I reach for my water glass, my fingers steady despite the warning bells clanging in my mind.
After lunch, McAllister rises from his chair, satisfied with all the attention he received. “I’d like to show you the stables,” he announces, his invitation directed at Ares, though his eyes linger on me once again. “I’ve recently acquired a stallion with bloodlines that trace back to the Mongol empire.”
The other guests disperse to different amusements like billiards and the endless bottles of expensive liquor, while we follow McAllister down a stone path behind the main house.
I catch Ares looking at the security cameras in the yard. The damn things are everywhere.
We walk through tended to the inch gardens, where not a single leaf grows out of place. Everything is controlled here. A perfection that’s too perfect, like he’s trying to bend everything to his will.
“I keep seven horses,” McAllister explains as we approach a building that looks more like a luxury hotel than a stable. “Each one is special, but Warlord—” he says the name with the pride of a father. “—he’s something truly exceptional.”
The stable doors slide open automatically at our approach, and I really want to ask him if he’s for real. Who puts automatic doors on a stable? I just can’t understand this level of wealth.
The temperature inside is warm, just like in the main house, and the center aisle is covered in immaculate rubber matting. Even the scent is surprisingly pleasant. Fresh hay, with only the faintest hint of horse. I notice a guy discreetly cleaning the stalls, disposing of the animal waste as soon as it appears.
McAllister is some kind of control freak taken to another level.
“This facility is burning a hole into my pocket,” he continues, gesturing expansively, so we can take a good look atthe wondersurrounding us. “Climate-controlled, automatic waterers, my horses live better than most humans.”
“Impressive,” Ares comments, with fake admiration. I know him enough to detect the slight disgust at this display of wealth. It’s not about the beautiful animals. It’s about the automatic doors and the man sitting at their asses to shovel shit at the moment it’s produced. There is a natural order of things. McAllister has ventured past that to the ridiculous.
We stop before a large stall where a massive black stallion looks at us. His coat shines like ink, muscles rippling with strength. There’s something regal in him, a dignity that not even captivity can diminish.
“Warlord,” McAllister announces with pride in every syllable. “His bloodline traces directly to Genghis Khan’s personalmount. DNA verified. There are only three horses in the world with this genetic marker, and I own two of them.” He starts talking forever about the breeding potential, the competition record, and another million other things I don’t pay attention to. He’s so boring that I eventually take a few steps further to examine one of the few saddles displayed like museum pieces.
They’re not ancient. Something more recent, but one of them shows a human figure being chased by men on horses.This is a fucking hunting ritual.
“You ride?” McAllister asks, catching my interest.
“I have some experience,” I answer, without telling him that my experience was only a couple of hours long while I was with one of the foster families. We went to the circus, and they had free horse riding for children. Nothing impressive on my part, but at least I didn’t fall.
“Maybe you’ll come back for another weekend, and I’ll take both of you riding. There’s nothing quite like the connection between horse and rider. The sensation when you get such a powerful creature to submit to you.”
Ares walks beside me. “Speaking of different activities, I’d like to get a sense of the terrain. Maybe I’ll take Brynn for a walk in the woods this afternoon.”
McAllister‘s expression changes for a second, then a large smile appears on his face. “Of course, that’s a great idea. The eastern trails are very scenic. My guests have free rein of the property. Just watch out for wild animals. We did have some wolves around here recently.”
I’m seeing one right in front of me.
“Well, dinner is at eight as usual. I suggest going soon so you still catch light. You should change into something more appropriate. It’s getting chilly outside.”
He walks us back toward the main house, where the man with the scar on his face, whose name I didn’t catch, waits on the terrace, watching our interaction.
I really don’t like this man.
We don’t go and change because McAllister says so, but because our clothes aren’t fit for hiking. I’m wearing some elegant pants and a top for lunch. Not the best idea to go to the woods like that.
We both get some cargo pants, T-shirts, warm jackets, army boots, and a few accessories people usually need while hunting, including hunting knives. You never know when you’ll get an opportunity, and McAllister said no weapons on his property, so we left our guns at home, except the sidearm Ares has in the car.
As soon as we are back outside, Ares takes my elbow and guides me towards the tree line, approximately a half mile from the stable. “Walk normally and smile occasionally like I’m saying something charming.”
“Don’t you always say something charming?” I laugh, leaning toward him as if I’m captivated by him. Okay, maybe not justas if… “Do you think they have cameras everywhere?” I ask, looking at the forest.
“Yes, they’re everywhere around his property. But there are blind spots in the forest. Too many trees for complete coverage and too wide terrain.”
We keep whispering to each other like we're telling sweet nothings until we pass a tree line and move into the pine forest that covers the mountainside.
The smell of resin and damp earth replaces McAllister’s controlled environment as Ares leads me along a narrow trail between thick trunks. Only after we’ve walked for fifteen minutes and we haven’t spotted any cameras for a while does he stop, turning to face me with an expression I recognize all too well.
