Page 73 of Eight Seconds to Fly

Burt rubbed his eyes. “Fred, please,” he chastised.

My eyes flicked to Senior, his snake eyes alight with glee. I sneered in his direction. I wanted him to know that I knew this was all his doing. “I warned you,” he mouthed and I shot him the finger, making the rest of the men at the table huff like I’d just done it doggy style on the pulpit of St Michael's Cathedral.

I turned back to Burt. “No, I’d like to know what I’ve done to be hauled before you guys? Almost get raped? Being stalked by some creep with a camera? Had the audacity to sleep with someone before marriage? Please, point out the part whereIembarrassed the WBRP.”

My phone buzzed in my lap. It was an emoji of a bomb from Caly. What the hell?

“Tessa May, it isn’t that at all. But the press coverage of your, err, extracurricular activities has created a negative image around your position in the WBRP. To maintain your membership, we are going to have to insist that you exhibit only the best behaviour for the remainder of the year.”

I swallowed back my rage. “Sure thing, Burt. But I was just talking to Branch and Dylan this morning,” while they were in bed with me, but we didn’t need to tell them that, “And neither of them mentioned appointments with the Board to get the same sanctions.”

Frank scoffed. “Because they weren’t photographed having relations with four different men.”

I glared at him. “Are we pretending that every rider on the circuit isn’t out getting blown by Buckle Bunnies in bathroom stalls every weekend? Or is it different because they have dicks?”

Burt sighed. Poor fucking Burt, but he needed his ass handed to him too. “Look, that’s not the point-”

The glass doors flew open and in walked six police officers. The looks of terror around the table let me know that more than Senior were doing something that wasn’t completely on the up and up. They stopped at the end of the table. “Stanley Wilfred, you are under arrest for felony tax fraud, embezzlement, conspiracy, collusion and illegal coercion. You have the right to remain silent but anything you do or say will be held against you in the court of law.” They dragged him to his feet, not gently at that, and his face was comically surprised.

“What the fuck, you have the wrong person. I will have your badges for this. I will have your department shut down,” he grunted as he struggled against the cuffs. He took a swing at one officer, who in a reasonably impressive move, had his arm pulled behind him and his head slammed on the table in one fluid move. Jesus. I was going to have to learn that one.

I smirked and Senior caught the expression. “You fucking whore. I am going to end you. I am going to make you wish you’d died on that bathroom floor, you dirty little slut. You are over. Do you hear me?” He screeched as they dragged him out of the room. The face slamming cop tipped his hat to me on the way past. “Ma’am.”

I swooned. Oh boy. Frankie leaned down close to my ear. “Bad,Gatinha.Do not make goo goo eyes at the nice policeman. You’ve got your hands full enough, don’t you think?”

He swivelled my chair back around so I could see all the stunned faces around the room. I was a little worried some of them were about to keel over from a heart attack, and the others were looking at me like I was the antichrist.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” My smirk might have belied my words, but fuck these old bastards. If they wanted to think I had the power to bring them down, maybe they’d think twice before dragging me in front of them for every little thing. Maybe they’d let me do the thing I came here to do in the first place. Ride damn bulls. “I think you officially have a bigger problem than mycommittedrelationships. Welcome to the twenty-first century, Gentlemen. I suggest you catch up or get the fuck off the ride.”

With that, I stood and strode out of the room.

31

The following morning, an explosive Op-Ed was published in not just the Texas Chronicle, but other syndicates nationwide. It was titled “The Price of Privilege” and was a scathing dissection of both Stan Wilfred Senior and Junior. It outlined all the evidence that Calypso had gathered and handed over to the cops, as well as some allegations she couldn’t back up without better proof but would be enough for the Court of Social Opinion.

Although she was careful to leave out the WBRP in her article, it was impossible to avoid the fact that the Wilfred’s had a large, powerful role in the sport, and the taint of their nepotism could be evidenced for decades in the past. Controversial judging. The sidelining of riders who got on the bad side of Senior. Payoffs to throw rides.

It was all laid out there for the world to see and it shook the sport to its core. Antony had called me and told me that he’d worked it with the prosecution, so that my statement would be put in as evidence and I wouldn’t have to personally testify against Junior, which was a relief. But in the days after the release of Calypso’s article, dozens of women had come forward to make accusations against both Junior and Senior for sexual assault. With Senior on remand without the possibility of bail too, there was no one to drag them out of the mess they’d made. Alfred Wilfred had publicly come out and disowned them completely, tears welling in his eyes.

I believed him too, and couldn’t say I blamed him. Can you imagine finding out that your entire line was rotten?

Needless to say, Calypso got fired. Matty quit with her, so there were no interviews post ride after the event on Friday night.

As I stepped up to the chute, the electricity in the air tonight was something wild and almost violent. The crowd was bumper despite the bad press over the last week. Hell, maybe because of it. But the untamed vibe was going to make the bulls and the riders restless, and I wanted to get my ride out of the way as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, both Dylan and Branch rode before me. Dylan rode another eight, finding his groove with his helmet which made me breathe easier when he came off hard. But he was quickly on his feet and scrabbling away toward the rails. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to watch them and breathe at the same time, but at least I understood the risks. Understood the need to ride.

Branch was only two bulls in front of me and I gripped the rail where I stood now. Everyone except the stock contractors had their eyes on Branch’s ride. If he rode a good score on this one, he was in the World Championships in Vegas. He was a contender for the big prize pool. We tried not to talk about it specifically, didn't want to jinx it, but I could see the tension in his shoulders from here. Branch was always quick in the chute. He once said he was there to do a job, and it didn’t help by fucking around and riling up the bull.

“Next up is Branch Watson. He made quite an impact his rookie year, and he's been having a great run of successful rides this season. I think he’s a real contender, don’t you think, AJ?” The announcer called over the PA system. “Damn straight he is, and mark my words, we are looking at the next World Champion right here. He’s got the strength and the style, and I think he’ll go all the way.”

Branch was oblivious to their words though as he rubbed his rope, and within fifteen seconds of getting on the bull, the gate was swinging open and the bull was bursting out. His bull was one of the rankest in the series this year, and it took skill to ride him. But if Branch could stick this? He’d be number one.

I watched, my lungs burning from holding my breath, as the bull did a combination of low turns and high kicks guaranteed to dismount a rider. But Branch wasn’t just any rider, he’d hit his groove and he was fucking beautiful to watch. When the buzzer sounded, I couldn’t help myself.

“Yes!” I whistled, screaming with the crowd that was on its feet. “Branch! Woo!” I jumped up and down, waving my arms and generally pissing off my bull. I calmed down and gavePiledrivera pet on the head. “Sorry, big guy. But even you have to admit that was exciting,” I said to the bull.

The scoreboard showed a perfect 91 and I fully lost my shit.

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