16. Mira
MIRA
I lie in the darkness, staring at the ceiling while my mind races. The burns on my palms throb beneath the bandages. How close I came to dying in that barn… If not for Renat. My throat still feels raw from the smoke, and every breath tastes like ash, but I still have breath.
The memory floods back in sharp fragments—men with guns in the building while I was sneaking through to go make a very bad choice. Three of them there and their intent was clear enough.
I close my eyes and try to push away the image of flames licking at the walls, the suffocating darkness as smoke filled my lungs. But every time I drift toward sleep, I'm back in that inferno, trapped and waiting to die.
The house has gone quiet. Dad and Renat stepped outside after they got me settled, their voices too low for me to catch through the walls. Probably discussing what Renat plans to do to make sure this doesn't happen again, how this changes everything. The timeline, the plan, our chances of survival.
I must doze despite myself, because the soft creak of my bedroom door startles me awake. A large silhouette fills the doorway, and I recognize Renat's massive frame even in the dim light.
"Sorry," he says quietly. "Didn't mean to wake you."
"I wasn't really sleeping." I struggle to sit up against the pillows, wincing when the movement presses against my burned palms. "Where's my father?"
"Went to check on the horses. Make sure they're settled into the other barn." Renat closes the door behind him and leans against it. "He said we needed to talk."
Of course Dad would give us space now. After everything that's happened, he knows this conversation has been building for weeks. The tension between Renat and me has become impossible to ignore, even for a man who spends most of his time focused on horses and bills.
I struggle to sit up, wincing when I use my hands more than I should. Renat moves toward me instinctively, then stops himself, his hands clenched at his sides. The careful distance he maintains tells me everything—he wants to touch me, to check my injuries himself, but he's holding back.
"The barn," I start, my voice still rough from smoke.
"Is gone." His eyes are hard, dangerous. "The Karpins made sure of that."
"They trapped me in there. They locked the doors from the outside, said it would send a message to the Vetrovs about keeping promises."
Renat's jaw tightens. "You weren't trying to save the colts?"
"No. Though I would have." I meet his eyes, only a glimmer of a reflection in the stark darkness. "They wanted me to burn with the barn. Make it look like an accident."
The muscle in his jaw jumps. For a moment, I think he might put his fist through the wall. Instead, he takes a deep breath and sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me.
"This changes everything," he says, and for a moment I think he's talking about the timeline.
I've been thinking the same thing since I woke up. "I need more time with Rusalka. She's not ready?—"
"We don't have more time." His voice carries finality. "After tonight, Vadim will expect results faster, not slower. The Karpins forced his hand."
My heart sinks. I know he's right, but Rusalka needs weeks more training, maybe months. She has the bloodline, the speed, but she lacks the discipline that only comes with repetition and trust.
"So we work smarter," Renat continues. "No more dancing around this. I train with you every day. Morning to night, if that's what it takes."
"You don't know horses."
"I know how to take orders and how to follow through." His eyes find mine. "And I know what failure looks like in my world."
Even in this heavy darkness I know what his face looks like because I hear it in his words.
He's determined and probably slightly scared of what his family will do if I fail.
It shows he cares. This isn't just about saving the ranch anymore—it's about keeping all of us alive.
But there's something else in his voice, something that wasn't there before tonight.
"Why?" I ask. "Why the change of heart? Yesterday, you were ready to walk away from all this."
He looks down at his hands, and I see him turn his hands over, rub his knuckles. When he speaks, his voice is quieter than I've ever heard it.
"Because I want you."
The confession steals what little breath I have left.
I feel tense suddenly, scared of my own response internally because it makes my heart flutter.
He's a murderer, a violent man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants, just like the men who burned down my barn with me in it tonight.
Why does his confession make me want to be closer to him? What the actual fuck is wrong with me?
"And because I've fallen for you," he continues, still not meeting my eyes. "Which is the most dangerous thing that could happen to either of us right now."
My pulse hammers in my throat. "Renat?—"
"If that horse doesn't perform, it won't be the Karpins with another rogue attack.
" He finally looks up, and the intensity in his gaze makes my skin flush.
"Vadim will come himself. He'll slaughter you and your father, and he'll make me watch before he puts a bullet in my head for failing the family.
Because I will never do what he will order me to do. "
The brutal honesty of it clarifies everything. This man—this enforcer who could break me in half without thinking—is willing to die to protect me.
"I won't let that happen," he says.
I reach for him with my bandaged hands, ignoring the pain that shoots up my arms. "Renat."
"I should've told you before. Should have been honest about what this was becoming." His voice roughens. "But I'm not good at this. At feelings. At anything that isn't violence."
"You saved my life tonight."
"Anyone would have?—"
"No." I pull him closer, until I can smell the smoke still clinging to his hair. "You ran into a burning building for me. You could've died."
"The thought of losing you—" He stops, shakes his head. "It made me crazy. When I heard your father screaming for you, when I realized you were trapped in there…"
I see it then, the fear he's been hiding beneath the rage. The same fear that's been eating at me for weeks—that this thing between us will get us both killed, but that losing it might be worse than death.
"I've fallen for you too," I whisper.
The admission simmers between us for a heartbeat. Then his hand is in my hair, careful of my injuries, and he's leaning down to kiss me.
His mouth is gentle at first, testing, asking permission I've already given. But when I kiss him back, when I pull him closer despite the pain in my hands, something desperate breaks free between us.
"Mira," he breathes against my lips.
"I know." I understand what he's not saying—we're both in too deep, that tomorrow might bring death to our doorstep. But tonight, in this moment, none of that matters.
I'm scared, overwhelmed by how much I want him, by how completely he's infiltrated every corner of my life. But I also know, with absolute certainty, that he will fight for me. That whatever comes next, I won't face it alone.
His thumb traces my cheekbone, and I can feel the tremor in his touch. "Are you sure about this?"
Instead of answering with words, I kiss him again, deeper this time. My bandaged hands find the hem of his shirt, and I feel him tense at the contact.
"Your hands?—"
"Will heal." I look into his eyes, dark and intense in the lamplight. "I need you, Renat. All of you."
Something shifts in his expression then, the last of his restraint crumbling. He kisses me like a man who's been drowning, like I'm the first breath of air he's tasted in years.
When he pulls back, his breathing is uneven. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't." I trust him completely, this man who could destroy me with his bare hands but touches me like I'm made of glass. "I trust you."
The words seem to break something open in him. He kisses me again, hungrier now, and I feel the careful control he's maintained for weeks finally slip away.
His mouth trails along my jaw, then lower, his breath brushing the base of my throat. I tilt my head, giving him access, even as my heart pounds so hard I feel it in my bandages. He kisses down my neck, one hand braced beside me, the other finding my waist with reverent pressure.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, but I don’t answer. I shift beneath him, bringing my thighs apart just enough to guide him closer. The mattress dips under his weight as he settles between my legs, his body heat sinking into mine.
He lifts the hem of my tank top slowly, waiting for me to stop him but I don’t. I arch my back and help him pull it over my head, baring skin that still smells faintly of smoke and antiseptic. His gaze rakes over me. Hunger, awe, restraint—all of it etched into what I can make out of his face.
His hands don’t shake, but I feel the tension in them as he cups my ribs. He leans down and kisses my chest, his mouth tender as it finds the top curve of my breast. My breath stutters.
I don’t feel burned anymore. I feel wanted. Alive.
Renat’s breath warms my skin as he moves lower, his mouth closing around my nipple. The heat of it sends a sharp, immediate jolt through me. I gasp and clutch at his shoulders, my fingers useless in their wrappings, but he still feels the pressure. He groans softly and shifts closer.
The denim of his jeans drags against my inner thighs. I feel the hard line of him through the fabric, the weight of his body held just enough off mine to keep from hurting me. He kisses across my chest, his stubble scraping lightly, then lifts his head.