finally allowing myself to rest completely.
Tomorrow will bring new challenges, new pressures, new reasons to worry. But tonight, wrapped in Renat's arms and surrounded by the peaceful sounds of the ranch settling into sleep, I allow myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—we might actually survive what's coming.
Even if it requires deception. Even if it means betraying the trust I can feel building between us. Even if it destroys the fragile partnership we've built over these past weeks.
Some sacrifices are worth making. Some lies are necessary. And some gambles are worth taking, even when the stakes include everything you've ever cared about.
The last thing I remember before sleep claims me completely is the steady rhythm of Renat's breathing, the rise and fall of his chest against my back. It's a sound I could get used to, a comfort I never expected to find.
But morning will come, and with it the harsh realities we've been holding at bay.
Eight days before I potentially destroy everything we've built with the deception I'm already committed to carrying out.
21
RENAT
The call comes at dawn, Anton's voice crackling through the cheap burner phone I keep in the supply shed. His words cut through the morning air, and even though I'm sure Vadim's got him doing other work to keep him busy rather than supporting me now, I'm thankful he is still loyal to me in part.
"They're coming tonight, Renat. This time it's not going to be a warning. They want the horse gone. Dosed or dead, doesn't matter which." Anton sounds irritated and flighty. He's probably not working on the boss's orders.
I grip the phone harder as I ask, "Vadim know?"
"Vadim doesn't know shit. This is off-books, cousin. Dima's tired of playing games. He wants to force the Vetrovs' hand, make sure there's no race at all. No horse, no chance to settle the debt clean, and that means he gets to burn down the ranch…" He doesn't need to tell me what it means.
The Karpin trash has been looking for ways to encroach on our territory for years. When we took out that drug smuggler who murdered our cousin and things got messy, they decided they had the right to come for blood. It makes me wonder if theirjockey injured that first horse on purpose, because they don't seem content to have a replacement. They want this whole ranch and the land it sits on.
The line goes dead as Anton hangs up, and I rub my forehead as I lock my phone. With only seven days left, you'd think the bastards would calm the fuck down and wait for the race, but they're not taking any chances. Now they're taking matters into their own hands. They don't even want to risk that Rusalka could win, because it means they don't get what they want. So they want to make sure she loses, one way or another.
I pocket the phone and head toward the main barn, my mind already calculating angles and approach routes. The ranch is too exposed, too many entry points to cover with the manpower I have—just me. But the upper pasture—that's different. High ground, clear sight lines, only one way up or down. If we move Rusalka tonight, position her where I can maintain overwatch, I might be able to turn this to our advantage.
"Might" being the operative word. Because if I'm wrong, if they come in force or use tactics I haven't anticipated, Mira loses everything. The horse, the ranch, probably her life.
