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Ruin, Carl means. The horse still bucking against a strained lead rope, struggling furiously against the people trying to corral him into a trailer.

And it hits me then, it all catches up to me, I realize what they’re doing.

This isn’t just a break-in or drunken arson or a chance to assert their fucking dominance over me.

They’re taking Ruin.

I can’t help it—I have to fucking laugh. “That’s your game plan? You burn down our barn, you steal our horse, and then what? You think you can just run off into the sunset?”

Clint sniffs, dragging the back of his hand under his nose, erratically waving the one still brandishing that fucking gun. “Pretty spot on.”

Oh my God. Oh my God . He’s serious. That’s actually what they’re doing. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

A feral noise escapes one of the stupidest people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. He takes a menacing step forward and I hold firm, I don’t back away, I narrow my eyes and fucking dare him to try something again. And maybe he would, if his brother didn’t stop him with a palm on his chest.

I snicker as Carl shakes his head in an obvious command to stand down. I start to make an entirely inappropriate quip, to flex my own stupidity, but then the man who took my virginity, and shat all over it, turns to me.

“Do you have any idea how much this horse is worth, Lottie?” When my brows crumples with confusion, Carl laughs. “Your little pet comes from a champion racehorse bloodline.”

Unrelenting heat roars at my back yet my blood runs cold. “What?”

A horrible, chilling smile blooms. “Y’know, his owners wanted you guys. Serenity . Said they wanted a nice home for the racing legacy who refused to fuckin’ run. I told ‘em we were better.”

Abruptly, all the pieces in this big, fucked-up puzzle slot together. “You were trying to train him.”

A grunt confirms it. “Trained or not, he’s still pedigree. We could go anywhere we want with the money we’ll get from him.”

Fuck. Fuck .

“And you?” I shift my gaze to Ricky. “Is this revenge? Because I got sober?”

He runs his tongue over his teeth as he sidles closer, mouth quirked cockily. “You weren’t so sober when you were downing shots and throwing yourself at me, were you?”

The man behind spits a foul curse.

I’m not any more polite. “In your dreams, Dicky .”

In the blink of my eye, my chin is clutched between sweaty, harsh fingers.

Finn yells in outage, and then he yells in something else, and I twist my head just enough to catch him falling to his knees as the butt of a gun assaults his temple.

Then I’m the one yelling, screeching like a banshee and throwing threats at Clint as vehemently as I throw fists at Ricky, but neither of them take any heed, the latter holds on tight, gripping me hard enough to bruise as he yanks me close enough to feel a spray of spittle as he hisses, “You left me, Lottie. I was your family for a year , I was all you had, and you left me for people who don’t even want you. ”

Jesus, I do it again. I fucking laugh. Right in his face. Can’t help it—can’t respond to his utter lunacy with anything else. “You weren’t my family , dumbass. You were a distraction. You were a bad decision that went on for way too fucking long.”

Spewing an animalistic noise, Ricky sends me reeling backwards with a harsh shove.

A shout rings out as I hit the ground hard, ass-first, and I ignore yet another thrum of pain as I scramble to my feet, my gaze immediately seeking out Finn.

He’s so close, struggling in the Webers’ joint grip literally only a handful of steps away, but I don’t dare move.

I barely dare to look at him, I want everyone to forget he’s here.

I need to keep pissing people off so their attention stays on me. I need to get him the hell out of here.

I’m trying to figure out how, exactly, to do that when I realize he’s mouthing something to me.

And then I’m trying to figure out why the fuck he would be telling me to run , why the fuck he thinks I would just leave him, how he thinks I even could , and I’m so distracted with trying to resist the urge to tell him to go fuck himself, I don’t notice Ricky reapproaching.

Not until cold metal nudges my temple, and pure, unadulterated terror constricts my lungs.

Swallowing the bitter taste of it, I turn slowly until my wide eyes fix on a reddened, maddened face. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

Ricky spits my own, stupid words back to me, “Do you want to fucking bet?”

My mouth dries out.

“You’re gonna trailer that horse,” Ricky says, pushing the gun harder against my skin before retreating completely. Before swinging it in a different direction, one that inspires even more bone-shaking fear. “Or I’m gonna shoot your boyfriend.”

Vomit climbs my throat.

I don’t hesitate for a single second.

“Okay.” Hands slowly rising in a trembling replacement for a white flag, I nod just as slow. “Fine. You win.”

In a stark contrast to everything else I’ve been spewing, it’s the exact right thing to say.

A triumphant curve to his mouth, Ricky lowers the gun.

Grabbing my arm, he drags me towards Ruin, rough even though I’m not fighting him, grunting when I dare to glance over my shoulder, to lock eyes with Finn, just for a moment.

It’s fine , I try to tell him telepathically. We’ll be fine. Ruin will be fine. Someone will see the fire. Someone will come. I just have to buy us a little time.

Pursing my lips, I force out a low, commanding whistle.

Ruin freezes. He trembles and huffs and flicks his tail, but he stops fighting.

“Good boy,” I croon, forcing cool, calm, collectedness into my tone—none of which I feel as I set eyes on the two fuckers abusing my poor boy. “Give the rope some slack.”

Vic sneers. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

“Yes,” I answer without hesitation, and both her and Ethan curse. “You’re pulling too bad. You’re hurting him. He’s never gonna go anywhere with you like this, so give the fucking rope some fucking slack.”

They grit their teeth, they curse some more, but they do it.

As the pressure relents, Ruin tosses his head, letting loose a high-pitched whinny that I soothe with a cluck of my tongue.

With a scratch to his withers, a careful palm splayed on his forehead—my own pressing just above his eye.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, defeat flooding me like poison.

“But you need to calm down, okay? Please. Please, sweet boy.”

Ruin whinnies again, softer. He nudges me gently and fuck, my eyes start to sting, pure frustration leaking out of them.

A tear hits his coat, and he stiffens. So eerily human, he reels back, surveying my watery gaze and huffing.

When he nuzzles my face tenderly, I really start to cry.

Shoulders shaking, complete and utter bereavement deadens my nerves as I lead Ruin back into the hands of the people that made him so ruinous.

We’re almost at the trailer when a loud curse stops us. So lost in a muddy swarm of grief and guilt, I don’t realize what the problem is right away, why the five intruders look so panicked, until I recognize the rhythmic shriek cutting through the air.

Sirens .

“We don’t have time for this.”

With a panicked huff, Carl shoves me aside and grabs Ruin’s halter.

As he tries to urge him forward, his new best friends start grabbling with the lead rope again, and Ruin starts to lose it again, squirming and fighting and more hands find his body, so many hands, so much panic that no one notice me losing the knot holding that rope halter in place.

No one notices it coming undone.

Not until the lead rope goes completely slack, hits the ground with a loud thump, and Ruin is free.

Shouts ring out as he rears, hooves flailing.

There’s a wheezed breath, a loud oomph , another thud as something else crumples to the ground—Ethan.

Vic screams as her boyfriend clutches his stricken chest, and just in case that piercing wail isn’t enough to send Ruin into a frenzy, I slap him hard on the rear, sends him speeding off into the night.

And then I’m speeding, I’m twirling towards Finn, running back to him and screeching for him to get his ass in gear too.

And then, I’m not.

Then, a gunshot goes off.

Then, I can’t move at all.