“Well, your mom bucks just fine,” Two Shots Down enlightened him. Best way to piss off the riders was to mention their moms. He didn’t know much about book smarts, but he’d learned about riders and your-momma jokes real quick.
Timothy’s face was getting red. “Well, your mom’s a cow!”
She actually was a cow shifter, so that insult didn’t burn. He’d heard it a thousand times growing up. Two Shots Down shrugged then relaxed into his seat and gave his attention to a very exasperated looking Tommy.
“Anyways,” Tommy yelled. The microphone shrieked again, sounding like nails on a chalkboard. “Back to what I was saying so we can all go the hell home. Dead of Winter is right. We have new funding flooding in, and that gets us better venues, better accommodations, and most importantly to all of you, gets us more prize money.”
He waited until all the whooping and hollering, cheering and clapping, settled down before he continued. “But with the new money, there are also new rules and new attention on us. We can’t be doing what we’ve been doing.”
“What’ve we been doing?” one of the riders asked.
“Uh, let’s see, bar fights, jail, breaking everything imaginable, wrecking entire press conferences, and in general just being shits and ruining your own reputations in the public eye. No sport in the history of sports has as much negative attention on it as this circuit.”
“You’re talking about the bulls, right?” Roddy asked. “Because our reputation is just fine.”
“Well, we don’t all have the luxury of having high-paid babysitters to manage us,” called out First Time Train Wreck from a few rows behind Two Shots Down.
Tommy’s eyes went round, and he pointed to First Time Train Wreck. “He’s right. We have put funding into the agents and managers for the bull riders, but until now, we haven’t had the funds to pay a bull manager.”
“Oh, God,” Quickdraw muttered under his breath.
Two Shots Down could hear it just fine, thanks to his super shifter hearing. He snorted. “I can’t wait to see the dumbass who gets roped into managing a bull shifter.”
Snorts and snickers sounded from the bulls’ side of the room.
“Well, actually, we are only hiring one manager, and they will take care of the top three bulls only.”
“What?” Dead of Winter demanded, pushing off the wall in the back. “I’m number two—”
“Insert dooky joke,” Roddy muttered to the stupid laughter of the riders.
“I’m not signing up to be bossed around by some manager. I’ll say exactly what I want to in the press conferences. I hear you dipshits when you’re under management,” he barked out, glaring at the riders. “Well…uuuuh…” he said, wrenching up his voice like a girl’s, “I just really enjoyed the ride and loved the match-up with Dead of Winter and hope to ride him again.” Dead of Winter rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. I love telling the press exactly how pathetic I think all of you are.”
“Yeah, that won’t get us the extra funds and prize money I just mentioned,” Tommy said, rolling his eyes heavenward. “Look, this ain’t up for debate. If you want one of those top three spots where you make that big money? First off, you earn your rank with numbers, like always, but you will also travel together, stay in the same hotels, support each other publicly—”
“The fuck we will,” yelled Two Shots Down. “This ain’t a team effort, Tommy. You know that, I know that, everyone in here freakin’ knows that. It’s us versus the riders, and every bull versus every other bull. Top three bulls aren’t a team. We bled and scratched and killed our bodies to get to those ranks. It ain’t a shackle. Top three is freedom. I’ll be damned if you take the fun away from finally, finally, getting into that top three spot.”
“You don’t have a choice,” Tommy said. “Things are changing for the circuit. The wheels are already in motion. We have backers now who will make this huge. It means huge crowds, huge fan bases, huge venues. It means live music outside the events, fairs, and tickets selling out as fast as they are available. This will jump all of you up with attention from the public, and we aren’t leaving it up to you dumbasses to handle your own PR!”
“Okay, who was dumb enough to attempt this job?” Quickdraw asked.
Tommy looked right at Two Shots and sighed. Uh oh.
“What are you looking at me for?” Two Shots asked.
“It isn’t a man who took the job. It’s a woman.”
The blood drained from Two Shots Down’s face, leaving his cheeks cold and clammy. No. No, no, no. The only woman manager for this circuit was the one person he avoided at all costs.
A door behind the podium opened and in walked Two Shots’ personal nightmare.
Cheyenne Walker was wearing charcoal gray dress pants, high heels, and a light blue, fitted button-down shirt. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her glasses slipped down her nose. She glanced straight at him and then back at the podium she was squaring up to. You could hear a pin drop in the place right now.
“Why are you switching sides?” Roddy asked. “You always managed one of us. The humans.”
Cheyenne pushed her glasses up her nose and glared at him. “I’m not betraying anyone or choosing a side.”
“I’m not doing this,” Two Shots murmured. He hadn’t even meant to say it out loud; the words had just tumbled from his mouth.
“What did you say?” Cheyenne asked into the microphone. She still couldn’t hold his gaze. She dropped her eyes as soon as she looked at him.
“I said I’m not doing this,” said Two Shots, standing. “You couldn’t pay me enough money in the world to be managed by her.”
Quickdraw twisted in his seat and shook his head at Two Shots Down, but whatever that beast was trying to tell him, he didn’t care. They weren’t friends.
“If you don’t comply, I will drop you a rank,” Tommy said from his place standing next to Cheyenne.
“So let me get this straight. My options are to be managed by the widow of the man I killed, or I lose the rank that I’ve worked for years to reach?” Two Shots Down asked.
The room was dead silent.
Tommy stared at him for a few seconds, then sighed. “Yes, Two Shots. There’s your options.”
“I just want to move on,” murmured Two Shots Down. He turned and strode for the door. “Drop me to number four.”
Chapter Three
Cheyenne Walker watched Two Shots Down walk away and felt this reverberating hollowness inside of her chest. This was hard for her, but it was probably just as hard for him.
The slamming door echoed, and she flinched at the sound.
Maybe she had no right to be doing this.
“Why?” Roddy asked. “Why aren’t you managing one of us? You earned our respect way before that sonofabitch killed Tarik. You’ve been retired for three years now, and you come out of retirement to represent that prick?” He jammed a finger at the door.
“And Quickdraw and Dead of Winter,” she murmured into the microphone. “I’ll be representing the bulls who are in those top three spots.”