Page 63 of Savage Reins
"Fair enough."
"No last-minute deals. No desperate bargains. No begging for mercy."
"Understood."
He turns back to face me, and for a moment I see something that might be regret in his eyes. Or maybe it's just exhaustion.
"Get out of here," he says. "Go train your miracle horse. And pray to whatever god you still believe in that she's fast enough to keep us all breathing."
I pull my coat back on and head for the door. Behind me, Vadim continues staring out the windows, watching the sun rise over a track that might burn to the ground in less than a week.
The hallway lights flicker off as I leave, motion sensors returning the building to darkness. But I carry the weight of that conversation with me, heavy as a corpse in a water drum.
Four days to save everyone I've ever cared about.
Or four days until I join the dead man in his concrete grave.
24
MIRA
It's chilly this morning as I lead Rusalka across the upper pasture, her hooves finding purchase in the frost-hardened earth. She moves beneath my touch with the fluid grace of a creature born to run, muscles rippling under her dark coat. Every step sends vibrations through the lead rope, a rhythm that should calm me. Instead, my chest tightens with each breath.
Renat stands at the fence line, his bulk a dark shadow against the grey morning sky. The distance between us feels necessary—vital, even. When he shifts his weight, preparing to climb through the rails, I shake my head. I've successfully avoided him for more than thirty-six hours and I need to keep it that way. I don't trust myself.
"Stay back."
"Mira." His voice carries that familiar edge, the one that means he's running out of patience. "I'd like to help."
"No." I keep walking, guiding Rusalka in a wide circle that takes us farther from where he waits. "She can sense what you've done. Animals know."
The words taste like acid in my mouth, but they're true. Rusalka's ears flick backward every time Renat moves, hernostrils flaring as if she can smell the violence that clings to him. The events of two nights ago have left their mark on both of us—the memory of that man crumpling to the dirt, the wet sound his body made when it hit the ground. The way Renat sat calmly afterward, gun still smoking in his hand.
"That's horseshit and you know it." Renat's knuckles whiten where he grips the fence rail. "She's a racehorse, not a damn mind reader."
"Tell that to her." I stroke Rusalka's neck as we pass the far end of the pasture. Her skin twitches under my palm, and I can feel the tension coiled in every muscle. "Look at her. Really look."
He does, and I watch his face change as he takes in the rigid set of her ears, the way she keeps glancing toward him with wide, wary eyes. For a moment, his expression softens—almost vulnerable. Then the mask slides back into place.
And while it's true that horses are so sensitive to register the emotion of their handlers, Rusalka's tension this morning is probably not related to Renat killing that man. It's more likely that she senses his frustration with me now and is happy to keep her distance.
"Fine." The word comes out flat, resigned. "But we're running out of time, Mira. Race day is the day after tomorrow."
"I know what day it is."
My father emerges from the barn, hobbling and displaying his age. He approaches the fence where Renat waits, and I can see them talking—urgent, low voices that don't carry across the field.Batyagestures toward me, toward the horse, and Renat shakes his head sharply.
I bring Rusalka to a halt, letting her crop the sparse grass while I study both men. They're arguing about me, about the race, about choices that feel increasingly out of my control. And their voices are low enough I can't hear a single word they'resaying. The weight of everything—the debt, the threats, the impossible gamble we're making—settles across my shoulders.
Batyabreaks away from the conversation and walks toward me, his weathered face creased with worry. "Mira,devochka, you need to let him help. Renat's the only reason we still have a chance at this." His eyes plead with me, and I know why. After Renat's boss told him to torch our ranch and kill us, I pleaded and Renat showed mercy.Batyaonly wants us to show gratitude, but how?
"Help?" I spit the word out with anger. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"You saw what happened to that man who tried to sabotage us."Batya's voice drops to barely above a whisper. "Without Renat?—"
"Without Renat, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with." I turn away, leading Rusalka toward the water trough. "His family created this problem. Now we're supposed to be grateful he's cleaning up their blood with more blood?" They promised our horse to people who abused it and made it go lame. That's not our fault.
"That's not fair and you know it."
