2. Holden
Ireach down to grip the strap wrapped around the bull’s chest, squeezing my legs tightly around its back. My thighs are stronger than ever after the last three and a half years of continuous weight lifting, but that kind of strength is different from this. This is work strength. This muscle is all from memory. It’s from years of growing up on a Texas ranch and jumping on bulls with nothing but a fucked-up idea of fun and a bet to stay on for eight seconds to avoid a shitty consequence.
I guess that’s not any different from what we’re doing here, only I’ll win a lot more if I can stay on this one.
“You ready, Redford?” a cowboy to my left asks me.
I nod, forcing myself to exhale as they open up the chute. The crowd and the bull go wild in unison. It’s been over three years since they’ve seen me in this arena, but I guess a few of them remember.
The Riders is an underground bull riding organization run by old, bored, crippled cowboys with a lot of money and not much else to do. Our family ranch supplies the animals for a hefty fee, but we boys come to ride every so often just for the high.
My grip strength doesn’t fail me as I hold on for dear life, my body repeatedly being thrown into the air like a rag doll as the animal tries to throw me off with every ounce of strength in its two-thousand-pound body.
I wish I felt afraid of it. I wish something in this life scared me, but all I feel is excitement and adrenaline. The idea of death has never caused me any fear.
That’s probably why I killed a man.
Finally, the buzzer sounds in my ears. My raised hand shoots back to join the other one on the leather strap, gripping tightly. A rider comes up beside me to release the flank strap. I grip the back of his saddle, sliding off easily and landing on my feet. Sometimes, that shit works out; other times, it’s a fucking nightmare.
“Good to have you back, Redford,” the man on the horse calls to me.
I wave a hand up at him as I climb over the steel fence.
I glance over my shoulder, watching my back for potential assailants. Getting jumped regularly in prison made me paranoid because it was the only way to survive.
The Riders is an unofficial, illegal operation. If the Feds were to ever show up, which they wouldn’t, we’d have to immediately cease and desist any exchange of currency or bets on rides. Not that they’d believe it was all we were doing, but there’s technically nothing illegal about riding a bull in front of a crowd of spectators. The part that’s not in line with the law is the betting. Lots of money is exchanged here—a lot of dirty money. Hundreds of thousands of dollars change hands every night we ride, which is only every few weeks.
Mayor Dixon has had a field day, trying to shut it down for the last three years, but my brother Cash told me during his last call to the prison that the good ol’ mayor had started singing a different tune recently. Word has it, he’s been silently betting on rides through a few goonies to earn some extra cash flow. If that’s the case, The Riders might not be in any legal bind whatsoever for the foreseeable future, which means Redford Ranch has a lot of business lined up for bull breeding.
“Holden? Oh my gosh, is that you? I had no idea they released you! I can’t believe Cash and Sterling didn’t tell me.” A grating female voice reaches my ears.
I glance up, seeing a flash of blond hair and pink lips before looking away. “In the flesh.”
Madi giggles, inching closer and boldly placing her hand on my forearm. “I thought you were still locked up. I would’ve thrown you a welcome-home party.”
“A party doesn’t sound too welcoming to me.” I spit in the dirt, hoping she’ll get the hint and go bug someone else. Even after a few years in a men’s prison, I didn’t miss her high-pitched voice one bit.
I was sentenced to fifteen years for manslaughter, but the Texas governor granted me clemency after three and a half years in hell. Just like that, I was suddenly a free man.
“Well, I figured it wouldn’t be until the part where you snuck me off to the barn again. Remember that? The night everything happened, you and me in the hay?” she purrs, pressing her breasts into my upper arm.
I’ve gained muscle, but she’s definitely gained something that feels unnatural and plastic. There’s nothing wrong with fake tits; I just prefer them soft and pliable.
Fuck, but it’s been forever since I’ve touched a woman …
“Sure as fuck is hard to forget the night you kill a man.” I finally turn, looking her straight in the eye and expecting to see her recoil.
Instead, Madi bats her fake eyelashes and leans farther in, excitement sparkling in her blue eyes. “I sure hope prison didn’t make you forget anything from that night.”
After three and a half years behind bars for manslaughter, she’s still into me? What the fuck.
The truth is, I remember every little detail from the last time I saw Madi. It’s a story I’ve had to recount over and over, a thousand times, to law enforcement, lawyers, judges, and other inmates. After my gun ended up blowing out the brains of another human being that night, the details from the entire evening were permanently cemented into my skull.
“I gotta get going,” I tell her, stepping past her and striding toward the parking lot, shoulders back.
A few faces turn to stare at me, everyone clearly taking this moment to suddenly pay attention to detail. My skin is heated from all the eyes on me and the stark difference the outside world is from being tucked away in prison. My instincts to stay on high alert and watch my back are still roaring at me.
None of them expected to see me for almost twelve more years.
“Rosie, there you are!” an excited woman’s voice calls.
My steps falter at the familiar name. I glance to my right to see a flash of copper-red hair, a shade I’d recognize anywhere on this planet. She’s only standing about six feet away. As I turn fully, her long, wavy hair swishes to the side as she stops dead in her tracks at the sight of me. Her black felt cowboy hat contrasts against her skin.
She’s staring at me, pale blue-green eyes—the color of pure tropical ocean water—taking me in like I’m a ghost. I guess, technically, I am somewhat of a ghost to these people, considering they all thought I’d be locked up for years. It must be unsettling to see a man who was in prison after murdering their neighbor out and about, roaming the streets freely a few years too early for comfort.
Rosie Lou Dixon’s perfect crimson mouth forms a flawless O, much like the last time we saw each other. I let out a deep exhale.
Somany memories were made on that fateful winter night. Rosie either remembers it as well as I do or she’s terrified and can’t move out of pure fear and shock.
The girl who’s been calling her name finally reaches her.
“Rosie! Didn’t you hear me? He’s out. I just heard, he’s out.”
My eyes slide over to take in the bearer of the clearly shocking news. The girl is taller than Rosie with short brown hair. I don’t recognize her, but as soon as she sees me, she sure as hell knows exactly who I am. Her eyes pop open wide, face paling as she gasps.
“Oh shit,” she mumbles, reaching for Rosie’s hand.
Rosie stays as still as a statue, again tearing my mind to three years back, when she froze in place and gawked at me in the barn, only minutes before I committed that life-altering crime.
Without thinking it through, I let my eyes trail over her grown-up frame. She was an adult woman the last time I saw her, but the years have altered her, all for the better. Her breasts have gotten bigger—quite a lot bigger from what I can see. Her hair is longer, and she’s wearing less makeup. She looks a little less innocent and a lot more … tempting.
I’m sure by now, my brother Duke has fucked her so many times that she’s got a rock on her hand and babies on her mind. I don’t look at her left hand to see before tipping my black cowboy hat in her direction, touching the brim before turning to strut out into the parking lot.
I guess it’s time I go home and tell my family that I was released, my conviction overturned. It certainly wasn’t for good behavior, although he admonished me to stay on the right side of the law once I was out.
Now that I am, I have no intention of doing any fucking good at all.
I’m here to raise hell.
“You could have called!You could have given me a warning so I could have at least had the house deep-cleaned and arranged a ride for you! I would have baked you a cake. I’m so pissed off; I’m barely even happy to see you!” Dolly bursts into tears as soon as she’s done yelling, running up to me and throwing her arms around my neck. Her long black hair slaps me in the face as she wraps herself fully around me, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably.
Emotion stirs up inside my chest at my little sister’s incredible ability to express herself, always wearing her feelings fully on her sleeve. I pat her back, squeezing her tight.
“I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m here to stay, and you know I fucking hate parties.”
Heavy footsteps are clomping down the hall. I look up into the eyes of Duke and Sterling. They both gawk at me for a moment before grinning from ear to ear.
Sterling walks over first, slapping me on the shoulder. “Well, fucking hello, brother.”
Duke walks over next, pulling Dolly back gently to go in for his own hug.
“Looks like you finally started growing some chest hair,” I say.
Duke, who’s shirtless, chuckles as he pulls back and reaches for the coffeepot. “We’ve all had to grow up since you left.”
Sterling pours himself a cup next. “When did you get out? How the hell did you get out?”
“Yesterday afternoon.”
I came home after bull riding, expecting everyone to be up, but I guess they’ve all started a bedtime routine. I went straight to my old room and lay awake, wondering if it was a dream. The bed felt like I’d never even left, and thankfully, I woke up still here instead of inside a prison cell, realizing it was all in my head. I couldn’t sleep. I just kept trying to trick my mind into believing it was real and I was actually home for good.
I had anticipated seeing a few of my brothers at The Riders last night, but they must’ve sent some ranch hands to manage the bulls.
Dolly sniffles, reaching for her pink coffee cup as she wipes her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. Sterling fills up her cup. Duke stretches his arms out, and I notice how much he’s grown up, his chest and arms bigger than the last time I saw him at the prison.
After the first year, I told my family not to visit. Cash still came every few months to talk business, but the others finally listened to my request. I wanted them to keep living their lives without me. I didn’t want the dangerous connections I was making in prison to catch on to how close-knit my family and I were.
“Where’re Dad and Cash?”
“Cash is probably in the barn, saddling up to check the cows. Dad won’t be up for hours,” Sterling answers.
I take a slow sip of my coffee. In the three and a half years I was locked up, my father only came to see me once. He was drunk and could barely hold a conversation. It doesn’t sound like much has changed.
“Guess I’ll go see what Cash needs help with then.” I pour the rest of my coffee down the sink, turning to exit out the back door.
Dolly pulls me in for one more hug. “Don’t think you’re getting out of a family celebration tonight and an in-depth story time about how you got out so early. As soon as I get dressed, I’m going to town for fresh strawberries and cream to make ice cream.”
“I can’t turn down your homemade ice cream, Dolls.”