Two Shots Down (Battle of the Bulls Book 1) Read online

  “Okay,” she said with a definitive nod.

  He narrowed his eyes at her and gulped down his bite. “Okay?” Women didn’t just give up and say ‘okay.’

  She swallowed hard and pulled out the contents of the envelope.

  It wasn’t what he’d expected her to do at all. He reckoned she’d up and leave.

  His heart stopped as she unfolded the letter he’d written her. The one he had regretted sending and prayed every night for three months that it never made it to her mailbox.

  “Why did you bring that?” he murmured.

  “You said I’m here to make your life miserable, and I wanted to tell you the truth.”

  She slid the letter across the table, and the sound of that notebook paper on the old wooden table lifted the hairs on the back of his neck.

  Cheyenne tapped it twice with her perfectly manicured fingernail. “The night Tarik died—”

  “I can’t do this.”

  “The night Tarik died,” she repeated more sternly, “I was there. I was watching from one of the reserve boxes with my friends. They all left me after that night, or maybe I pushed them away, I don’t know. That was my last night with my friends, where my world made any sense. Anyway, I was sitting there with two of my girls and their families, just another night at the rodeo, watching Tarik. Cheering him on like I always did.”

  “Please don’t do this,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes from the note on the table.

  “I have to. Don’t you see, Two Shots? We both were wounded. And we didn’t deal with it or face it. We didn’t doctor it. We ignored it as best we could. We let it heal badly without cleaning it, and it got infected. And that’s why we haunt each other. If I cut us open, we can clean it up. Do you understand?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t want to understand. Tarik’s lifeless body flashed across his mind like it had a million times before. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed and exhaled slowly. Stay in your skin. Don’t change. Just get through this and then never talk to her again. “Sure. I understand.” His voice was robotic, but who cared?

  “I was so excited that he’d drawn you to ride. It was his big break. We’d been watching you make a run at Rookie Bull of the Year, watching you improve with every event. Watching your raw power, and he just knew he could ride you. Knew it. Knew he could get a good score that would put him in the money if he could just hang on. And then—”

  “And then I killed him.” Two Shots opened his eyes and glared at her, hating her for digging at a wound he’d healed good enough.

  “You didn’t kill him, Two Shots. The sport did.”

  He shook his head, confused.

  “Every night he rode, he knew what he risked. I knew what he risked. Those boys are tough, Two Shots. Those riders? They go in there knowing that could be their last ride. Their last night on earth, their last breath.”

  “It’s the only death in our circuit, Cheyenne. I’m the only killer.”

  “You didn’t mean to. That night, I watched him get thrown, watched his hand get caught in the ropes—” Her voice shook, and she blinked hard. “I stood up with the rest of the crowd, heart in my throat as I watched you try to get rid of him. Watched the bull fighters try to keep your attention so he could free his hand. Watched him finally, finally fall…right under where you were landing. I watched— Fuck.” She looked out at nothing for a few moments before she said thickly, “I watched him die like everyone else in that arena that night.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “If I could’ve taken his place, I would’ve.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I fuckin’ would’ve!” He slammed his fist on the table so hard it splintered. “I had nothing to live for, and he had you. And his mom and his step-dad and all his friends and his fuckin’ sister and niece. He had his whole life ahead of him.” Two swallowed the grief that thickened in his throat. He hated feeling weak. “Fuck this. Fuck this.” He blew out a breath and shoved the note back to her. “It was a long time ago, and I just want to move on.”

  “I watched you,” she said as he stood up.

  Two Shots froze. “What?”

  “Everyone was watching Tarik. Everyone was watching the medics work on him, and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  Slowly, Two Shots sat back down. “Why?”

  “Because I’d never seen heartbreak in a changed bull’s face before. You were still pumped full of adrenaline, still had your flank strap on tight, and you stood there in the middle of the arena watching them work on Tarik with as much concern as the rest of us. They had to drag you out? Do you remember?”

  Two Shots shook his head. “I don’t remember anything after my hoof crushed him, Cheyenne. I don’t remember anything.”

  “The wranglers had to rope you and pull you all the way through the gate. You fought and bucked the whole way out of there. You kept looking back at Tarik.”

  “Why did you watch me? Why weren’t you watching your husband?”

  “I don’t know. I think I already knew he was gone, and you were the only one who would be able to understand my loss.”

  He shook his head. “You don’t know me, and I don’t know your loss.”

  “I watched every interview you ever did after that.”

  Two Shots huffed a humorless laugh and leaned back on the bench seat. “I’m sure that was entertaining.”

  “You never apologized. You were hateful. Because Tarik got on your back, he deserved to get crushed. You verbally spat in the face of every interviewer and fan who shamed you. You acted so cocky, like you didn’t give a single fuck about him dying. And I was confused because I remembered your face. I remembered how you changed and came back out to the chutes, watched them take his body away. You looked like you were going to get sick. Your heart was in your eyes. But in the interviews, you were horrid. You were aggressive and remorseless, and for a while, I hated you. I hated that you shit on his legacy like that. Some interviews I believed you that you didn’t care. And then I got the letter.”

  She pushed it back at him. “Read it.”

  “I don’t want to read it.”

  “Please. I’ll never ask for anything again. Just…read it.”

  Two Shots chewed on the corner of his lip as he unfolded the letter. He took a steadying breath and read.

  “Dear Cheyenne. I hope this letter finds you well, but I know it won’t. That’s the stupid thing about hope. It sets a person up for disappointment. You had hope. Had a future. Had a life. I took that from you.”

  He looked up because, truth-be-told, he didn’t need to read this. The words had been etched into his brain from the moment he’d put them on paper. He would never forget these words because they were the only thing—the only words—he’d ever said from the heart.

  Two Shots stared directly at her while he recited, “I didn’t mean to take him from you. I act like I don’t care, but it’s all I care about. All I think about. Now, I get in a chute and think about a rider’s life. The people he will leave behind. The people I could hurt. I know hope is stupid, but I still hope someday you can forgive me.” His voice cracked, and he couldn’t continue on. Not without exposing a tremor in his voice that would make him feel utterly weak.

  “I watched you differently after that,” she said softly. “You were burning out like a damn firework. Reckless, drinking, getting in trouble, getting suspended from the circuit. You got worse in the interviews like you wanted everyone to hate you. Like you were punishing yourself.”

  He cracked his knuckles under the table. “Maybe I deserve my reputation.”

  “Maybe you let your guilt create a reputation no one deserves.”

  “Everyone hated me after that night. Figured I should just own it at some point.”

  “You aren’t the monster everyone thinks you are. That…that’s why I’m here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not here for Quickdraw or Dead of Winter. I’m here to get a front row seat at
watching you get where you’re going.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Number one bull in the entire circuit. And you’re gonna do it with fans behind you.”

  He laughed. She was kinda cute. “Lady, I don’t have fans.”

  “You will when they see the real you.”

  He stood and handed her back the note, glad she hadn’t asked him to recite the rest of it. “It’s actually done me good talking to you.”

  “We’re just getting started.”

  He searched her soft brown eyes. Pretty girl, so open and vulnerable right now, her eyes rimmed with unshed tears. And that smile. God, her pretty smile. How could a woman look so pretty when she was sad?

  “What do you mean we’re just getting started?”

  “I cut us open, and now we’re going to be okay.”

  His heart was beating so hard. So hard. His chest rose and fell with his rushed breath. “How do you know?”

  “Because your letter said you hoped that someday I could forgive you.” She lifted her chin a little higher, and that sad, pretty smile got a little bit wider. “I forgive you.”

  Chapter Five

  He wasn’t coming.

  Cheyenne huffed a sigh and sat down in the office chair at the end of the conference table. This hotel was nice enough to have a room she could rent for this meeting. Too bad the boy she really wanted to show up was the one client who definitely wouldn’t.

  She glanced up at Two Shots’ empty chair and then back down at her notes.

  “Did you use glitter on these?” Dead of Winter asked, scrutinizing the name tags she’d painstakingly made for each of them.

  “They’re called sparkle pens,” she enlightened him primly.

  “Why is mine in pink?” growled the burly, black-haired giant, who had just walked in, yanked his nametag from the seat beside her, and sat so heavily on the opposite end of the table he dang-near broke the fancy office chair that housed his giant ass right now.

  “Because I figured you like pink,” she said with a vacant smile. “And because the gold ran out of ink, and the pink pen was all I had left.”

  “Why would you spend money on a pen that shits out glitter?” Quickdraw asked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off her, or even blinked, since he came through the door. He was the most intimidating creature she’d ever encountered.

  “I have contracts for you both to sign. Signatures are needed on pages three to seven. The last two pages of your folder is your code of conduct.”

  “Fuck conduct,” Dead of Winter barked out, staring at the pages in front of him in horror. “It says I have to keep my beard trimmed shorter.”

  “Ha, ha,” Quickdraw said under his breath.

  “You think that’s funny? You have to keep the tattoo of your ex-girlfriend hidden.”

  “What? Why?” Quickdraw demanded, flipping to the next page.”

  “Because you did a portrait of her naked. Nipples and all,” Cheyenne deadpanned. “No one needs to see that on their HD television sets.”

  “Nakedness is art.”

  “I don’t understand why you are so proud of that tattoo, though,” Dead of Winter murmured. “You’ve been broken up for a decade.”

  “Yeah, well she had perfect tits, so…”

  Dead of Winter slammed his hand on the table. “I’m really not trimming my beard!”

  “You will, and you’ll thank me for it later. You look like a mountain man who hasn’t showered in three weeks. I need you to have fans, Dead of Winter. You can’t get fans if no one can see your freakin’ face.”

  “You mean woman fans. You want me to be some pretty boy like Two Shots Down. Well, that ain’t me. I’m not showering any more than I already do, and I ain’t trimming my face hair. The ladies never complained about it before. As a matter of fact? I’m gonna get me some of them hair growth vitamins.”

  Cheyenne arched her eyebrows up high. “Oh, you mean the ones for women? To help our hair and nails grow?”

  “Yep. Those are the ones. I’ll take them religiously just because you’re pissing me off. I hope I grow chest hair. Hell, I hope I grow back hair.”

  “Don’t forget butt hair,” Quickdraw said quietly.

  “We don’t need your input right now, Quickdraw, thank you,” Cheyenne ground out. “We’re having a very productive negotiation without your help.”

  “I’m going to send you weekly update pictures of my hairy legs,” Dead enlightened her. “While I take my woman vitamins.”

  “Deep, deep down, under all the facial hair and dirt and grease, there is an attractive man in there.” She slammed down on the table in front of him a newspaper clipping of his first year in the circuit. “Look how hot you were!”

  It was a picture of Dead of Winter, slicking his long hair back, beard trimmed short, flannel shirt open, abs chiseled, walking out the front gate of a rodeo down in Texas after he’d bucked off a world champion. He had this crooked smile on his face, and his eyes were still the dark brown of his bull, but shining with a wicked glint.

  Currently, Dead of Winter sat in front of her with long, mussed hair, a beard down to his nipples, and dirt under his nails. “Stop looking at me like I’m some kind of swamp rat. I just bucked! I’m tired, I’m dirty, and I’m so sorry I didn’t have time to brush out my hair for this stupid meeting.”

  “Is that cow shit on your shirt?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  Dead of Winter looked down at the pocket of his flannel shirt that, indeed, did have a brown smear across it. The nasty man sniffed it and then licked it.

  “Whoa, man!” Quickdraw said with a disgusted face.

  “It’s a melted chocolate bar, cool your jets,” he told him.

  “But what if it had actually been cow shit?” Quickdraw looked scandalized.

  Dead of Winter shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “No to all the rules of conduct.”

  “It’s not a negotiation,” Cheyenne said.

  The door swung open, and Cheyenne sat there frozen like a bump on a log as Two Shots Down strode in and sat beside her. He narrowed his eyes at the glittery name tag with his name on it, ripped it to shreds, and then tossed it on the code of conduct she was about to read out loud.

  “Sell out,” Quickdraw muttered, his eyes boring into Two Shots.

  Two Shots opened his folder and muttered, “The fuck I am.”

  He looked so good. Where Dead of Winter looked like a manly mess, Two Shots had his hair gelled into place, his facial scruff trimmed short, and wore a tight navy V-neck T-shirt that read Don’t Get Ready, Be Ready in gray print. The fabric clung to the curves of his muscles so tight she could see the perfect line of his pecs and his six pack under the thin cotton. His skin was tan, and he had bicep veins that dredged up some tingling sensations her nethers hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “You gonna mate now or what?” asked Dead of Winter.

  Oh, dear goodness, she and Two Shots had just been staring at each other. For how long? She didn’t know. Three seconds? Five years? Her cheeks caught fire with an epically embarrassing blush. “Mate is such a crass word,” she blubbered out.

  “Mate is the exact terminology we use in the shifter world so, to us, it’s not crass,” Quickdraw murmured low.

  “Pretty sure the media would have a hay day with that,” Two Shots Down said, shoving his phone toward her. “They’re already speculating.”

  She stared down in horror at the headline across the screen. It was an entire article titled “The Bull, the Belle, and the Betrayal.”

  At the top was a picture of her in between two men, her late husband, Tarik, and Two Shots Down. Both of their arms were around her, and they were both staring at the camera with fire in their eyes. She was grinning.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she whispered, pulling the phone closer. “Where did they even get this picture?”

  “Reilly Rally Rodeo, 2015,” Two Shots said. “We took a huge group picture after the crowd went home. After a few beers, anyone who stuck ar
ound was interviewed by that Up and Coming Shifters magazine. You were there with your girlfriends and Tarik, partying with the riffraff. You’d barrel raced that night. Got a 14.5 second run and damn near won it. This was a group photo that the reporter cropped. I had a girl I was dating at the time on my other arm, but they didn’t show her in this picture. News spread that you want to represent me, and not just through the circuit. I mean news spread through the human news, and they’re running with it.”

  She reached forward and scrolled through article after article.

  Widow to Wed the Bull Who Murdered Her Husband

  Two Shots Down Gunning For the Life He Killed For

  End A Life, Get A Wife

  Cheyenne Walker Walking Right into Two Shots Down’s Bed Again

  Dating Your Husband’s Murderer. When is Too Soon?

  After reading that headline, she pushed his phone away and shook her head, feeling sick. “I’m trying to do a good thing, and they’re making it into something gross.”

  “That’s how the media works,” Dead of Winter said. “You’re a manager. You should know that better than anyone. Or are you just now putting it together?”

  “Putting what together?”

  “The media is kinder about humans than it is about shifters. Welcome to the shit-show.” Dead of Winter stood to leave. “If this meeting is done, I have stuff to do.”

  “It’s not done,” Cheyenne said softy.

  “Oh, it’s good and done,” Dead of Winter said, turning back to them with firey eyes. “What can you do for us? Now we’ll be a circus for the media to play out publicly.”

  “The meeting isn’t done yet!” she yelled. “Sit down.” She jammed her finger at his chair.

  Dead of Winter stood there locked in a stare down for a few seconds before Two Shots Down spoke up.

  “It’s already a shit-show, Dead. Least we can do is listen to her pitch.”

  “Of course you would back up your little girlfriend—”