Ryder’s pulse hammered in his chest, a relentless drum that threatened to shake him from the inside out. The air smelled of dust, sweat, and raw leather, thick and heavy under the hot arena lights. He looked down at the chute, at the coiled, furious muscle of Leon’s Twister. The bull’s hide rippled under its taut, thrashing form, veins standing out like cords of steel. Its hooves dug into the dirt, tiny clouds rising with every impatient shift, and Ryder could feel the vibration in the ...