But her name on his lips does get under my skin, and I’m still struggling with seeing him crowding my Omega.
The thought stops me cold. My Omega? Where the fuck did that come from?
I roll my shoulders back, plastering on the easy smile I save for press conferences. “No idea what you’re talking about.”
“Cut the bullshit, McCrae.” His lip curls. “You were all over the James girl in front of half the damn arena.”
I ignore him, but my jaw ticks at the way he says her name, like he has a right to it. Like she belongs to him.
“I’ve had my eye on that one for a long time,” he grates out. “Been waiting for her to come home where she belongs. You’d better keep your distance if you know what’s good for you.”
My hands curl into fists before I can stop them. The possessive way he talks about her, like she’s some prize he’s been saving, makes something dark and violent rise in my chest.
“She’s not yours, Felton, or anyone’s for that matter.”
His smile turns predatory again. “Isn’t she? We go way back, Willa and I. I’ve got plans for that girl, and they don’t include you sniffing around her.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “So why don’t you do us all a favor and stick to what you do best—ridethe bulls and keep them happy, or you may find yourself in early retirement.”
The threat isn’t a new one.Felton has been using his position over me for as long as I’ve been on this circuit.
“Don’t forget our deal, McCrae.”
“Fuck off.” I shoulder past him, but he can’t resist a parting shot.
“Willa James may smell like first-class pussy, but she’s an uptight bitch.”
I stop dead. And he barrels straight into my back.
Rage detonates inside me.
I spin, towering over him, my full six-foot-five eating up every inch of space he tries to keep between us. My fists flex once, twice, as I barely hold myself back from breaking his fucking jaw.
“Listen close, Felton.” My voice is pure gravel. “I don’t know what sick game you’re playing with her, but it ends now. Stay the fuck away from Willa James.”
His nostrils flare, and something shifts in his expression—a flash of possessive rage that he tries to hide behind bureaucratic authority. “Is that a threat, McCrae?”
“It’s a promise.”
“Really?”
I expect him to throw a punch to meet my challenge, but instead a greasy smile lights his face, and a sinking feeling of foreboding fills me.
“Here’s how this works,” he continues, stepping closer. “You will stay away from her, or I will make your life very difficult.”
He pulls out his phone, scrolling to something that makes his smile turn predatory.
“Funny thing about modern technology. Cameras everywhere these days.”
My blood turns to ice when I see the photo. Willa and I by the pens, from moments ago, her hand on my chest, our faces inches apart. I tower over her, her body engulfed by mine. The angle makes it look way more intimate than it was.
“One carefully timed shot,” he says conversationally. “Looks to me like the league’s poster boy is sexually harassing a female employee, doesn’t it? Poor little Omega intern, cornered by the big bad bull rider.”
“That’s not what happened.”
“Doesn’t matter what happened. Only what it looks like.” His thumb hovers over the screen. “Sexual harassment by the Saint of the Circuit? The sponsors would eat that shit up. Headlines for weeks. Your season over, her reputation destroyed. Two birds, one stone.”
Heat floods up my spine, every Alpha instinct demanding I wipe that smug look off his face. But he’s not done.
“You think sponsors will care about ninety-six-point-eight when I’m whispering in their ears about ‘concerns over your treatment of women’? You think the APBRA board will want a liability like you around their female staff?”
