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. Westayed 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 beenhard.
"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 inthe 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 hindleg 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.
ButIdid.
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.
Chapter 3
I was leaningagainst the back of the catwalk, waiting for my chute to empty out and fill back up, when something hit hard enough I felt it under my feet. Immediately, the crowd reacted, making my head snap out to the arena.
