Page 3 of Stolen Empire

For the first time in my life, a job is up and I'm going down for it.

Usually, I have contingencies, back up plans, whatever it takes.

But this was supposed to be a clean in and out.

"Who sent you?" he says, now narrowing his eyes.

"I'm alone," I say, and my insides feel like they're turning to Jell-O. "Nobody sent me."

"You think I believe that?"

He stops three paces away, his arms loose at his sides.

"You broke in here for a horse worth more than you will ever see in your life, and you expect me to think you're working solo?"

"Believe what you want."

I let go of the rope and raise my hands slowly, palms out.

The mare steps sideways, but she doesn't run.

"I'm telling you the truth."

He tilts his head, studying me.

"You scouted this place. You knew the guard rotation, the layout, where the halter was. That takes time and planning. And now you're going to tell me you did all that on your own for what? You just want a pony to ride?"

"Yes."

"Then you are either lying or you are stupid."

He closes the distance between us in two strides, and before I can move, his hand is around my upper arm.

His grip is iron as he hauls me forward with enough force to make my teeth click together.

"Either way, you are coming with me."

I try to pull free, but his fingers dig in harder, and pain shoots up my shoulder.

The mare rears back and races down the corridor toward the main entrance.

The man doesn't even glance at her.

His attention stays locked on me, and he drags me toward a door on the left side of the corridor.

"Let go of me," I snap, and I twist my arm, trying to break his hold.

He doesn't loosen his grip.

He shoves the door open with his free hand and pulls me through, and the room beyond is small and cold, lit by a single bare bulb hanging from the ceiling.

A desk sits against the far wall, cluttered with papers and a half-empty bottle of vodka, and a chair is tucked underneath it.

He releases my arm and steps back, positioning himself between me and the door.

I rub at the bruise already forming on my skin and glare at him, but he doesn't react.

He leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest, and watches me with the same flat expression.