Chapter One
“Come on, Boug. We gotta hustle.” Sam swacked his traveling partner, Beau, grabbed his gear and his good hat, ignoring the twinge in his shoulder. “Nate? Nate, man? You coming?”
The fucking rodeo was over and they had to get onto the hospital, check on Pharris.
Now.
“Coming. Coming, fuck. Ain’t no one answering their phones.” Nate had his and Coke Pharris’ gear and Sam Bell grabbed Coke’s duffel. Damn bullfighter. Damn fool.
“Beau’s got his pickup here. C’mon.”
Beau popped out of the little bathroom like a Cajun jack-in-the-box. “Let’s go.”
Pretty light eyes met his, worried as all fuck, then Beau looked away as Nate started bouncing, Coke’s partner in crime covered in a smattering of bruises from a hit in the second round. “Yeah. Yeah. He didn’t look so good, Sammy.”
“He’s gonna be fine, Nate. He’s Coke.” Coke was always fine. Coke had to be fine.
“He’ll need us while we’re here, though.” Beau was putting his feet down hard, making time. They got to the truck, and Beau muscled right out into the flow of drunks and shit.
Nate was on his phone, dialing one number after another, and Sam sighed, peered at Beau. There was beer in the cooler in the back—they could have one at the hospital.
Beau grinned just the tiniest bit, shaking his head. “Man, Coke had to get in there and get hit, huh?”
“Yup.” That was how Fearless Pharris was, though. Always doing crazy shit. Must be why he was a fucking bullfighter.
“Well, we can stay a few days, right?” Beau hit the horn, squeezing in between a dualie and an old Chevy and baring his teeth at the teenager who flipped them off.
“As long as we gotta, Boug.” He glanced back at Nate. “You call your woman yet?”
“No. Shit.” Nate looked so guilty that they all sort of cracked up.
“We got any cash, Poot?” Beau asked, finally getting them on the little four-lane highway.
“Uh-huh. How much you need?” He had a couple hundred in his wallet, for traveling.
“Oh, I just wanted to make sure we did. For food and coffee and shit. We’ll need it.” Beau was always thinking ahead.
“You’d think, as expensive as it is to go in, anyway. You call Coke’s contact at the sponsor, Nate?”
“Yeah. Yeah, and the Relief girl. Ace?”
Sam sighed. “I’ll do it.”
The bullfighters and Ace had…issues some days. Sam scrolled through his phone ‘til he found the entry titled ‘butthead,’ and hit the call button.
The head of the organization always sounded like someone’d just woke the mean bastard up. “You’d best not be telling me that Beau is cracked up.”
“Nope. Beau’s good. Won the round today, fuckhead.” He grinned over at Beau. “Coke, though, he done got took away to the hospital. Ain’t nobody talkin’, not even to Nate.”
Beau’s hands tightened on the wheel, knuckles white. His Cajun did love Coke to death.
“Shit. Okay. He’s going to the hospital there, huh? I’ll get the guys on it.”
“He’s been there since about three quarters through. Saved Bonner’s bacon.”
“Yeah? Well, Bonner’s daddy will be pleased.” Ace sure didn’t sound pleased.
“Yeah. I’ll call, but someone’s gonna have to make them tell shit at the hospital.”
