The darkness is filled with thick, looming shadows around old trucks parked in a grassy, makeshift parking lot.
“Where are we?” I wasn’t paying attention to the route since Jo was driving, but it took us over an hour to get here from my apartment in Elmott. We didn’t pass through a single town on the way.
“Some guy’s ranch. Never met him. His grandpa started The Riders.”
“What’s The Riders?”
“An underground bull riding ring. It runs on illegal betting and cowboys who are just crazy enough to compete, knowing the bulls they’re riding were often kicked out of the PBR for being too dangerous. Old Texas ranchers with too much money and time on their hands love to watch reckless young ranch hands risk their lives for all of eight seconds ofentertainment and the potential to win the five-figure jackpot. A few guys have died during it from blunt force trauma to their heads. It can get intense.”
I try to process everything she just said, wondering if we’re actually safe here.
“Are we here to see someone?”
When she invited me to hang out with her because I was kid-free and depressed at home, I assumed she meant for some wine drinking and two-stepping at Old Harry’s.
My pulse sputters when the arena comes into view. There are a ton of people here, men and women scattered around the temporary steel-paneled fence that’s been erected in the center of the field. Construction floodlights are at the four corners of the square, all pointed to the center, where a man is currently being dragged by his boot, caught in a rope around a copper-colored bull.
He’s screaming bloody murder while two men on horseback are trying to loosen the strap around the bull’s flank. The crowd is roaring as they watch—some hands clasped over mouths, all eyes on the man’s head nearly getting trampled every time the bull turns his massive body and stomps on the ground.
Jo tugs my hand again, breaking my stupor. “I’m here for my dad. He wants me to bet on someone.”
I wasn’t born and raised in this environment like Jo was. My parents live in Florida now, but I was a military brat who grew up all over the US. I’m not a country girl. I’ve never even been to a rodeo or ridden a horse, which is why I don’t really know where the twins get their cowboy fascination from.
She’s dragging me toward a wrinkled old man wearing ablack cowboy hat and a red leather vest. Without a word, she hands him a wad of cash.
I wince as the cowboy being dragged finally gets his boot free. He lies in the dirt, completely still. My heart is in my throat, as I assume he’s dead.
The horseback riders herd the bull away from him, toward an opening in the pen, where he’s ushered out into the chutes that have more bulls waiting to carry more men to their untimely deaths.
I gape at the scene as the man finally moves. I exhale a sigh of relief, thankful I didn’t just witness a brutal death by bull dragging. A couple of men loitering by the fence finally go over to him, lifting him up by each arm. His shirt is ripped open, blood gushing out of an invisible wound. They drag him out of the arena.
Jo pulls me farther around until we find an opening. She grabs the steel pipe, grinning at me. “Cool, right?”
I blink at her, wondering if we watched the same horrific scene unfolding. “Uh, I guess?”
She snorts. “You’re such a city girl.”
I guess she’s right, but I don’t know if I’m cut out for the country-girl life if this is the normal Friday night activity. I’m fine with the dirt, the hay bales, and definitely the shirtless-cowboys part, but I could do without witnessing near-death experiences.
“This is … intense.”
She shrugs. “They know what they’re signing up for.”
I swallow over the lump in my throat, wishing I had a drink to get through this. A little buzz might make it easier to stomach.
“Redford!” the announcer calls through a speaker.
My head spins as I look for the next rider.
“They’re over there, behind where the bull went through.”
“Who is it?”
She shrugs. “Could be any of them. They all ride.”
My stomach clenches. Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed that they made good enough money running the ranch to live comfortably, but it certainly seems like it. They have a huge house, tons of equipment and cattle. All of them drive a nice truck.
“They don’t do it for the money.” She somehow reads my mind.
