Chapter Two

PRECIOUS LITTLE surprised Thomas “Tank” Martin these days.

He’d worked the tiny shows, the big show. He’d seen good men trampled in the arena, and he’d seen pieces of shit win a million dollars because they were white and the biggie wows didn’t want another brown champion. He’d seen a lot.

But he hadn’t seen Dalton Jakoby kicking ass and taking names like an avenging angel.

His mouth was dry, and he was hard as diamonds, his entire body feeling like he was on fire.

He also felt a little guilty. Dalton was… well, okay, Dalton wasn’t that young anymore. So why did he feel weird?

“Well, Mr. Martin! Look at you. What are you doing, slumming with us lowlifes?” Dalton’s face was hidden behind the brim of his gimme cap.

Dalton’s younger—at least by a couple three seconds—brother’s wasn’t, though. Dustin’s expression was pure shock.

Denver must not have mentioned he was coming home. He couldn’t blame the man. Tank hadn’t been sure which night he’d make it to the show. He grinned slow.

“I’m back to work. That working two hours a night was getting to me.”

“Well, look at you. Good deal. How’s the leg? You get through rehab all right?” So, Dalton had been paying attention. Nice to know.

Dalton had always paid close attention when Tank was around, and it was a balm for the ego back then. Right now it was inspiring. “Better all the time. I got to wear the tape and all in the arena, but it feels all right.”

“Excellent,” the boys spoke together, then smiled as one, and as weird as it was, it felt right too, that they didn’t wish him hurt.

“Looks like y’all had some excitement.”

“Just some random asshole that hadn’t been raised right. No worries.”

“Late to the party as always.” Tank shook his head. “What can I do?”

“Come have a sit, if you want. Your team is over there in the parking lot with Ben.”

“Tony and Greg?” Good deal. Surely Denver had told them….

“Yep. At least in theory. They may be burying Ben in cement.”

“Did he fall on his head again?”

Dalton grinned. “How did you guess?”

“That boy has a magnet in his skull or something.” That was a running joke, and Tank relaxed some, back on solid ground. Dalton had put him right off-kilter.

“We’ll see you back at the circle,” Dustin said, giving Tank a wink.

“You got it.” They were throwing him to the bullfighter wolves.

It would be sad if he wasn’t so ready to take his place back.

The big bull riding shows were lucrative. Great exposure.

Exhausting.

And shit if them bulls weren’t so genetically modified that they were like machines. Demons. Something.

Down in the trenches, the bulls to cowboys ratio was more even, less likely to get someone killed. Not only that, but he was tired of the glitz, the cameras, the constant bullshit.

He loved the people, but he loved the Jakoby Company too.

He’d started with Denver Jakoby back when he was a junior guy, and he’d worked his way up the ranks quick as he could.

“Tank! Well, hey, man!” One of the stock guys came over, glad-handing him.

“Les! Man! How goes it?”

“Good. Good. You’re visiting?”

“Coming back to work.”

Les beamed. “Good deal. You know these bulls.”

“I did, and I’ve been keeping an eye on y’all. I needed to come back for my sanity. This is home.”

“For a lot of us.”

“It’s a good spot.” Dalton and Dustin came back into the light, Dalton catching his attention.

Jesus. Look at that hot little hard body. Look at him move. Dalton was… a blond dream. A man now, instead of a kid.

A stud.

One who had been hot for him more than a few years ago.

He grinned. Knowing his luck, Dalton had a boyfriend now. Christ, Dalton had been fifteen back then, and he wasn’t going fishing in a throwback pond.

Hell, who was he kidding? Dalton had to have fucked a dozen guys by now. The thought shouldn’t bother him, but it kinda did. That wasn’t fair, but hey.

He wandered out to the guys, needing to know whether they were happy to see him or just pissed that their world was fixin’ to change.

“I SEE the way you still look at him.”

“Shut up, Bubba. It don’t matter. It’s just admiring.”

Tank was built like his nickname—square and solid as a rock, muscles from here to there, and eyes so dark they looked like a hawk’s. Fuck, Dalton wanted to get on his knees and worship Tank like some Roman idol.

That would probably be awkward as fuck.

“He’s something. Not my style, but pretty.” Dustin was laughing at him, damn it.

“Boys, get out there and make sure those assholes leave.” Pops was on the phone, to Momma he was sure. He hated being sent on bullshit errands so his folks could talk.

“The bullfighters are out there with Ben.” They could handle watching taillights, for fuck’s sake.

“Uh-huh. The team will have their hands full with Ben alone. Go. Help. Be useful.”

“Now, Pops, you know at least one of us is useful. I can’t be replaced with any fool on a saddle.”

“I will beat you, Bubba,” Dalton said, with no heat. “Seriously.”

Besides, Tank was out there.

Fucking hot Tank Martin, with his broad shoulders and his dark eyes and….

“Unless you’re scared.”

“Fuck off, Bubba.” Time for a noogie.

He grabbed Dustin by the head, digging his knuckles in as his baby brother by three minutes squealed. “Where’s your hat, Bubba?”

“Shut up. It’s in my back pocket. Dork.”

They struggled briefly, but Pops had given them a job to do, so they quit laughing soon enough and trailed out to parking, where they watched to make sure the offender was getting his shit and getting the hell out of Dodge.

Looked good, actually. Only three remaining trucks were firing up, so they would just make sure no one decided to hit a company vehicle on the way out.

“You boys need backup?” Tony and Ben showed with Tank right behind.

Dustin winked at Dalton, and he could hear the soft he can’t remember we’re not fourteen anymore echoing in his head.

Dalton dipped his chin in agreement. No shit on that.

Tank sighed dramatically. “They’re doing that twin thing, Ben. Make them stop.”

“Ain’t nobody got that power. They used to be the same egg.”

Ben got it.

Tank probably did too, but he did love to tease.

“Looks like they’re clearing out,” Dustin murmured. “Come on, guys. I’m starving.”

“Are you the one that’s scared now?” he teased.

“I’ll hang out with Dalton.” Tank waggled his eyebrows. “Still spoiling for a fight.”

Dustin’s grin went wide. “Cool. We’re making burgers.”

“I’m in.” Tank waved off Dustin.

They stood there and watched, but Dalton’s focus was on the hard body beside him. Christ, he’d been watching the fine son of a bitch for ten years. He even liked the way Tank smelled—sweat and musk and maybe a little dirt. He was a rodeo man, after all.

He’d been a kid when he’d gone to the bullfighter, burning with hormones and stolen beer, wanting a kiss, a touch. Anything. He’d been stupid in love, the man his hero, the center of his world.

Tank had turned him down so gently. Sweet as cherry pie about it. Dalton had never been so humiliated.

The looks from the others had been bad enough, but when Uncle Roy had come to him? Told him to leave the bullfighters alone? That meant everyone knew.

His cheeks heated even now, just thinking about it.

“You okay?” Tank asked.

“Yep. Just waiting to make sure they all go.”

“They’re stupid, but the ass kicking looks to have worked.”

“Once they realize they’re outnumbered by decent folk, they usually hit the road.” He watched the trucks burn out of the lot. Reckless bastards.

“Yep. You did good, Dalton.”

The praise made him blush, and he was grateful for the darkness. “Just doing my job.”

“Sure, but you have a talent for it.” Tank touched his arm, making all kinds of things tingle.

“Kicking ass? Thanks, I think.” Fuck-a-doodle-doo. “I smell the burgers.”

“Me too. Come on, buddy. I’m starving.”

Buddy. That was an improvement over kiddo. He guessed he’d take it. Hell, what choice did he have? He’d grown up, moved on.

“Let me go check that we’re all set for the night with Dustin, and I’ll be right there.”