2. Tabitha
2
TABITHA
"Y ou know, we could do this for you.”
“No, you couldn’t,” I argued. “I need to see them for myself.”
“But why?” Nikolai pushed. “This place is a shithole, and these poor animals should be put out of their misery.”
My youngest wasn’t wrong. It was awful. The place reeked of sweat, manure, and the sharp tang of desperation. I knew it too well. I’d lived it, breathed it, and survived it. But these poor souls were still fighting for their tomorrow.
They stood in these rusted pens with ribs pressing against their skin and their eyes hollowed out from the kind of fear that only comes when you've been beaten down and left with nothing. I kept my focus on the entry gate as I told him, “Because I need to see them for myself.”
“So, you can pick out the worst of the worst.”
“So, I can pick out the ones who need us the most.”
I grimaced as I watched the man lead out the next horse. It was a broken mare with a clouded eye. She was a brown and white swayback who looked like she hadn't known kindness in years and had been discarded like she meant nothing to anyone. It was a feeling I knew all too well.
When I stepped forward, Nikolai groaned, “Oh, Mom. Come on. Not her. Hell, she’s on her last leg.”
“That’s exactly why I want her.” I slipped on my glove and called out, “Two hundred!”
A few heads turned. Some recognized me. Others, the ones with new money and soft hands, didn’t yet know better than to question a Volkov. Not that it mattered. I didn’t give a damn what anyone thought.
The mare was going to be mine.
She wasn't pretty, at least not by society’s standards. She was too old and too worn. But once she was home with me, she’d have a warm stall and a full belly, and she would have the freedom to breathe without the weight of a heavy hand hammering down on her. It wasn’t much. It wouldn’t take away the years of pain she’d endured, but it would be a start.
They’d barely led her out of the ring before they were bringing in another horse. This one was a tall bay, and his coat was dulled by filth and lack of care. It was hard to believe he was anything but a workhorse, but I could see it. He was still holding onto a whisper of his former glory, and that was enough for me.
His ears flicked back at the crack of the whip, and he jolted with an urge to run. I’d seen enough to call out, “Three hundred!”
"Four," some ranch hand countered.
I glanced over and quickly recognized his hard face. He was a buyer for the kill pens, and he looked eager. I wasn’t going to let that scare me off. I leveled him with a stare as I spat, “Five.”
He hesitated.
He knew the name. Dimitri Volkov had been a cruel, powerful man, but his widow was a different breed of dangerous. The hammer fell, and he was mine. They weren’t much to the world, but it was their time to know a life of kindness.
Maybe I saw too much of myself in them, or maybe I just had too much damn money and no one to tell me how to spend it. Either way, they'd get their chance to know kindness and a sense of security.
And most of all, they'd know what it felt like to be free.
The auction dragged on. It was one broken soul after another. Nikolai was growing tired of the gloom and was itching to get the hell out of there. “Okay, Mom. You’ve picked up three today. That’s more than enough.”
“I know. I know. Just a few more minutes.”
He was right. I’d already bought more than I planned. I already had eight that were still on the mend, but they were slowly beginning to thrive. They were still far from being as healthy as my thoroughbreds and Arabians, but they were holding their own. And it wasn’t like we didn’t have room for more.
We had over two hundred acres and barn for forty or more. I planned to fill every one of them, but it was a process that couldn’t be done in a day. I was coming to terms with the fact that the day was coming to an end when I saw her.
A beautiful, brown and white mare with a swollen belly that swayed with every limping step. She was barely more than a filly herself, and her ribs pressed against stretched skin. Her front foot was bad. It looked to be an old injury that had been left to fester. That was enough for most to pass her by, including me, but then, I caught a glimpse of her eyes.
They were big, dark, and filled with the kind of resignation that only comes when you’ve been failed too many times.
“Next up, we got a bay mare. She’s heavy in foal. Looks to be seven to eight months along,” the auctioneer droned. “She’s got herself a bad foot, but there’s still some good meat on her bones.”
I stepped closer to the railing as I asked, “What’s her number?”
“Let me see.” The man beside me squinted down at his clipboard. “Lot ninety-seven.”
I looked at her again and watched as her ears twitched but didn’t lift. She remained still even when the whip cracked behind her. I knew then that she’d already given up. I stepped closer as I whispered, “Hey there, sweet girl. I see you.”
She shifted her weight, and for a moment, I thought she might step toward me. But then the auctioneer barked something, and she froze again. I clenched my jaw. That was enough.
Realizing I was about to make a move, Nikolai groaned, “Come on, Mom. The vet bills alone are going to be a fortune.”
“Two hundred,” someone called.
I didn’t even turn my head when I called out, “Five hundred.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd. It was too much for a mare like her, but I didn’t care. She was going to be mine.
“Six,” a voice countered. I knew without looking that it was one of the kill buyers.
I turned, slow and deliberate, and met his gaze. “One thousand.”
His lips pressed into a thin line.
He knew better than to counter.
Seconds later, the hammer fell, and just like that, she was mine.
They moved her out of the ring, and I immediately made my way over to her. I placed my palm on her side as I leaned in and whispered, “You hear that, mama? You and that sweet baby are getting out of here. You’re going home.”
He led her to the back with the others, and Nikolai helped Wyatt, our handler, load the horses onto the trailer. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched my big, strong, tattooed son sweet-talking the brown and white mare. He was the most intense of my three boys, and it was rare to see his softer side. But it was there, and the horses could sense it.
It was one of the reasons I asked him to come with me. I knew I could trust him to be good to the horses and show them the kindness they deserved. The trailer door clanged shut, and the last of our new rescues were secured for the short drive back to the estate.
After one last check, Wyatt patted the side of the rig and called out, “They’re ready to roll.”
I nodded, and then Nikolai and I got in the car. We followed close behind as Wyatt pulled out of the auction yard and started towards home. The drive was short but just long enough for my mind to wander, and I started to think about how good things had been going.
When we moved from New York, we were able to purchase a great deal of land, some on the riverside and some out in the country. The boys had their plans for the riverfront, and I had mine for the country. I wanted the ranch I’d dreamed of since I was a little girl, and I’d finally had the means to get it.
It was two hundred acres of rolling pastures and thick tree lines. It was beautiful, and the barn was state-of-the-art. Not only did it have an entire loft that housed my very own two-bedroom apartment with all the necessities, but it also had over forty, large-scale stalls. Each of them was temperature-controlled and built for comfort and care. Over twenty-five horses already called this place home, and every one of them had their own story.
Magnus, my black Friesian, was one of my favorites. He was all heart and had a gentle soul. He was on death’s door when we brought him home, and all it took was a little time and love for him to find the strength to pull through. Since then, he’d always gone out of his way to thank me for my kindness by giving me a neighing nod or resting his head on my shoulder.
Pearl, my oh-so stubborn Andalusian, also held a special place in my heart. It had been years since I’d brought her home, and she still looked at me like I owed her an apology for rescuing her. But she was good with the younger horses and looked after them like she was a grandmother of sorts.
These new ones—the broken and beaten down—would eventually claim their place here, too. They might not have long, but they’d have a few good years, maybe more, if we were lucky.
The truck came to a stop, and Nikolai and I parked right behind him. I got out and waited as Wyatt opened the trailer door. He shook his head with a wince as he muttered, “Looks like they survived the trip.”
“They certainly did,” I said, then added, “Now, call in the vet, and let’s get them back on their feet.”
He gave a nod and was already pulling out his phone. When Nikolai started unloading, I stepped over and helped him with the pregnant mare. I took hold of her reigns and coaxed her softly as I led her into her stall. She cowered in the corner and watched as I filled her bucket with feed and freshened her water.
Once I was done, I didn’t go over to her. I knew she needed some time to adjust, so I stood at the gate as I told her, “You can rest easy, sweet girl. You’re safe now.”
She studied me for a moment, then lowered her head and stared down at the ground. Hoping that she’d eat once I left, I stepped towards the door and whispered, “The vet will be here soon. We’ll get that foot checked out and see how that baby’s doing.”
I stepped out and closed the stall door.
I wanted to stay and make sure she ate, but I’d been around horses long enough to know she wouldn’t touch it until I was gone. That was the thing about horses. They sensed when we were around. She wouldn’t move until she knew I was gone, so I headed out back and stood on the mound overlooking the pasture.
Even now, as I stood there looking at the life I’d built with my boys, I hadn’t forgotten where I’d come from. I remembered it all very well. I could still hear the low rattle of the wind whipping through the broken boards of my childhood home. I could still see the peeling paint and broken-down furniture. Most of all, I could still see my poor mother balled up on that old, dirty mattress with sweat soaking through her thin nightgown. She was wasting away from the sickness we couldn’t afford to fight.
My father was desperate to do something, anything , to save her. But getting her the medical attention she needed would cost money, and he was already drowning in debt. We were barely able to put food on the table, so he started searching for a miracle.
He should’ve known better than to gamble on a race he couldn’t afford to lose. But desperation makes fools of the weak.
I was fifteen when he lost that gamble and handed me over to a man twice my age with a name that carried fear and bloodshed. Dimitri wasn’t just ruthless in business. He was ruthless in every way imaginable.
Truth was,hedidn’t even want to marry me. He liked having his pick of women, but his father forced his hand. He told him a man of his stature needed a woman at his side—one that was quiet, pretty, and most of all, obedient. Dimitri looked at me like I was a punishment, and he certainly made sure I felt like one.
My first few years with him were hell.
Pain and silence became my closest companions. He wanted obedience, and when I refused, he took it from me the hard way. Thankfully, the beatings slowed when I gave him what he truly wanted.
A son.
Sergei was a blessing in more ways than one. Not only was he a precious child who stole my heart, he was my saving grace. Viktor and Nikolai followed soon after, and with each child, Dimitri’s grip on me loosened.
I’d served my purpose.
But he still expected me to look the part of the perfect wife. I wasn’t na?ve about it. I knew I was attractive. He wanted me there, so he could show me off. He wanted me dressed to the nines with jewels and expensive dresses, so I would turn heads. That was it.
I wasn’t a wife. I was an accessory.
But he lost interest in me physically and barely touched me. He left the raising of our boys to me. I knew he was with other women. I didn’t care. I knew he didn’t love me—not the way a man should love his wife.
I didn’t love him either. I didn’t even like him.
The only love I ever knew came from my boys, and when Dimitri died, I wasted no time leaving the past behind.
I wanted no reminders of the life we’d endured, so I sold everything—the house, his businesses, and most of our belongings. We packed up the rest and moved to Little Rock. I thought a fresh start would do us all good. It was a chance to build a new life in a city where no one knew the Volkov name, but my sons had their father’s blood running through their veins and had his thirst for power coursing through them.
It didn’t take them long to make a name for themselves, and they took what they knew and made it ours, turning the past into profit. They had big plans for a grand casino—one that would stand above all others. It would be their legacy, not mine.
I had my land, the barn, and my beautiful horses. Here, I would have the peace I never thought I’d find. Dimitri might’ve stolen my past, but he wouldn’t have my future. No man, living or dead, would ever take it from me again.