Page 13 of Ride or Die

I adjust, barely, pulling myself back into position. My thighs clamp tighter. My hand burns, rope cutting deeper.

Six.

He’s furious now—spinning, bucking, giving it everything he’s got. It’s violent and wild and unpredictable, yet somehow I’m still here, still moving with him, still hanging on.

Seven.

Everything tunnels. The noise disappears. Nothing but my own breaths, my thudding pulse. Hard. Fast. Chaotic. Just me and him and a timer I can’t see before a horn slices through it all.

Eight.

I release.

The moment my hand comes free, I’m airborne—thrown off to the side. I hit the ground hard, shoulder first, dirt filling my mouth. Pain flashes, sharp and immediate, but I roll, forcing myself to move.

Get up. Move, dammit.

The bull spins past me, close enough that I feel the wind in its wake. I scramble to my feet and run, boots slipping in the dirt, adrenaline drowning out everything else. The bullfighters rush in, pulling the beast’s attention away, just long enough.

I don’t stop until I’m at the fence. I grab it, hoisting myself up, breathing hard, chest heaving, the world rushing back in all at once as the crowd roars, even louder than before.

Eight seconds.

Job fuckin’ done.

“Fuck, brother that was insane!” Brady and Wyatt crowd me as I walk with my head down through the crowd of officials that surround the main arena, rope thrown over my shoulder, bell slapping against my back with every step.

“Yeah, man. I thought he had ya for a second, coming into the fifth.” Wyatt laughs, grabbing me around my neck.

I grunt, shrugging him off. Not my best ride, but good enough to take the points and claim the W.

A bottle of Bud is thrust into my face by someone we pass but I brush it off, keeping steady focus on my boots pounding thedirt as I navigate my way around the back of the bleachers, to where my trailer is parked alongside all the others.

I’m dizzy as fuck. Squeezing my eyes closed tight with every blink to try and rid the double vision that’s not quite succeeding to make a fool out of me. I didn’t even hit my head, but the fall knocked something loose. I need a moment of silence, the quiet alone to collect my composure before someone notices something’s up.

When I reach my trailer, I pull open the door, stopping and holding a hand up to Wyatt and Brady. “Can y’all go get me a real beer? None of that Bud bullshit.”

“Sure thing, brother.” Brady nods, and hurries off.

Wyatt lingers, his eyebrows knitting together as he looks me up and down. “You good?”

I nod. “Yeah, just… gotta clean up.” I hold my bloodied hand up in the air as if to prove I ain’t lyin’, the rope cutting deep even through my glove. “Then we can head on out.”

Wyatt nods, but the look in his eye tells me he doesn’t buy my excuse for one second. After a moment’s hesitation, he turns and jogs on after Brady. I slam the door shut and sag against it, closing my eyes and taking a few steady breaths.

“Get it together, dammit,” I warn myself, hands balling into fists so tight they tremble with the need to kick my own ass.

Tossing the rope onto the table, I release the buckle to remove my chaps and head for the tiny bathroom at the back when I notice my phone lighting up with a call from where it’s laying on the table. I reach for it, but when I see six missed calls within the last five minutes, the call ID flashing up on the illuminated screen, I’m rendered more than a little confused.Sleepy Nites Motel.

“The fuck?” I mutter under my breath sliding the answer call button. “Hello?”

Now, I’m not sure what I was expecting. Maybe some buckle bunny I’ve fucked once before, passing through Summer, holed up at the motel, hoping I’m free for the night. But when I hear the uncharacteristically high voice of a child ring through the phone, I feel a shiver run through me, the hairs on my arms standing on end. It’s been more than a week since that day at the Stop and Shop. I’d hoped for the best—that they’d gotten out of here and were on the road to wherever the hell they were going—but deep down I’ve been fearing the worst.

“Um, is this—” The kid clears his throat. “Are you the man from the grocery store?”

Fuck. “Yeah, it’s me. Cole. Where’s your mama, little guy?”

I hear crying in the background and my hackles are up and ready for a fight.