Dead of Winter (Battle of the Bulls #2) - T. S. Joyce Page 0,55

was going crazy. Some were booing. Booing? Oooh ho ho ho, she wanted to jump that fence and murder them all.

Open the gate.

“Just stay centered,” one of the cowboys advised Buster. “You don’t know her bucking style yet, but she ain’t gonna have the power behind her, and she should be an easy spinner. Just figure out which way she’s leaning, set your seat, and hold on.”

“Hagan’s Lace.” That was Dead’s voice.

She twitched her ears back toward him. The song “We Will Rock You” was pounding a bass beat through the whole stadium, rattling her head.

“Don’t spin,” he told her.

“Fuck you, man,” Buster muttered, sitting up farther on his rope hand.

And that was Buster’s biggest mistake. It wasn’t gouging her with his spurs or calling her names. It was talking to Dead like he was anything less than a king.

Dead told her don’t spin? Okay.

“Let’s go!” Buster yelled to the gateman.

And then the gate opened.

And for a split second she hesitated in the chute because freedom had come in an instant. She wasn’t pinned in place by her horns. She wasn’t pinned at all.

She was free to bring hell to earth.

Be the animal.

Don’t spin.

Chapter Sixteen

“Go!” Dead yelled at Hagan’s Lace’s hesitation.

Her reaction was instant. She yanked her horn out of the slat it had been pinned in and she went straight up and straight out.

When she pushed off the arena dirt and went airborne, time froze. Buster was leaning forward, shoulders tensed, free arm up. Lace’s horns were so wide and her shoulders stalky like a bull’s. She was meant for this. The cameras were flashing around the arena, the crowd was roaring, and Dead was yelling at the top of his lungs. Cheyenne was screaming beside him, and Buster’s team were yelling for him to hold on.

She hit the dirt on her front end, slamming Buster forward, and that cow didn’t go to spinning. She went straight up and twisted instead.

“Oh, my God!” Dead yelled, gripping his hair. He couldn’t help his grin as he cheered.

Lace was twisting violently with each buck and Buster was already off balance. She didn’t make it a rhythm, never once allowed him to get his seat back before she jerked him the other way.

The announcers were going wild.

The crowd was going wild.

Even the cowboys and riders behind him were cheering.

Lace, with all her ninety-six inches of half white, half black horn, hide all laced with tattoo ink, dark as a demon with a fury to match, was giving one of those rides a cowboy remembered. One that etched into their brains and made them think twice about getting on the back of an animal again.

Lace jumped up in the air again and twisted, kicked her back legs with such power, Buster was flung off her like a rag doll and hit the middle of the arena. She was quick. There were no baby bucks after she flung him. She went straight for him, charging past the bullfighters trying to get her attention.

Beside him, Cheyenne gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth.

“She’ll pull off,” Dead murmured, hoping to God he was right.

Buster was scrambling to get away, trying to get traction in the dirt. A bullfighter ran right in front of Buster, cutting Lace off, and she went for it. She turned and charged him.

The fighter was good as he spun her in a tight circle, but she barely missed him with her horns. Another was right there to pull her away from that fighter, spinning her attention around the other way, and Buster was almost to the rail.

“He’s good. He’s good,” Dead murmured to Cheyenne. “She didn’t get him.” Thank God. She would’ve never forgiven herself.

The cheering of the crowd was deafening, and Dead looked over at the VIP box where his dad, her parents, and Annabelle were sitting.

They were all standing, and they were… Going. Wild.

Dead’s chest swelled with pride as Hagan’s Lace trotted around the outside of the arena. Go on girl, take that victory lap. She didn’t even realize. She didn’t even realize it yet. She was the first cow to ever buck in the PBSRC. She’d just shoved cow shifters onto the map, and she hadn’t even meant to. She was just incredible.

Cheyenne squeezed his arm. “Dead, look at the crowd.”

Oh, he was. There wasn’t a single fan in their seats. They were going insane for Lace.

A pair of pickup men rode behind her, and one of them released her flank strap and herded her toward the open