Page 1 of Savage Reins
1
RENAT
The barn smells of hay and horse sweat, but underneath it all runs the metallic tang of fear. I know that scent well—it's the same one that follows me through Moscow's back alleys and abandoned warehouses. Today it clings to the wooden beams above my head and settles into the dust motes dancing through afternoon light.
Vadim Vetrov stands in the center of the main aisle, his expensive suit looking out of place among the feed buckets and grooming tools. He's got that cold smile he wears when he's about to ruin someone's life. The Karpins flank him on one side—Lev with his gold teeth and his son Dima, whose knuckles are already split from whatever business they handled before coming here. On the other side, Yuri Petrov shifts his weight from foot to foot, his weathered hands shaking as he grips his baseball cap.
The old man looks smaller than I expected. Broken. Not the kind of enemy that requires muscle, but orders are orders.
"The horse is finished," Dr. Kozlov says, emerging from the stall where Vetrova's Fire stands on three legs. The vet's white coat is stained with mud and blood, and his face carries theexpression of a man delivering a death sentence. "Complete tendon strain. No chance of recovery for racing."
Lev Karpin spits into the dirt. "You promised us a winner, Petrov. Now what do we get? A cripple?"
"It was an accident—" Yuri starts, but Lev cuts him off with a raised hand.
"Accidents don't pay debts. We had an agreement. Your family trains our horse, our horse wins races, everyone profits. Instead, we get excuses and a lame animal."
Dima steps forward, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe the old man needs help remembering what promises mean."
I shift against the barn wall, feeling the familiar itch between my shoulder blades. There's going to be violence. The Karpins are pushing hard, but they're also outnumbered. Vadim brought me and two other men. This could go south fast.
Vadim raises his voice, smooth as oil. "Gentlemen, let's discuss this rationally. The Petrovs have clearly failed in their obligations. But burning bridges helps no one."
"Rationally?" Lev's face reddens. "We invested good money in this animal. Fed it, housed it, promoted it to our associates. Now it's worthless because of their negligence."
"There was no negligence," Yuri says, his voice stronger now. "Horses get injured. It's part of the business. You know that."
"I know the difference between bad luck and bad management," Lev snarls. "Your operation is falling apart, Petrov. Look around. Half these stalls are empty. The fences are rotting. You're running a graveyard, not a training facility."
The accusation stings because it's true. I've seen better-maintained junkyards. But Yuri's jaw tightens, and for a moment I catch a glimpse of the man he used to be—before the debts and the desperation wore him down to nothing.
"My horses win races," Yuri says. "My daughter's trained three champions in the last five years."
"Your daughter?" Dima laughs. "You mean the girl who thinks she can do a man's job? Where is she, anyway? Hiding?"
The temperature in the barn drops ten degrees. Even Vadim's smile falters. You don't mention family in this business unless you're ready to escalate things past talking.
"My daughter has nothing to do with this," Yuri says quietly.
"She has everything to do with it," Lev replies. "She was training the horse when it went lame. Far as I'm concerned, she's as responsible as you are."
That's when Vadim steps in, his voice cutting through the tension. "Enough. The Karpins have made their position clear. The Vetrov family will handle this internally."
"Internally?" Lev's eyebrows shoot up. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means the debt is between us and the Petrovs now. Your horse is our responsibility. We'll make it right."
"How exactly do you plan to do that?"
Vadim's smile returns, colder than Moscow winter. "Leave that to us."
The Karpins exchange glances. Lev's not stupid—he knows when he's being dismissed. But he also knows better than to push Vadim too far. The man controls half the underground racing circuit in Moscow. Cross him, and you don't just lose money. You lose everything.
"Fine," Lev finally says. "But we want this resolved within the month. Full compensation for our losses, plus interest."
"Of course."
"And if it's not resolved…" Dima cracks his knuckles again. "We'll handle it ourselves."
