Brutus is inches from him when I hurl the barrel with everything I have.
It connects with the bull’s side, bouncing off his massive frame with a hollow thunk that sounds pathetically inadequate. Brutus stumbles slightly, his momentum disrupted, his attention momentarily diverted.
Holden hits the fence and climbs with the desperate strength of a man facing death. He’s over the top in seconds, but not quite fast enough.
Brutus recovers and charges.
The bull slams into the fence just as Holden clears the top, his horns catching the man’s calf as he tumbles over the other side. Holden screams, a raw sound of pain and terror, and crashes to the ground outside the enclosure.
I don’t have time to celebrate the save. Brutus has turned on me now, those murderous eyes fixed on the idiot human who dared to interrupt his hunt.
I run.
The fence seems miles away. I hear Brutus behind me, feel the thunder of his hooves through the packed dirt. My lungs burn, my legs pump, and every instinct screams that I’m not going to make it.
I leap for the fence.
My hands catch the top rail, and I haul myself up with a strength I didn’t know I possessed. Brutus crashes into the fence beneath me, the whole structure shuddering with the impact, but I’m already over the top, dropping down on the safe side, rolling to absorb the impact.
Behind me, Brutus bellows his frustration and turns his attention to the plastic barrel I left behind, goring it with his horns and tossing it around the enclosure with violent satisfaction.
That was fucking close.
“Son.” My father is at my side, his hand gripping my shoulder. “That was either the bravest or the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Probably both.” I’m breathing hard, my heart hammering against my ribs, adrenaline still flooding my system.
We make our way to where Holden is lying on the ground, surrounded by rodeo medical staff who materialized seemingly from nowhere. He’s wailing, clutching his leg, blood seeping through his fingers from where Brutus’s horn caught him.
Sheriff Cade is standing over him, expression hard as granite.
“Holden Pierce,” the sheriff says, “you are under arrest for embezzlement, fraud, and conspiracy to commit assault. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”
Holden’s wails increase in volume. “I need a doctor! I’m dying!”
“You’re fine.” One of the medics is examining the wound, already wrapping it with practiced efficiency. “It’s a surface laceration. You’ll need stitches, but you’ll live.”
“I’ve had worse,” I mutter.
“You have the right to an attorney,” Cade continues, ignoring Holden’s dramatics. “If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?”
“This is ridiculous!” Holden’s voice has gone shrill with panic. “I haven’t done anything wrong! This is all a misunderstanding!”
“The financial records suggest otherwise.” The sheriff nods to a nearby officer. “Cuff him.”
I watch as they secure Holden’s hands behind his back, the reality of his situation finally seeming to sink in. His face crumbles, the arrogance and confidence replaced by naked fear. He looks smaller somehow, diminished, just a pathetic man who thought he could cheat his way to success and got caught.
“I want a lawyer,” Holden whimpers.
“That’s certainly your right.”
They haul him to his feet, supporting him on either side, as his injured leg can’t bear weight. Blood has soaked through the bandage already, leaving dark stains on his jeans.
“Take him away,” the sheriff states. They drag Holden toward the parking area, where a police cruiser is waiting. His protests fade into the distance, becoming just another part of the morning noise. Tanner chases after them.
My father claps me on the shoulder. “Well done. Now, I need to speak with my lawyers. Make sure everything is in order for the next steps.” He pauses, his expression uncharacteristically warm. “You did good today, son. Real good.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He nods once, gruffly, and walks away.
