Page 64 of A Cowboy in the Streets

Blaine looked at me. “He knew.”

He knew? Son of a bitch. White hot fury churned in my gut. “I think it’s time I had a talk with him.”

Blaine cocked his head and eyeballed me suspiciously. “Talk, huh? I’ll come with you.”

“Probably best if you don’t.”

Blaine snorted. “Best if you don’t have a witness, you mean.”

Steven was in the breakroom, scrolling whatever-the-fuck on his phone, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his boots on the table. It pissed me off. People had to eat there.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked with that stupid little smirk that suggested everything was a joke.

“Get your shoes off the goddamn table.”

Part of me hoped he would refuse, or at least take his sweet time to comply. Anything to give me a reason to put my hands on him. The saner part—the voice that unfortunately sounded a lot like Brax—warned me that if I touched him now with all this rage boiling my blood, I might not be able to stop.

His eyebrows shot up as he slowly lowered his legs to the ground. “Sure thing.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, tucking my hands safely underneath my biceps. “Thought you might be interested in knowing that James seems to have worked out Belle’s bridle issues.”

Steven twitched his hand, like he was flinging something off. His gaze skated from mine. “That’s good.”

And I knew. I fucking knew.

“You want to explain?” It was a struggle to keep my voice even. To keep my hands tucked away where they couldn’t wrap around his neck.

His eyes met mine only briefly before darting away again. His fingers flexed against his thigh. “Explain what?”

“Why you walked into the training ring, where you knew James was on Belle, shaking that bridle when you knew goddamn well Belle would react?”

“You think I got James hurt on purpose?” He pushed to his feet. “You think I would do that?”

I didn’t move. Couldn’t, or I would throttle the man where he stood. “Did you?”

“We’ve all been dusted by Belle. How the hell was I supposed to know your delicate princess would get her ribs cracked?”

That was as good as a confession that he had purposefully taunted Belle into throwing James without stopping to think through the consequences. He was right that we had all been tossed at one time or another, by Belle or another horse—I had personally lost count of how many times I had hit the ground doing dumb shit as a teenager—and most of the time, all we walked away with was bruised muscles and sore pride. Zack got a concussion once, terrifying my mom.

But some people didn’t walk away at all.

And we all knew that, too. That was the risk that came with sitting on top of a thousand-pound prey animal. They were hardwired to lose their shit and take off.

This dumb fuck had put one of my people in harm’s way, carelessly and without remorse. I didn’t take that lightly.

I intended to say all that, but what came out was, “Watch your fucking mouth when you talk about her.”

He stared at me while I silently dared him to say it again. To give me a reason to take out my hands.

But he shook his head and exhaled hard through his nose. “Right. Whatever you say.”

“Pack your things. You’re out of here by the end of the day.”

From the way he reared back, I knew he hadn’t been expecting that. That surprised me. This entitled dickweed actually believed he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You’re firing me over a goddamn joke?” he demanded, disbelief dripping on every word.

“Your goddamn joke could have gotten someone killed. You’re lucky all she got was a few bruised ribs.”

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