Page 23 of Savage Reins
The sound of hammering starts up again outside, and I know Renat has gone back to work. Gone back to rebuilding the shed that the storm destroyed, the same way he's rebuilding every assumption I had about him. Every reason I had to hate him.
I'm lying to myself if I think last night was just a mistake. Lying if I think it won't happen again. The desire is still there, burning beneath my skin every time I see him, every time he looks at me with those steady green eyes and sees through every wall I try to build.
But deep down, I already know the truth. I'm fighting a battle I've already lost against a man who sees through every lie I tell—including the ones I tell myself.
The mare nudges my hand, looking for treats I don't have. I scratch behind her ears instead, focusing on her warmth and the familiar comfort of her presence. She doesn't ask questions or demand answers I don't have. She just exists as a steady, uncomplicated part of my world.
Unlike everything else in my life right now.
The hammering stops, and I hear Renat's voice carrying across the yard as he talks toBatyaabout lumber and nails. He sounds normal, unaffected by what happened between us in the barn. But I know better now. I've seen beneath the surface, felt the heat that burns under all that control.
And God help me, I want to feel it again.
9
RENAT
The farrier works with steady hands, fitting the new shoe to the mare's right front hoof. She stands patiently while he files and shapes the metal, ears flicking at the sound of each rasp. The smells of hot iron and hoof shavings fill the barn and I wrinkle my nose at the acrid scents.
"She's got good feet," the old man says, running his thumb along the edge of the shoe. "Strong walls, no cracks. This one's built to run."
I nod, watching him work. The mare's been making progress under Mira's training—faster times, cleaner turns, better focus. She might actually have a chance when race day comes. Might be enough to save this place. But I'm no trainer or jockey. I have to wait alongside everyone else to see how this turns out. I back away a step and catch a noise outside the barn.
The sound of tires on gravel draws my attention. Through the barn door, I see a black truck rolling down the drive. It's not one of ours either. The engine cuts, and two men climb out—thick-set, wearing leather jackets despite the afternoon sun. I recognize the walk, the way they scan the property beforemoving. They're Karpin soldiers, probably here to check in on how our "retribution" is going.
My hand moves instinctively to the knife at my belt as they approach the barn. The farrier looks up, hammer frozen mid-swing.
"You can go," I tell him quietly.
He doesn't argue. His eyes flick up at our guests arriving, and his face blanches. Then he packs his tools quickly and leads his own horse toward the door, giving the newcomers a wide berth. The mare stamps nervously in her stall as the men enter.
"Renat…" The taller one speaks with a Moscow accent, thick and guttural.
"Depends who's asking."
"Dima Karpin sends his regards." The middle one grins, showing gold teeth. "Says Vadim's been stalling too long. It's time for collateral."
I step away from Rusalka's stall, putting distance between them and the horse. "Tell Dima the deal hasn't changed. He gets his payment when the race runs."
"That's not how this works anymore." The tall one moves closer, boots scraping against concrete. "Boss wants insurance. Something to show good faith."
"The ranch is the insurance."
"Not enough." His voice drops, dangerous. "We want proof that Vadim's serious about paying his debts."
The scarred man circles around behind me, and I turn slightly, keeping all three in view. The mare tosses her head in the stall, sensing the tension.
"Proof like what?"
"Blood," the gold-toothed one says. "Boss thinks maybe you need reminding who you're dealing with."
My muscles coil tightly. I've been in enough fights to recognize the moment before violence erupts—the shift inposture, the way men position themselves for maximum damage. These three have already made their decision.
"Walk away," I warn. "While you still can."
The tall one laughs. "Big words from one man against three."
"I've fought with worse odds."
