That put just a little extra spring in my step. It let me lift my chin as I headed down the middle of the catwalk, but when a few other guys reached over to pat my shoulder or slap my back? Yeah, I didn't expect that, and yet I needed it.
Because Iwasgoing to pick a fight. A big one, and while it might be subtle, I was pretty sure there was no going back after this. Tonight, I might be killing my career as a bull rider, but the PBR hadn't left me any other option.
Chapter 15
While the restof the riders had taken up my show of defiance, the bullfighters still weren't picking up the ropes. Down at the gate, a group of men had started to gather, clearly waiting for the chance to get our rather expensive gear back. When I pushed into that mess, one of them spotted me.
"Cody, there's space over here," Kaleb called out. "Guys, let her through. She's shorter than Emilio!"
"Sorry," someone said, stepping aside.
Another guy pressed a hand behind my shoulder, guiding me past him. More shuffled over, giving me a clear path to lean against the panels beside Kaleb. I thanked most of them, but they were all looking out toward the dirt.
"Arena stewards are picking up the gear," Kaleb explained. "Each time they pause to refill the chutes, a few guys carry it all back."
"When the PBR's on a commercial break," I realized. "And they're just leaving ropes out there on the dirt when the bulls are bucking?"
"Yep," a guy replied with an Australian twang. "Fuckers don't have a clue how to handle this shit."
"Cody, Sonny," Kaleb said, introducing us. "Sonny, this is the woman who's going to kick your ass."
"For now," Sonny said, flashing me a smile that was nothing more than friendly.
"Shit..." Jaxon said, dragging the word out. "Just wait until you get to see her ride."
But before he was finished talking, the other guys started pressing in, and murmurs drowned him out. Everyone was looking into the arena, so I stretched a bit, trying to see over the heavy metal door in front of me. On the other side, four men were headed this way, carrying a collection of ropes.
"Gear!" one of them called before cracking open the exit gate.
"Blue!" Kaleb said, taking a rope and lifting it so someone could claim it. "I got two black. Rawhide. One I can't tell. Canadian bell. Brazil!"
"Brazil's mine!" Gustavo called out.
Then Kaleb turned toward me, holding two ropes close. One was pink and I could only guess the other was his own.
"For you," he said, passing me the pink one. "And watch out, Cody. The press is between here and the warm-up area. You might want to go back through the cattle pens."
"Nope," I said, tossing my rope over my shoulder. "I have a few things to say."
"Oh, I want to hear this," Gustavo said, following me in the gap I made through the bodies.
And he wasn't the only one, but they didn't follow too closely. It was more like they just wanted to watch the spectacle play out. Taking a moment to settle my hat better, hoping my hair didn't look a mess now, I marched forward proudly.
Just around the corner, four different reporters were standing there with their cameras running. All of them were recording little snippets, likely for teasers that would play ontheir station later. It was the woman who saw me headed their way.
"Miss?" she called, making the others pause and look over. "Cody Jennings, right? The female bull rider?"
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
All of the cameras turned to me, but the woman got her microphone in my face the fastest. "Miss Jennings, are you aware of the tragedy that happened yesterday? Was that why you made a display earlier? Were you trying to look defiant?"
"Yes," I said. "Casey Davis was killed because the current team of bullfighters isn't qualified to be protecting us. That fist in the air? That's my way of showing these men behind me that our lives mean more than an award, and I will continue to stand in defiance until we can be sure we're getting the necessary protection for a sport this dangerous."
I figured there was no use beating around the bush. If I wanted them to run with this as a story, I had to make it sound like a spectacle. Lucky for me, I was getting damned good at being one. If I made this as much about my fellow riders as the bullfighters we wanted back, then hopefully they'd take me seriously.
The other reporters scrambled to get their microphones out and angled toward me, wanting to catch that. The group of them pressed in, crowding around the woman who'd talked to me first. Behind them, the cameramen shifted to get a good angle.
"Do you think the PBR was at fault for that accident?" one of the men asked.
