Chapter 2
J.D.'s words had me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. It was stupid, but knowing what he wanted to say? That he was in love with me? It made sitting right here on the sidelines feel like it had been the right decision. Usually, it just made me feel guilty.
I should've been completely focused on Cody. If I'd done that, none of this mess would've happened. Then again, I wouldn't have ended up with her. She'd probably still be with Ty, still thinking she was supposed to be some man's accessory, and still fighting to make a name for herself.
Instead, she'd come so far. Somewhere between Tulsa and here in North Carolina, she'd cowgirled up hard enough her competition couldn't ignore it. Some of them hated her for it, wanting to chase her off so they wouldn't have to admit they'd been beaten by a girl. But most of these guys?
They believed in her.
That wasn't the same as approving, liking, or wanting her around. For most of them, I got the impression they didn't really think of her at all. Right now, the big problem was those three guys down there in the dirt, milling around like they didn't know their heads from their asses.
If I was honest, I was glad J.D. wasn't riding.
Cody was in one piece. She also had some of the best arena awareness I'd seen in a long time.
Sure, that might be because she was small enough that getting run over by a bull would break her a bit more than most. But J.D.
? He was already broken, and thinking about him trying to skip away from a bull bearing down on him made my balls suck up in a bad way.
Yeah, I loved him. I loved her. I loved this fucked up thing we were doing, and if something had to give, then me working in the Pbr was the best of the choices we had.
Shit, turning the bulls didn't exactly pay well.
I made just enough to keep me coming back.
I certainly wasn't getting rich, and while I may have made a name for myself, one day I'd be old enough that I'd have to start all over.
And I didn't really have anything else - or hadn't.
Now, I had the man of my dreams and a woman who was too good to be true.
I had the chance to actually think about who I wanted to become, but my eyes kept going right back to the dirt down there.
This time, it was just as another bull exploded out of the chute.
And yet, it wasn't the animal I was watching.
It was the men who should be handling it.
The guy in blue, Peter McClain, had worked with my partners Isaac and Jorge once, right before I'd been hired.
That had been years ago, and as far as I could see, he'd forgotten every single thing they'd taught him.
Those three men weren't keeping the bull in the center of their triangle.
They weren't pressing in as the rider wobbled, preventing the bull from traveling.
They weren't doing a damned thing but watching shit go sideways.
Behind us, the fans began to cheer as the clock sped toward eight seconds.
Beside me, J.D. was holding the rail just a little too tight.
I noticed all of it, but my eyes were jumping between Peter in blue, Stephen in white, and Charlie in green.
Those men looked like they were waiting for some sign, but no one was going to give it.
They had to feel the bucks. They needed to understand the animals.
They didn't.
So when the buzzer went off and the rider released his rope, they weren't ready. The new rookie - I was pretty sure his name was Sonny - got tossed into the air, and still the bullfighters waited. It was only after he hit the ground beside Stephen that anyone moved. Unfortunately, it was the bull.
Like all cornered animals, the bull wanted to protect itself first. Turning to spot the annoyance it had just thrown off, the animal's instincts told it to crush the pathetic little human.
Right about now, Peter should've been moving into the animal's line of sight, but a bum knee made him slow.
Charlie tried to compensate, but that had the bull swinging his head past the downed rider, and the man's movements begged the bull to charge.
With a groan, I watched as the latest wreck played out.
The worst part was the groan that spilled from the crowd in unison.
They all knew it hurt, but the viewers loved when things went wrong.
To them, this was nothing more than entertainment.
Granted, I had a feeling none of them realized how dangerous this really was.
"Shit," I breathed, scrubbing at my face the moment Sonny was up on the wall, safe. "This is a fucking mess."
J.D. reached over to rub my shoulder. "Nothing you can do about it, Tanner."
"I know."
I did. Well, I should've, but the real problem was how I could've handled this better. All it took was one person to control a bull. Three was supposed to be overkill! Instead, these guys might as well have been standing around with their thumbs up their asses for all the good they were doing.
Every bullfighter started at the local rodeos.
When we got tired of getting hit in stupid little barrels, we started going to training.
Those lessons led us to the competitions where we were judged on how many times we could touch, turn, and jump over a raging bull.
And while the bull riders might brag about their fancy belt buckles, I had a whole collection of trophies from the crazy shit I'd done in those bullfighting competitions.
I was good, and I knew it. Hell, most people knew it, even the fans. Jorge and Isaac had said picking me was easy. It had been a no-brainer for them. Now that I was watching the guys who'd competed against me for my spot? Yeah, I could see what they meant.
"This is gonna be a real long night," J.D. grumbled, glancing over at the scoreboard.
I looked, shocked to see we were only on twenty-third place.
Cody was at thirteen. Usually, ten rides went fast, but not lately.
Ever since I'd been sidelined and my partners had refused to work without me, the Pbr events had become a clown-show of loose cattle, Doc and his staff carrying men off the dirt in stretchers, and a whole assortment of wounded men climbing onto unruly animals.
"Scores are shit too," I pointed out.
"Yep," J.D. said. "I mean, kinda works out, though."
"Huh?" What was he thinking this time?
J.D. just chuckled. "Well, they keep scoring Cody so damned bad, but they can only go so low. If everyone's riding like shit, then her scores won't scare off her sponsors like they're hoping."
Oddly, that made me feel better. "So they're fucking themselves in their attempt to chase her off?"
He nodded. "Yeah, because our girl ain't gonna be chased."
That made me chuckle. "We chased her."
"Shit," he tossed back. "No we didn't. Ty chased her, and you see how that went. Naw, we stood beside her. We followed. We stayed the fuck out of her way, and that's why I'm her best friend and you're her boyfriend."
Ok, he actually had a point, and one I'd never really thought about before.
Cody didn't want to be treated like a prize.
Nope, she wanted to be the one doing the winning - and she was.
Well, of opinions, at least. It had been a bit since she'd been in the top five, but everyone knew that wasn't her fault.
No, the Pbr was fucking everyone lately. Cody got fucked on scores. J.D. had gotten run over by a bull who should've been fucking retired, which counted. The other riders were getting fucked over by bullfighters who weren't good enough to do their jobs.
What pissed me off the most was that we couldn't really fight back. There was no one to shove or scream at. This wasn't the fault of anyone we could reach, because the management of the Pbr didn't usually talk to people like us. They just sat up there in that fancy box, watching it all.
I tried to see past the big screens and glaring lights.
Up near the top of the stadium was a little area for the video and sound guys.
The announcers usually sat up there too - except for Cletus, the clown who ran around down in the arena.
I didn't know what I was looking for, though. Maybe someone to blame?
But a collective yelp from the crowd jerked my attention back to the dirt. I barely caught the bull slamming its rider into the corner of the chute as it came out. The thing was bucking as big as they came, but that hit had been hard.
"Fuck," J.D. breathed, leaning in a bit.
Because the hit had the rider off balance. He was tilting, and in the exact wrong way - towards the steel chutes! My breath hung as I watched this mess play out.
The rider leaned. The bull spun. The man's head struck the side of a closed chute, sending the bull inside it up. The bull in the arena surged away from the movement, and the rider tilted back along with the sideways he was already doing.
Knowing this was all going to shit, the man tried to yank at the end of his rope so he could bail.
He almost got it, but another wild turn sent everything spinning.
The rider's feet came up. The tail of the rope spun out.
I saw when the man's spur got caught up in the braid of his bull rope - but his hand was still wound up in the handle.
The gear slipped, pulled down by the weight of a full adult human - right under the bull.
"Cut the rope," I breathed, reaching into my pocket for the curved knife I kept there like a talisman.
The rider's head and shoulders slammed into the dirt, pulling the bull down with him. Legs and limbs clattered together, tangling in a way those two bodies shouldn't be able to. Finally, the bullfighters were moving, but this was bad. So bad.
Dangerously bad.
"No, no, no..." J.D. was muttering.
I heard him, but I couldn't look away. The wreck was being dragged our way, and that man wasn't moving the way he should.
He'd been knocked out somewhere along the way, but the bull was now frantic, just trying to get free from the mess strapped to him that wouldn't let go.
When the animal shouldered the wall just down from us, the bullfighters were running, trying to get in front of it, or around it, or something.
It was like they didn't have a fucking clue how to stop this.
But I did.
It didn't matter who was down there. Part of my mind recognized the color of his chaps, vest, and shirt, but it didn't fully register.
What did was the way the bull turned, yanking the man's leg back up over its back even as the slack allowed the bull to get its head down by the rider. Then it thrashed.
Feet, horns, and the wall were all putting the hurt onto this man, and he wasn't even trying to brace.
I saw when a hind leg stomped on the man's guts.
I heard when a horn clattered against his helmet.
I could see the fear in Peter's eyes as his head whipped back and forth, proving he had no clue how to fix this.
But I did.
Once, long ago, I'd been helpless when someone had needed me the most. I would never forget the icy tingle that had gripped my spine - and was doing it again.
Fear. Not the shallow bullshit people felt when they failed a test. No, this was the sort of fear that came with life or death, with fight or flight.
It was the sort that had a life of its own, and I'd only found one thing that could make it stop.
Yanking my hand from my pocket, I gripped the rope-knife hard. My other hand pulled at the rail, and my feet were going over before my brain kicked in. The drop was a short one, no more than six or seven feet, and I landed on the sand easily.
"Ha!" I yelled as I rushed at the bull's head.
"Get the fuck out!" Charlie yelled, waving his green-covered arms at me.
"Turn him!" I snapped at Stephen in white.
Instead, it was Peter who obeyed. He shoved at the bull's hip, stalling out the charge the beast was preparing, and I jumped at the animal's side. One hand caught the rope. The other hacked, trying to get between the bull's hide and my own fingers.
I felt when the fibers split. It took another buck, and the man's body fell to the ground - but didn't move. Sadly, I didn't have time to worry about that because this beast was pissed.