Page 2 of Stolen Empire

They either trust you or they don't, and this one seems willing to let me close.

I slip the halter over her head and fasten the buckle under her jaw, speaking to her in a calm voice that I hope sounds soothing. "Shh, hey, girl…"

She shifts her weight but doesn't pull away, and I take the lead rope in my hand and guide her toward the stall door.

She follows without resistance, her hooves clicking softly against the floor, and I feel the tension in my chest begin to ease.

The service exit is thirty meters away, straight through the corridor and out the back.

I can see the door from here, the red glow of the exit sign above it, and I tug gently on the lead rope to keep the mare moving.

She comes willingly, her ears pricked forward, and I let myself believe for half a second that this is going to work.

Then the lights come on.

They flood the corridor all at once, blinding me, and I freeze in place and wince as my eyes blink several times.

The mare tosses her head, startled, and I firm up my grip on the rope to keep her from bolting.

My eyes are still adjusting when I hear the footsteps coming from the direction of the service exit.

A man steps into view, and I know immediately that I'm in trouble.

He's compact and broad-shouldered with a broad chest and thick biceps.

His head is buzzed close to the scalp, and his face is all hard angles, a slanted jaw and a heavy brow that makes his eyes look sunken.

Tattoos crawl up his neck and disappear under the collar of his shirt, and he moves toward me with a menacing expression.

My throat constricts.

"Put the rope down," he says in a dark but calm tone.

He doesn't even have to raise his voice to sound like he's in charge.

I don't move.

My fingers are locked around the lead rope, and my mind is racing through options that aren't there.

The exit behind him is blocked, and the door I came through is too far away.

The mare shifts, her breath coming fast, and I force myself to stay still.

"I said put it down."

He takes another step closer, and I can see his eyes now, dark brown and flat. There is no anger in them, no surprise.

The way he's looking at me says he's been expecting me, that my planning and reconnaissance didn't go undetected.

His eyebrows rise and I scoff at him, feeling defeated.

My buyer is going to be pissed, and more than that, if I can't talk my way out of this, I'm going to a gulag.

"I, uh…"

"What are you doing with that horse?" he asks, clasping one hand around the other wrist.

"I'm just walking her," I mutter, but I've got nothing.