I woke up Friday morning with a singular, driving purpose. Tonight was the jackpot I'd entered weeks ago—the one Axel had spent the last forty-eight hours telling everyone I wasn't allowed to touch. He thought he could sideline me, but he'd forgotten one thing: I was raised on this dirt just like him, and I had a few tricks he hadn't seen since we were kids.
I snuck downstairs in the pre-dawn quiet, my boots hushed on the porch. I prepped Twist and two of our other best athletes, backing Grandpa's dually up to the gooseneck trailer with practiced ease. I loaded the horses, a change of clothes, extra tack, and my hidden gear—my riding chaps and a protective vest.
As I pulled out, I saw Axel and his buddies standing on the porch, squinting through the dust, wondering who was taking the big rig. I didn't stop to explain. I had a thirty-minute drive and a point to prove.
The atmosphere at the arena was electric. I signed in, pinned my numbers, and prepped the horses. Tie-down roping was up first. I felt the eyes on me as I backed Twist into the box. I spotted Blake and Michael—my best friend and his brother—watching from the rail. Then, my skin prickled. Axel was there, surrounded by his crew and the twins, his face a mask of mounting fury.
I took a deep breath, swung my loop once, and called for the calf.
Twist exploded. I caught the head perfectly, hit the dirt, and flipped the calf with surgical precision. By the time I walked back to my horse, the clock confirmed what the crowd already knew: I was the time to beat. I swept through breakaway and team-roped with Blake, the rhythm of the work drowning out the tension.
"Nice work, girl," Blake said as we walked back to the trailers. "But get ready. Rough stock is next. I know you've got it in the bag."
I nodded, my stomach doing a slow roll. I traded my western hat for a helmet and pulled on the vest and chaps. I hid behind the bleachers, using Michael as a human shield to stay out of Axel's line of sight until the very last second.
"Knowing him, he'll kill you for this," Michael muttered, glancing toward the stands.
"Don't care," I said, shoving my mouthpiece in. "This was my sport before it was his."
The speakers suddenly blared the opening growl of Bad to the Bone.
"Give it up for Cam Sequoia!" the announcer's voice boomed.
I saw Axel jump to his feet, but it was too late. I was already over the rails and into the chute. I lowered myself onto the bull's back, feeling the raw, vibrating power of the animal beneath me. Blake and Michael hovered over the gate, pulling my rope tight, their faces grim. They knew the risk. I nodded.
The gate flung open.
The world turned into a blur of spinning muscle and flying dirt. I stayed centered, my arm rhythmically counter-acting the bull's heaves. I didn't just survive the eight seconds; I dominated them. When the buzzer sounded, I pulled off a dismount that had the crowd roaring, landing clean and vaulting over the arena fence.
"How about that, boys?" I smirked as I walked past the chutes. "Cam is definitely the one to beat."
The victory lasted until I reached the truck. I was unbuckling my chaps when a hand gripped my shirt and slammed me back against the side of the trailer.
"What was that?" Axel spat, his face inches from mine, red with embarrassment and rage.
"Something you'd never do," I countered, my voice cold.
He shoved me back again, the metal of the truck groaning. "Don't play dumb. You thought you could show me up in front of my buddies? I don't think so."
"I entered this weeks ago, Axel. Grandpa knew. Grandma knew. You're just ticked because you realized this was always my sport, not yours. Just wait until the day you're laid up and can't fend for yourself—don't look at me to help you."
"Don't you dare turn your back on me," he barked as I started to walk away.
I spun around, walking backward with a mocking tilt of my head. "I already did. You turned your back on me years ago. Now it's my turn."
I left him fuming in the dust. When the awards were announced, it was a clean sweep: Tie-down, Team Roping, Breakaway, and Bull Riding. I walked away with the buckles and the cash.
"I'd say celebrate," Blake whispered as he helped me load the horses, "but Axel is looking like he wants to set something on fire."
"Let him," I said, glancing at the twins. They were standing by Axel, but they weren't joining in on his rant. They were just watching me, their expressions unreadable. "He's just realized he isn't the only Sequoia who can ride a rank bull. It's a hard pill to swallow."