Page 68 of Savage Reins
"I told Vadim the other day that I won't be part of hurting you. Any of you." His voice takes on an edge that makes my blood run cold. "If Rusalka loses, if the ranch has to burn, they can put me in the ground beside it because I won't be the one holding the torch."
The implication of what he's saying makes my stomach knot. He's not just talking about defying orders or disappointing his family. He's talking about signing his own death warrant. In the Bratva, betrayal has only one punishment, and it doesn't involve lengthy trials or appeals.
"You can't do that." The words tear out of my throat, raw and desperate. "You can't just decide to die because?—"
"Because what? Because you need me alive?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You've made it clear how you feel about what I am, what I've done."
"That doesn't mean I want you dead."
"Then what do you want, Mira? Because I'm running out of ways to protect you that don't end with one of us in the ground."
I stare at him through the fence rails, this man who has torn my world apart and put it back together in ways I'm still trying to understand. This killer who talks to horses and splits his knuckles on punching bags because he can't bear the weight of his own conscience. This enforcer who would rather die than watch my family's legacy burn.
Without thinking, I lean through the rails and press my lips to his cheek. His skin is rough with stubble, warm despite the morning chill. He smells like vodka, and being near him makes my heart race in ways it shouldn't.
When I pull back, his eyes are wide with surprise and I see a flicker of hope.
"Win the race," I tell him, stepping away from the fence. "That's what I want. Win the race and find a way for both of us to survive what comes after."
I turn and walk toward the barn before he can respond, before the crack in my voice gives away how close I am to falling apart completely. Behind me, I hear him call my name, but I don't stop. Can't stop. Because if I turn around now, if I seewhatever expression he's wearing, I might do something stupid and reckless and completely irreversible.
The barn swallows me in familiar shadows and the smell of hay and horse sweat. Papa stands near the tack room, organizing bridles with the kind of nervous energy that means he hasn't slept either. He looks up when I enter, and I see my own fear reflected in his weathered features.
"The trailer arrived twenty minutes ago," I tell him, though he probably already knows. "Thunder's Shadow looks good. Calm."
He nods, hanging a bridle on its proper hook with unnecessary care. "Rusalka looks ready too. As ready as she can be."
The lie sits between us, unspoken but understood. Rusalka isn't ready for a race against horses with months more training and breeding worth more than our entire bloodline. Under normal circumstances, she would lose by lengths, maybe even injure herself trying to keep pace with superior animals.
But these aren't normal circumstances.
"Batya." I move closer, lowering my voice even though we're alone. "We need to talk about the final step."
His hands still on the leather he's organizing. "The registration swap."
"You'll handle the paperwork submission this morning. Get our fake Thunder's Shadow documentation into the official files." I pull the sealed packet from my jacket pocket, the one we prepared last night with shaking hands and criminal intent. "I'll handle the physical tag swap at the staging area."
"And if someone notices? If they check too carefully?"
"They won't. Not if we give them something else to focus on." I take a deep breath, knowing what I'm about to propose will horrify him. "We need a diversion. Something big enough to pull security attention away from the identification checks."
Papa's face goes pale. "What kind of diversion?"
"A fire." The word tastes like ash in my mouth. "One of the equipment trailers. Nothing that would hurt the horses or people, just enough chaos to keep the stewards busy."
"Mira, no. That's arson. That's?—"
"That's survival." I grab his arm, feeling the tremor in his muscles. "Batya, look at me. Really look at me. Do you see someone who has any other choice?" I'm frantic, but I try to stay calm. "If they catch me before the race, I'm dead. You know that. This is the only way."
He stares into my face, and I watch him see what I've become. Not his innocent daughter anymore, but something harder, more desperate. Someone capable of burning down the world if it means protecting the people she loves.
"There has to be another way," he whispers.
"There is no other way. There never was." I release his arm, stepping back. "We can do this, or we can die honest. Those are the only options left."
The barn falls into terrible quiet around us. Even the horses seem to sense the weight of what we're discussing, their usual morning sounds muted by the gravity of our conversation.
Finally, he nods. "What kind of fire?"
