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All two hundred pounds of the bull hurtles right at the table with full force, nudging his head under the wood and flipping it up.

He doesn’t bother sizing up the men; he darts straight for Cesare and rams his head right into him, tossing him into the air. A scream of pure terror rips from the man, and I laugh.

All the color drains from Levi’s face as the bull beelines for him.

“Help! Help!” he cries, and then he’s being tossed, still in his chair, over to the railings, and Tate has to launch himself out of the way.

Swinging the rope in a circular motion above my head, I kick Seven into gear, moving towards the angry bull. Aiming for Gravedigger’s head, I release the rope. The second it catches his neck, I wrap the slack securely around the saddle horn and lead the bull back towards the gate to the chutes. Xander already has it wide open, calling him in. Jett is waiting for him, ushering him into the other pen, and I let the rope go.

We’ve got a few minutes until they get the other bull in position, so I dismount Seven, stroking his face before I head over to Levi.

Tate has his boot on Cesare’s neck. If we take one each, one of us might get an answer.

“Do you want to play round two? We’ve got a lot of bulls to get through; this could go on all night until one of them kills you,” I tell Levi.

He sucks in a rattling breath. That don’t sound good.

“H-help me.”

Blood spills from his mouth, and I crouch down to the floor, grabbing his limp head. His eyes have glazed over, his skin grey.

Scanning for injuries, I don’t see shit. Unless it’s internal from the impact of being thrown by Gravedigger.

This little bitch is going to die, and Gianna is going to be pissed.

I stand, running a hand through my hair. “Xander, make sure no fucking bulls get out,” I shout across the barn.

Storming my way over to the metal fencing, I throw open the gate. “G, get in here,” I order, nodding behind me.

She scuttles towards me, and I let her pass, following close behind.

Levi is now gasping for breath, his face screwed up. “H-heart attack,” he whimpers. “Ambulance.”

“Is this asshole serious? He had one last year,” Gianna mutters as she approaches. “Maybe you should have stopped shoving so much coke up your nose,” she shoots at him.

He’s struggling to keep his eyes open. G drops onto the dirt, grabbing his neck.

“Tell me what the fuck you know, Levi. And I’ll get Colten to start CPR and call an ambulance,” she says softly. Completely faking being nice, because I know deep down my girl is less than remorseful about his current circumstances.

“They’re coming,” he whispers.

G frowns, shaking her head. “Who?”

Levi sucks in a gulp of air, his eyes closing.

“Fucking hell,” she says, and begins compressions on his chest, hard enough to likely crack his damn ribs.

Bending down on one knee, I check his pulse. Nada. “Don’t waste your time. He’s dead.”

She lets out a huff, looking at his body with true disgust. “He’s always been fucking useless.”

“Who do you think he means?” I ask.

She taps her nail in the dirt. “I need my little red book from Dom. There is quite the list of people who would probably want me dead if word got out that I’ve survived my Dad.”

Tate’s heavy footsteps get our attention. “Cesare ain’t talkin’. You want a go?” Tate asks G.

“Do we have his phone?” she asks.