Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,42
at his phone. “I’m getting a bigger camper than Dead.” He walked off and whooped. Loud enough to echo through the clearing, he repeated, “I’m getting a bigger camper than Dead!”
“I can’t remember my dang password!” Dead complained. He stared off into space with a frown and a faraway look. “Is it turtlepoops69 or bigdonglongschlong123?”
“You’re ridiculous, man,” Two Shots muttered. “Why is my internet so much slower than Quickdraws…? Wait! Okay, I’m in and, holy hell!” He jerked his attention to Cheyenne. “What did you do?”
“I’ve been in negotiations for bigger money for wins. The riders’ incomes were so unbalanced to yours, and now that the PBSRC is getting that huge pay boost with the public jumping on board, there was money to allocate. I went to battle fighting for the bulls to get a pay jump if they end up in those tops spots.”
“This is more than I was making in a year!” Quickdraw yelled. “On one event!”
“Oh, it’s turtlepoops69,” Dead murmured. “Oh. My. Balls.” He lifted his stunned gaze to Cheyenne. “Is this for real?”
“Yep. Been working on it for the last few weeks. I even hired a lawyer to negotiate new payment for you boys, but I kept it quiet just in case nothing was fixed. I found out the pay scale changed right before the last event but I wanted to surprise you! I wanted you to see the change in your pay when it hit your accounts.”
“You’re a mother-freakin’ superhero, Cheyenne,” Dead murmured. “This makes a huge difference.”
Dead dragged his gaze to Raven, who was beaming so big her face hurt. “Congratulations!” she squeaked out, shaking his arm. “You got a pay raise!”
“And it’ll stay raised so long as you stay in the top ten bulls. Top three gets those huge payments, though, and whoever ends up first in the entire Battle of the Bulls circuit is going to get paid a stupid amount of money.”
“How much?” Quickdraw asked, pacing back to them.
“On top of what you make in each event…” Cheyenne bit her lip, building up anticipation.
“Woman, spit it out!” Dead yelped.
“Number one spot gets half a million dollars. Two gets two-hundred-fifty thousand. Three gets a hundred thousand. The circuit is matching shifter payouts to the rider’s payouts.”
Quickdraw and Two Shots screamed and threw their cowboy hats into the air. And now they were holding each other’s arms, yelling in each other’s face, hopping around in circles with each other like weirdos.
But Dead was quiet, and trouble swirled in his eyes. “They really have that much money to allocate to the bulls?”
“Dead, you don’t understand how much attention the circuit, and you boys, are getting right now. You’re the draw. Without you powerhouse bull shifters, there is no circuit. This is a way to get the competition between all of you ramped up, too, and that’s what the audience wants to see. Y’all ain’t battling it out over chump change anymore. It’s big money, and you’ll have every bucking bull shifter gunning for you.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Dead said softly.
Quickdraw stopped jumping around like a lunatic. “You scared of a little competition?”
“No. I’m scared of what people will do to compete. The most influential color in the world is green.”
Quickdraw frowned at him, and Two Shots shook his head at Dead. “What do you mean?”
Dead hopped off the fence and reached up for Raven’s waist to help her down. “It’s the color of money. Forget it. Today is a good day. We’re rich, let’s go celebrate.”
Raven rested her hands on his shoulders and slid off the fence, and as she parted her lips to ask if he was okay, Dead turned around with a too-bright smile. “I’m taking this heifer on a shopping spree in town. We’ll meet you at the campground tonight.”
“Where are you shopping?” Quickdraw asked.
“I promised this pretty lady a new pair of boots, ya stage-five clinger.”
Quickdraw crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the ground. “I was just asking so we know where you are, so we can make sure you’re safe. It’s good to tell your herd where you are.”
“You want to hug goodbye?” Dead asked, veering toward Quickdraw with his arms out.
“Fuck off. I was trying to be nice.”
“Well, cut it out,” Dead muttered. “It’s weird. You can’t split my lip,” he said, pointing to the half-healed gash in his bottom lip, “and then be nice to me. It plays with my emotions.”
Cheyenne and Two Shots were chuckling.
“Whatever,” Quickdraw muttered, then made his way toward