29. Renat #2
He sees me coming, tries to swing his weapon toward me while keeping Mira close, but I tackle him around the waist, driving him backward into the tool rack. His gun goes flying as we crash into the workbench.
Wrenches and hammers rain down around us. Dima is bigger than me but I'm faster, fueled by rage and desperation. My fist finds his jaw, then his ribs. He grunts, rolls, comes up swinging.
His punch catches me in the stomach, doubling me over. But I've been in worse fights. I grab his shirt, headbutt him in the nose. Blood gushes down his face.
"Renat, stop!" Vadim shouts, but I'm past hearing.
Alexei tries to intervene, grabbing my shoulder. I elbow him in the throat, send him staggering backward gasping. Dima recovers, swings a haymaker that grazes my temple. Stars explode behind my eyes.
Years of bare-knuckle fighting take over. Muscle memory guides my movements as I drive my knee into Dima's stomach, double him over, then bring my elbow down on the back of his neck. He drops to his knees, gasping.
"You don't touch her." I grab him by the hair, lift his face so he can see me clearly. "You don't threaten her. You don't even breathe wrong in her direction."
"Renat!" Vadim grabs my arm, tries to pull me back. I shake him off violently.
Alexei comes at me from the side, swinging a wrench he grabbed from the floor. I catch his wrist, twist until bone pops. He screams, drops the tool, clutches his broken arm.
But now Lev has his gun out, aimed at Mira's head. "Enough!"
I freeze, panting. Dima spits blood on the concrete, glaring up at me with murder in his eyes. Alexei whimpers on the floor. Vadim stands ready to grab me again.
"You broke my fucking arm," Alexei gasps.
"Touch her again and I'll break more." I don't take my eyes off Lev's gun.
"This ends now." Lev's voice carries absolute authority. "The girl comes with us. The debt will be paid in blood."
"No." I step toward him, but he presses the gun harder against Mira's temple.
"One more step and I paint the walls with her brains."
That's when voices carry from outside. Shouting. Running footsteps.
"Mira! Mira, where are you?" Yuri Petrov's voice cuts through the tension, wild with panic.
The shed door bursts open. Mira's father rushes inside, his face twisted with terror. Behind him, two men in racing official uniforms push through the doorway.
"What in God's name is happening here?" Mr. Corsi, the race steward, takes in the scene—blood on the floor, weapons drawn, Mira pressed against the wall with Lev's gun at her head.
"Private business," Lev says smoothly, but his grip on the weapon wavers.
"This is a public racetrack." Corsi's voice carries absolute authority. "Any business conducted here falls under racing commission jurisdiction."
Yuri pushes past the officials, moving toward his daughter. "Mira, are you hurt?"
"Stay back," Lev warns, but his voice lacks conviction now.
"Mr. Karpin." Corsi addresses Lev directly. "Lower your weapon. Now."
"This doesn't concern racing officials."
"Everything that happens on this property concerns us. Lower your weapon or I'll have track security arrest you for assault with a deadly weapon."
The standoff stretches. Then, slowly, reluctantly, Lev lowers his gun.
"This isn't over," he says quietly. "The debt stands."
"What debt?" Corsi demands. "What exactly is going on here?"
Vadim straightens his jacket, trying to regain composure. "A misunderstanding. Easily resolved."
"Nothing about this looks easily resolved." Corsi pulls out his phone. "I'm calling track security. And the police."
"That won't be necessary." Lev moves toward the door. "We're leaving."
"You're not going anywhere until I get answers." Corsi blocks the exit. "Miss Petrova, are you all right?"
Mira nods but doesn't trust her voice. Blood trickles from her split lip, her eye puffy and red. It will be bruised tomorrow.
"Who did this to you?" Corsi's voice hardens.
Before anyone can answer, Dima struggles to his feet. "The bitch cheated. Switched the numbers to throw the race, and it worked."
Corsi frowns. "Number switching? That's a serious violation of track regulations."
"She admitted it," Vadim adds. "Fraud and deception. The racing commission should investigate."
"We will." Corsi looks at Mira. "Is this true? Did you switch horse numbers?"
Mira meets his gaze. "Rusalka won that race fair and square. She earned every stride of that victory."
"That's not what I asked."
Yuri steps forward. "She switched the saddle cloths, yes. But only because these men threatened to kill her if our horse lost."
Corsi's eyes widen. "Death threats? Over a horse race?"
"Over a debt," I correct. "The race was supposed to settle a family obligation."
"What kind of obligation requires death threats?"
Lev and Vadim exchange glances but neither speaks.
"I think," Corsi says slowly, "we need to continue this conversation in my office. With security present. And probably the police."
"No police," Vadim says quickly, and he flashes his weapon.
"Then no more violence on my track." Corsi's voice is iron, but his face goes pale. "Mr. Karpin, your people leave now. Mr. Vetrov, same goes for you. Miss Petrova stays with me until we sort this out."
"The debt—" Lev starts.
"Can be discussed through proper legal channels. Not with guns and fists." Corsi steps aside, gesturing toward the door. "Everyone out. Now," he orders, and in the interest of not involving every person at this track and having hundreds of witnesses to make it an easy trial, the men stand down.
Slowly, reluctantly, the Karpins move toward the exit. Dima pauses beside me.
"This isn't finished," he says quietly.
I meet his eyes. "Yes, it is."
Vadim covers his gun and says, "The family will remember this betrayal, Renat."
"Good. Let them remember that some things are worth fighting for."
As the men file out, I go to Mira. Her face is swollen, her lip split, but she's alive. That's all that counts right now.
"Are you hurt? Really hurt?" I cup her face gently.
She shakes her head. "I'm fine," she says, but tears are welling up. "What now?"
I look toward the door where our enemies disappeared. "Now we deal with the consequences."
But I'm not afraid of what comes next. We survived this. We'll survive whatever follows.