Two Shots Down (Battle of the Bulls Book 1)

by T. S. Joyce

“Quickdraw, enough,” she snapped. “Whatever you’re talking about, I don’t want to hear it from you.”

  “He doesn’t want you to see us change because then you’ll put it together.”

  “Put what together?” Cheyenne asked.

  Quickdraw leveled Cheyenne with a look and twitched his head toward Two Shots. “That he’s not the man you think he is. He’s an animal.”

  Two Shots tossed her a sad smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “And there it is.”

  “Wait, where are you going?” she asked as Two Shots walked away.

  He didn’t turn around. “To pull Dead’s gate.”

  She rounded on Quickdraw. “Why did you say that?”

  “Because you should take stock of what he really is.”

  “I know what he is! I’ve seen all three of you buck a hundred times each.”

  “Nah, you haven’t really put it together, Cheyenne. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

  “That’s enough—”

  “You’re damn right it is,” Quickdraw growled. He jammed a finger at Two Shots’ receding back. “He changes into an animal, Cheyenne. An animal. What’s the end game, huh? You convince the world you being together ain’t wrong as hell? You take on the media and gossip of you dating the man who killed Tarik? You run the circuit like king bull and queen agent and live happily ever after?” Quickdraw shook his head. “Nah, here’s what your future really looks like. We have expiration dates in this game, so the money will run out. You’ll be dragged through that media like it’s a meat grinder, and you will come out on the other side even more damaged, even more hurt. You will give up your life as you know it just to follow a bull shifter around the circuit until he’s injured, which could happen tomorrow or three years from now, who knows? But he will be injured. He won’t even get his first gray hair before his knees are shot. You want marriage? He wouldn’t put his last name on you if you begged for it. That’s a curse. You met his daddy? The one that gave him his last name?”

  Stunned, she shook her head.

  “Look up Denim Dodger.”

  “Oh my God,” she whispered, dragging her attention to where Two Shots was pulling the gate open for Dead to buck. “His dad is The Dodger?”

  “Yup. You want babies? You’ll have to give them your last name. Two won’t shame you or your children with his daddy’s last name. And if you had kids? Every one of them will be a bull or cow shifter. They won’t be human. And it’s not like there werewolves, where they’re still hiding from the public. We are out there. Your babies will be gawked at their entire lives, and it’ll eat you up inside to watch it. They won’t be like you. Do you really think he’ll want to curse a kid with that? Think again, Cheyenne. You got dreams? Those will get eaten up in the tornado of dating a bull shifter. Nothing will turn out the way you hope. That’s in our nature.”

  “What’s in your nature?”

  “To destroy.” He huffed a soft breath. “Do yourself a favor, Cheyenne. Stop falling.”

  She didn’t understand and shook her head slightly.

  Quickdraw narrowed his eyes at Two Shots, who was climbing the fence easily to get out of Dead’s way. “Stop falling for him. Find someone like Tarik. Choose a human.”

  Find someone like Tarik? But…she hadn’t been enough for Tarik. With Two Shots, she felt different. She felt good about herself, and happy.

  “Hey, Cheyenne?” Quickdraw asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “Two Shots can hear every word I’ve said, and he didn’t argue with a single one. Let that sink in.”

  Heart in her throat, she looked over at Two Shots, now sitting on the top of the fence, staring right at her with a somber look in his dark eyes.

  Dead’s monstrous bull was bucking like there was no tomorrow so she backed out of the arena and closed the gate behind her.

  She stared down at her red tank top she’d worn today. Red was her color. She’d worn it so maybe Two Shots would think she looked okay. She’d worn it because Quickdraw was right—she was falling. But…

  Everything was okay.

  Everything was fine.

  So why did it feel like her heart was in the arena dirt behind her right now?

  She closed her eyes tightly and blew out a steadying breath. No family, no kids, no future with Two Shots, and it was okay. Everything was okay. She’d been stupid to fall into a crush like this anyway. This—all the butterflies, the pounding heartbeat when he touched her, the shy smiles, the thinking about him constantly—that was teenage love. She was grown, a woman, too mature for a crush like that. Definitely too mature. She’d been a stupid woman for falling like that.

  Focus on what you can control. Deep breath. Be there for the boys through their training. Get them through this weekend.

  She pulled out a flask and a plastic shot glass that said Bulls deep with a cartoon picture of a bull’s nutsack. She made her way down the fence line to where Two Shots Down was sitting. When Dead was done with his first buck, Two Shots pulled off his thin gray T-shirt and dropped it in the dirt on her side of the fence. She picked it up and smiled at him. So what if her smile shook a little?

  “I brought you a warm-up,” she murmured, handing him the flask and silly shot glass.

  His somber expression morphed to a crooked smile as he read the shot glass. He laughed, a deep, rich sound. If homecoming were a sound, it would be Two Shots’ laugh.

  “Whatcha got in there to go with this weird shot glass?” he asked.

  God, she was so relieved he was back to his playful self already. “Pendleton.”

  His smile stretched bigger. “That’s my favorite whiskey. Are you stalking me?”

  “Yep. It’s part of my job to stalk you.” She handed up the flask. “You take two shots before every buck. That’s where you got your name.”

  “You know my dad, don’t you?” he asked.

  She sighed and leaned her elbows on the fence, watched Dead’s bull saunter back into the chute. “I never met him. He was before my time in rodeo, but I’ve heard of him. Everyone’s heard of him.”

  “Somehow, with my dad’s help, I’ve managed to keep that from public knowledge.”

  “With your dad’s help?” she asked.

  “He doesn’t claim me either. Never came to see me buck. Never showed up at the same rodeo as me.”

  Denim Dodger, one of the original bad-boy bull shifters in the circuit, had jet black hair, bright blue eyes, and a thick beard. Back in his prime, the ladies had fallen over themselves just to be close to him. He was shorter than Two Shots but stockier. “You don’t look like him,” she pointed out. “That probably helps keep your secret, too.”

  “I look like my mom, thank God. I can’t imagine having to answer questions about my dad in interviews. He would be thrown in my face all the time. I have no interest in his name. I only have interest in building mine.”

  A wave of pride unfurled in her chest. Two Shots surprised her in a lot of good ways. “You’re a rare one.”

  “Nah.”

  “I’m not blowing smoke,” she murmured, tracking Quickdraw as he approached the chute gate to lock Dead in. “People nowadays look for any stepping-stone up. Anything to get them where they’re going even faster. Not you. Even though you didn’t have to, you started from scratch to build your own legacy. Because you did it the hard way, you never had to outlive the shadow of your dad because you never stepped into it. Everything you have is on your own grit. I respect that.”

  He tossed his first shot back and then cocked his head down at her. “That feels kinda good.”

  “The whiskey burn?”

  “Earning your respect.” He jumped off the high arena fence and landed in the arena so that the metal fence separated them now. He poured another shot, but he didn’t drink it. Instead, he handed it through the slats to her. And then he tinked the flask against the fence in front of her. “To respect.”

  Butterflies.

  “To respect,” she repeat
ed softly before she let the fiery amber liquid burn down her throat.

  His eyes never left hers as he took a few healthy swigs from the flask. His eyes flashed from blue to dark brown before he turned and shucked his pants, his belt jingling with the movement. She was so shocked, she couldn’t look away. He tossed the flask on top of the pile of clothes in the dirt and strode for the second chute. Powerful legs, long stride, perfect muscular Wrangler butt. His back was a V-shape, and every muscle rippled with his movement. As he walked away, he said, “You can watch if you want, but Quickdraw’s right.” He tossed her a black-eyed look over his shoulder. “I’m an animal.”

  Chills rippled up her forearms at the intensity of his expression. He’d changed demeanor in an instant. Waves of power rolled off him, making the air feel too thick to breathe.

  She climbed the fence to better see him and settled onto the top rail to watch.

  Quickdraw was pulling the gate on Dead again for another buck, but she barely registered that the titan was airborne, kicking up clouds of dust every time he slammed down his hooves. She couldn’t take her eyes off of chute number three, the closest one to her.

  She could see Two Shots’ eyes as he tossed her a last look between the rails of the gate, and then he pitched forward. Before his hands hit the ground, a titan bull exploded from his skin. His changes were instantaneous. One second, the man she cared for had been standing there looking through the shadows of the chute at her, and the next? He was eighteen hundred pounds of pure muscle and raw power. The change blasted the chute gate open, and Two Shots went straight to bucking.

  Time slowed to a crawl as she watched him sail upward, using his powerful back legs to push off. He tucked his glossy black front hooves slightly under his massive chest and twisted in the air. His horns were long and grey, filed down on the ends for rider safety, but ohhh, could they do damage still. His coat was mostly white, but speckled with tiny black spots and grit. His nose and ears were black like his eyes. She’d seen him in this form a hundred times, but this time was different. She felt more about him. There was a draw to the magnificent animal that she couldn’t explain. Couldn’t understand.

  Mud and dirt flew everywhere as his front hooves hit the arena, and he tossed his head up as he pushed off of his front end for another buck.

  Quickdraw was yelling something…something…what was he saying?

  “Fence!”

  She shook her head and dragged her gaze from the savage violence of Two Shots’ buck. “What?”

  Quickdraw was sprinting toward her, his eyes wide. “Get off the fence!” he bellowed.

  She saw him out of the corner of her vision when it was much too late. Dead was charging straight for her, and there was no time to react.

  He slammed into the metal she was sitting on so hard, the sound of it moved right through her. Clang! She was hurled backward as the black and white bull went right through the barrier. She screamed and threw her arms over her face as she sailed toward a tree. She closed her eyes and prepared for pain, but the impact wasn’t want she’d imagined. Something plucked her right out of the air with such force the air whooshed from her lungs. She hit the ground but not hard enough to hurt, and when she looked up, there was a man standing over her. A man she knew.

  “Wes, look out!” she screamed as Dead ran straight for him.

  Wes Kaid crouched in front of her and snarled the sound of his inner animal, a wolf, but he didn’t change. He didn’t need to. Two Shots Down slammed into Dead of Winter like a grenade. Dead’s black and white bull was thrown sideways with a grunt. The power of that hit knocked her back into the tree.

  Quickdraw was across the arena but sprinting toward the bull fight, yelling instructions to two men on horseback. “Don’t let them engage! They’ll never stop until one of them is dead!”

  With a bellow, Dead turned just in time to catch Two Shots’ head slamming into his, and they both pushed, all locked up, muscles straining. A cloud of dust was swirling around them, growing thicker with the battle.

  “Oh, my gosh,” she whispered in horror. She’d never seen bull shifters fight before. They’d always changed separately in the rodeos.

  A rope went sailing through the air, but Two Shots ducked at the last possible second. The loop of the rope ricocheted off the end of his horn. Dead of Winter stumbled forward at the change in Two Shots’ position and bellowed a roar of fury as he turned his head and slammed his skull into Two Shots’ again.

  Two riders, her friends Bryson Locke and Hunter Kaid, were circling the bulls, yelling. Loops of rope spun over their heads as they looked for any openings. Bryson threw at Dead’s feet and clipped both his hind legs, looped the rope around his saddle horn, and his big blue roan horse took off underneath him. Dead was dragged backward a couple steps, clumsily, but Hunter Kaid was able to get his rope around Two Shots’ head. Both riders struggled to pull the bulls apart. They were bigger than natural-born bulls—heavier with muscle and much more powerful. Hunter and Bryson rode big-boned horses, but they weren’t an even match for the bulls.

  “That’s what you get for bringing bull shifters here,” a man said from behind her.

  She gasped and turned. Samuel Kaid, the scariest of the Kaid brothers, was standing there leaned against a tree, watching the bulls.

  “Aw, come on, Sam,” Wes said, standing. “We haven’t had fun like this in weeks.”

  “I’m gonna go fight that guy over there.”

  Cheyenne sat up straighter. “Wait, what?”

  “I didn’t stutter,” Sam murmured as he passed by.

  Like a psycho, she reached out and grabbed his leg as he passed. He dragged her a few steps through the dirt with no hitch in his step, as if he didn’t even feel her there. She wised up and let him go. Like her holding his leg would stop him. She was a fragile little human, and he was one of the toughest werewolves in existence. What had she even planned to do? Trip him? He would’ve eaten her.

  Wes snorted from above her. “Yeah, tripping him would’ve worked.”

  “I don’t want them to fight!” she yelled, scrambling to her feet.

  “Woman, what you want to happen and what will actually happen rarely align. That’s life. You can fight it or enjoy the show.”

  “No, no, no, no!” she yelled, bolting after Sam. “The show is tomorrow! Today is practice! Innocent, easy-peasy, non-stressful, non-lethal practice!”

  Why was Quickdraw smiling and not running away from Scary Sam Kaid?

  Sam blasted his fist against Quickdraw’s jaw, and though it rocked him, the behemoth man didn’t go down. “My turn,” he growled, and before she could register that he moved, Quickdraw cracked his fist against Sam’s face.

  Sam was blasted backward but landed on his hands and feet, clawing through the dirt to stop himself. “Finally!” he said so loud, his voice echoed. “A good fight.”

  “I’m offended,” Wes murmured. “I give him good fights all the time.”

  “No you don’t,” Hunter called from where he was pulling Two Shots Down toward the arena on his bay horse. “You always lose to Sam. ’S boring.”

  “Stop!” she screamed at the brawling men and the pissed-off bulls. “No injuries before the event tomorrow!”

  But no one was listening to her. Not even a little. No one ever listened to her! Here she was trying to help these—these brutes! And they were all bleeding! On purpose!

  Two Shots had a huge gash over his left eye, Dead was limping bad as he tried to break the rope that was pulling him away from Two Shots. Quickdraw was on the ground, exchanging swings with Sam Motherfreakin’-Psycho-Werewolf Kaid, and Wes was laughing. Laughing. Laughing!

  “Kill each other then. Who cares, right? It’s just the top three bulls in the world beating on their bodies they day before Battle of the Bulls starts. Idiots! You men are idiots!” She stopped and scooped up her backpack that she’d dropped when Dead tried to kill her.

  “Where are you going?” Quickdraw shouted right before he got pou
nded in the face by a Kaid punch.

  “You boys can train alone! I’m going back to the hotel to eat a big, juicy ribeye. I hope it came from a cow that looks like any one of y’all.”

  “That’s a little evil,” Wes called out. He had a stupid smile in his voice when he added, “I like it.”

  She didn’t have any response, what with all the rage boiling in her blood, so she just turned on them and screamed as long and as loud as she could.

  The boys all stopped what they were doing. Even the bulls stopped struggling against their ropes just to stare at her.

  “Is she okay?” Hunter asked Two Shots at the end of his rope.

  It was Wes who answered. “From my experience, when a woman lets out a banshee screech like that, she definitely ain’t okay. She prolly needs like…Midol and wine or somethin’.”

  “Murder is bad,” she murmured to herself as she threw the strap of her backpack over her shoulder. “Murder will get you put in jail, and you won’t look good in jumpsuits.” The boys could clean up their own clothes and the stupid energy drink can Dead had thrown on the ground like a frat boy who’d just shot-gunned a beer. It was sitting in the middle of the arena. She was good and done with boys today. Good. And. Done!

  “But…you can’t leave,” Dead said.

  She spun around to find him human again, bare-ass naked, holding his hands in front of his dick, his ankles still in the middle of a loop of rope, looking at her like he didn’t understand why she was upset.

  “You tried to kill me!”

  “On accident,” he said defensively.

  “That wasn’t an accident, asshole,” Two Shots growled. Oh, good, he was human again, too, matching Dead with his hands over his man parts, a loop of rope around his neck, and his hair all mussed up. “Sleep light tonight, Dead. You’re gonna pay for going after her like that.”

  “On accident!” he yelled. “She’s wearing a red shirt!”

  “Hating the color red isn’t an excuse!” Two Shots bellowed. Whoa, he looked and sounded furious. All his muscles were all tensed up, and maybe he didn’t just have a six-pack. Maybe it was an eight-pack.

  Quickdraw cleared his throat and nodded at Sam Kaid. “Good fight,” he muttered through a split lip that was pouring blood.