"Tomorrow. Let's just. Exist for tonight. Without analyzing or planning or worrying."
"I can do that."
She falls asleep within minutes, her breathing evening out, her body relaxed against mine. I lie awake longer, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out how I got here.
Tyler would laugh his ass off if he could see me now. Tell me I'm doing it all wrong. Tell me to slow down, think it through, stop making everything harder than it needs to be.
But Tyler's not here to give me advice. He's gone because someone decided his life was worth less than their profit margin. And I'll be damned if I let that go unanswered.
My phone buzzes. Text from Colt.
Heard about the van. You okay?
I type back:
Fine. Handled.
That's not an answer.
It's the only one you're getting.
He doesn't respond. I don't blame him. I'm being an asshole to everyone who cares about me, pushing them away so I can focus on something that might get me killed.
But I can't stop. Not now. Not when I'm this close to answers.
Rainey shifts in her sleep, and I tighten my arm around her. Tomorrow, we'll deal with the consequences of tonight. Tomorrow, we'll figure out the next move.
But right now, with her heartbeat against my ribs and Tyler's ghost in the corner of every thought I have, I'm starting to understand something I wish I didn't.
The people who killed Tyler are going to come for me. And now they've got one more thing they can take.
5
Flint Masterson has been supplying bulls to the Southwest Circuit since before I was born, and if he's dirty, the whole damn sport is rotten to the core.
I find him at the Albuquerque event that afternoon, checking bulls in the holding pens behind the arena. Flint's in his late sixties, weathered and solid as the fence posts he's leaning against, watching a young bull test the rails with his horns.
"That one's going to be trouble," Flint says without turning around.
"They're all trouble. That's why we ride them."
He glances at me, takes in the split eyebrow from the last ride, the careful way I'm moving because my ribs still hurt like hell. "Heard you took on Satan's Gambit. How'd that work out for you?"
"About as well as expected."
"So poorly." He spits tobacco juice into the dirt. "Also heard you've been asking questions about Tyler Brennan. Questions people don't want asked."
Word travels fast on the circuit. I should have known better than to think I could ask questions without someone noticing.
"You here to tell me to back off?" I ask.
"I'm here to tell you to be careful. There's a difference." Flint turns to face me, and his expression is serious in a way I've rarely seen. "Tyler was a good kid. What happened to him wasn't right. But poking at this particular hornet's nest is going to get you stung."
"I'll take my chances."
"It's not just your chances you're risking." He nods toward where Rainey's photographing the bulls from a safe distance. "That photographer you're running with. She's got a target on her back now."
"She knows the risk."
