Page 3 of Buck This (Battle of the Bulls #6)

She hugged the rail and sipped her drink down halfway so she wouldn’t spill it.

She looked everywhere for Reece to tell her what had just happened, but Torrey couldn’t find her anywhere.

Behind the panels, there were monstrous bulls being shuffled through gates.

The closer she got to the ticket guy, the busier it was behind the panels.

Where was Reece? Maybe she had gone out to the bleachers already.

Shoot, was she missing Cobalt’s ride? She couldn’t remember what bull he’d drawn.

“Sorry. So sorry,” she said, maneuvering around a couple of cowboys.

“He’s a fuckin mess,” she heard one of them say, and being the nosey person she was, she walked slower and looked in the direction of their gazes.

The green-eyed cowboy from earlier could be seen between the rails of the panels, and he was slamming his fist against a wall. He bent down and linked his hands behind his head, and she could hear him yell, “Fuuuck!”

“He’s going to get someone killed,” one of the guys said. “They should just kick him off the circuit. Rules are rules.”

Wait, what was happening? The guy looked like he was in pain.

She stopped and just stared at him as he stood and paced. “Is he okay?” she asked the guys.

“Not even a little,” one of them said before they both walked away.

Torrey was almost to the boxes. She could see the guy with the beer shirt from here. So close. Grumpy Cowboy’s anger wasn’t her business, but when she tried to continue her trek toward the ticket-taker, her legs stayed locked in the arena dirt.

The guy was on his knees now, one arm cradling his stomach, one locked on the lower rung of a panel.

“Hey,” she called.

He didn’t turn.

“Hey, you,” she called louder.

He swung his blazing, angry gaze to her.

“Are you okay?”

He froze for a second, then rocked back on his bent knees. “I’m fine.”

Her heart was pounding so hard, but she couldn’t figure out what she was feeling. Fear? Excitement being under such a direct gaze like this?

She lifted the beer in a silent cheers and made her way to the ticket guy, forcing herself not to look back. Whatever was happening, he wanted to own it. It wasn’t her burden.

Men could be stubborn like that, and she’d learned hard lessons in pushing to be let in. Most men she’d met weren’t capable of letting a woman in.

She handed the beer to Gary Wade, and showed him her ticket, and he started leading her toward the box when she heard it— “Hey. You. Girl.”

She turned to find the cowboy had hopped a few panels and was closer now.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come here?”

“You want me to come in there? With all the bulls running around?”

“Just for a minute.”

This wasn’t her problem. Truly it wasn’t. Whatever was happening wasn’t her problem. But…she’d be lying if she said her curiosity wasn’t piqued to the freakin’ sky right now.

“You owe me,” he ground out. “I saved your life, remember?”

She was already going to come in there before he started pushing, but now she was irritated. “Keeping tabs?”

“Never mind,” the guy gritted out, his face strained. He walked away.

“I was going to just buy you a beer or something,” she called. “Not get run over by a bull for you.”

He turned and looked down the aisle. “You have time. You have to come now though. They have four loaded in the chutes. There’s a break in loading. I’m up next.”

“Buck This Storme,” someone called out.

“I’ll be right there,” the guy yelled, and the anger was back in his eyes.

Holy hell, he was one of the bucking bulls. Buck This Storme? Why did that sound so familiar?

She just stood here with her eyes locked on this stranger. There was pleading in his eyes, and it tugged at her heart. She glanced across the aisle, and there were still no bulls coming.

Fuck it. She sucked down her drink and set the empty on the ground, then climbed the panel. She probably mooned everyone in this dress, and slightly regretted the thong panties she’d worn tonight, but whatever.

She hopped down and scrambled across the alley.

“No humans allowed!” someone yelled from behind her. Torrey threw up a middle finger and climbed the next panel. He was waiting on the other side of this one and grabbed her by the waist the second she was over.

“What do you need?” she asked. “Back massage? Pep talk?”

He was holding her by the wrist and pulled her through an open gate and to a wall in the shadows.

“You’ve got to get in there, and buck real hard, and show them who the fuck you are, and then you—” She gasped as he spun her around and kissed her.

It wasn’t some gentle, sweet kiss. It was violent. It was like kissing a hurricane. She was pinned against the wall, and there was this small voice inside of her head telling her to get the hell out of here, but the bigger voice was saying to stay trapped.

He felt like a tidal wave against her, pinning her down, leaving her breathless.

His hand went to her throat, but it was gentle as he pushed his tongue past her lips.

A little whimper escaped her throat as he gripped her hair in the back and pushed his tongue into her mouth again. Buck This Storme pressed his hips against hers and gripped her right at her waist, holding her in place.

His body jerked, and he pulled away from her, looked behind him and said something, but her mind was in a fog, and she couldn’t understand the words. He shoved something hard, and returned to her, crushed his lips to hers until her mind was swirling.

He cursed into her mouth and was jerked backward.

“Run now,” he gritted out. He jammed his finger at a panel. “Get two over. Do it fast.” His voice was strangled as he pitched forward.

There were two men behind him, yelling something she couldn’t understand.

“Torrey!” he yelled. Oh, he remembered her name! “Run!”

Something about the desperation in his voice got her legs moving. Torrey aimed for the gate he’d pointed to, and she noted the other two guys running for an escape too. Heart in her throat, she climbed the rails as fast as she could.

“Go!” he yelled, but it turned into a terrifying bellow of a bull.

She fell trying to get down the panel and turned just in time to see the enormous chocolate brown and white bull charging the fence toward her.

He was huge, muscular, and terrifying.

She screamed and scrambled for the next set of panels as she heard the echoing clang of the panel behind her being destroyed.

His last name, Storme, was inaccurate. It wasn’t big enough. This guy was a fucking hurricane.

She scrambled up the next panel, terror consuming her body, but when she turned around, the bull was already in the aisle to be loaded into the chutes. The guys were on the fences, holding long sticks with electricity at the ends, yelling to get the animal moving.

She stood there frozen, probably both ass-cheeks out as the bull disappeared into the loading area.

What in God’s creation had just happened?