Page 41 of Eight Second Hearts

The bull kicks at the dirt and lowers its horns.

“You feel that?” Beau whispers in my ear. “That adrenaline pumping through your veins right now?” His chin slides along my shoulder. “Doesn’t it make you feel alive?”

I focus on it, on the feeling, and I realize he’s right. The scar in my arm tingles, a reminder of the bullet wound that once was there. If this goes wrong, I’ll have more scars to add to my collection.

“Yes,” I answer. My voice doesn’t shake. My body doesn’t either. I fall into the same eerie calm I used to feel in the middleof battle, guns going off around me while I took pictures, while I recorded what I could.

“That’a girl,” Beau coos in my ear. “You’re doin’ so good for me.”

The bull charges. He’s a thousand pounds of angry beef, and he thinks we’re the ones he needs to take out to assert his dominance.

I trust the clown. I trust the clown. I trust the clown. I repeat the words over and over again in my head, as if I’ll somehow convince myself that he’ll never let me get hurt despite the massive animal coming at us.

“Beau,” I whisper as he closes in, and we still don’t move.

“Easy,” he says, pressing against my backside.

The bull gets closer, too close. “Beau,” I repeat, a strangled whisper.

He presses a kiss against my neck as the horns close in. I don’t close my eyes. I refuse to not see it, to not witness my end if this is it. At the last second, just when I think I’m going to die, Beau moves.

I’ve watched him move around the dirt like a ballerina, as if this is all some choreographed dance. He’s pulled me into the dance this time, and when he slings me to the side, literally twirling me out like we’re merely dancing, I go with it, trusting him.

The horns glance right past us, missing any vital parts, rushing by with his momentum.

The crowd roars louder than I’ve ever heard it even despite the roaring in my ears.

Beau pulls me back in and grins as the bull grinds to a stop and turns, determined to fuck us up. Beau’s hand trails up my side, sliding beneath my t-shirt to touch skin.

“Dance with me, Indie bird,” he purrs in my ear before we’re moving again.

We spin, like we’re waltzing around the dirt. The bull charges, but Beau is already moving, sharp, short bursts of movement that keep the bull from hitting us. The crowd doesn’t stop screaming as we move. I keep my eyes trained on Beau as we move, letting him lead me around, not sure what it is about this clown that has me in knots. Maybe it’s the absolute unpredictability of him. Beau Rogers is a war zone of his own making. Being with him is wondering where the next bullet is going to come from.

He spins me out, and for the first time, his fingers separate from mine, leaving me standing in the dirt alone as the bull charges between us. He winks at me and claps his hands, drawing the bull’s attention as it spins and focuses on him. Beau rushes toward me, the bull giving chase, and I watch him reach into his pouch while he runs. Blue chalk spills out of it, covering his hand, trailing in the dirt. He reaches me first, grabs me, and we both jerk to the side, away from the angry bull. As he holds me against him, his hand trails along the side of the bull while it passes, leaving behind a large blue streak.

He grins down at me and touches his hand to my back where I know he’s leaving a blue handprint on my black shirt. “You belong out here with the danger, little outsider,” he murmurs. His hand falls down to my ass and squeezes. “Now let’s give them the show they really want.”

He kisses me. Out there on the red dirt, in front of an entire stadium full of people shouting his name. His kisses the living daylight out of me, so much so that I lose all focus of what’s going on around us. Everything fades away and I find myself leaning into the kiss. I close my eyes despite the angry bull pacing, waiting for the best chance to attack. We’re moving without me even being aware of it, Beau moving us despite the kiss, still completely in control.

And fuck if this isn’t the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

My body hums with arousal, with excitement. My adrenaline is so fucking high, my brain itches with it. I’m so wet, I wonder if I’m soaking through my jeans. In this moment, Beau could sacrifice me to the bull and I wouldn’t even react. He could ask me for anything and I’d give it to him.

He breaks the kiss and steps back, a grin on his face. He grabs my hand and throws our fists in the air, and the roaring of the crowd comes back tenfold, reminding me that we’re in the middle of an arena and not somewhere I can jump his bones. He twirls me, showing me off as the bull rushes back toward the chute, tired of our shit. The blue handprints down his hide are bright against the black, and I don’t even know when they were placed there. I glance down at my clothing and the blue handprints on me.

Security steps out on the dirt, three men with intense looking expressions.

“I think they want me off the dirt,” I rasp, my voice breathy and rough. Yeah, that really did it for me. I’m not sure what that says about me, but now isn’t the time to look that deep.

“That they do,” Beau says. He takes off his heart-shaped sunglasses and settles them on my face instead. “Come on, Indie bird.”

He drags me off the dirt, toward the prep area. People are saying things as we pass them but there are too many voices to make out all of the words. All I catch are snippets.

“Risky.”

“Fucked up. Someone should?—”

“Tell that clown to?—”

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