Ky Hamilton Bull Rider Novels & Stories

Without a word, I turned and exited the bar. I dialed my well-wisher's number and he picked up the phone quickly. "Hello, how are you? I need your help with something," I said in a hushed tone. As soon as I heard his response, I couldn't help but smile. "You have to beat someone, he should end up in a hospital bed," I said with a hint of malice. "He is my brother, Steve Hamilton," I added with a smirk. After finishing the conversation, I ended the call and let out a deep breath.

I nod in the affirmative, and walk slowly to Killer who put his hands around my waist, grounding me in the now. He did the same when we first left Kanla, it is like he senses when I am going to clock out. Killer keeps it from happening. “Get her, where's Bull?” “Climbing down the ladder. See you in three,” Bulls voice can be heard from our ear pieces. Winner goes to Harley and lifts her up and swings her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It should feel good that we got her but I don't feel shit. “Can we ride later.” I lift my head up to Killer as his crunched up face is glaring at Harley's unconscious form.

But she knew that if she let her father in, she could lose focus. Samantha had spent her entire life trying to make her way out from under his shadow. It was hard enough being Kevin Collins’ daughter. But it was even harder to be Kevin and Amanda Collins’ daughter. Kevin Collins was a celebrity in these parts. He had made a name for himself as a Bronc and Bull rider, even winning the World Championship twice before he was crushed by a bull, crushing his pelvis and leg, effectively ending his career. He had spent almost a year learning to walk again, and even now had to use a cane to help him get around.

"We need a bigger yacht. Does Uncle Ian have one? We need to separate the girls from the boys." Karmina giggled and agreed. <><><><> Connor knew well that Bull was making an impulsive decision by killing the people who hurt his girl. He couldn't blame him. He knew Bull’s background, starting from when he wiped out a gang member who had violated his sister. Instead of being sent to jail, he was rescued and trained in the army until he was taken in. However, seeing him in a bloodbath worried Connor. Bull was a professional assassin who could surpass Harvey, but Harvey was simply too smart.

He had come to the small-town rodeo on a whim during a weekend road trip, expecting cheap entertainment and cold beer. He hadn’t expected to be completely captivated by one man. Edgar Briggs. The champion bull rider had dominated the night. Thirty-two years old, tall and powerfully built, with sun-bronzed skin, a strong jaw shadowed by stubble, and a quiet, dangerous confidence that made Felix’s mouth go dry. When Edgar dismounted after an eight-second ride that had the crowd roaring, Felix found himself walking toward the trailer area instead of heading back to his rental car. He told himself he just wanted an autograph.

"And just who is the alpha of Bull Creek now?" Jed sighed. "Someone who we discovered was more a follower than a leader, Neal Porter, a fox. We wanted to start with someone we deemed not a threat to anyone, so we chose a fox rather than a panther or tiger. However, reports have come to our attention that a coyote by the name of Tina Barrett possesses his attention—may even be his mate by now—swaying him against the other paranormals. Why, we don't know, but he listens to her, instead of doing his job of protecting everyone in Bull Creek."

Is Ava worth it? “Our next rider once again is Raymond Steele,” the announcer said over the speakers. “Ray had won first place in bull riding at the Brash Series in 2010, 2016, and 2019. Can he take the blue ribbon and the prize money home again this year? We’re about to see.” Ava rose to her feet to get a better view. Donna stood as well. **** Ray looked up in the seating area to see Ava next to who looked like Donna, Lou’s wife.

Alana gulps before uttering the words that shock each one of them to the core. “His real name is Austin Jones of the Black Onyx Pack.”

I'd been so careful for months, and now everything was ruined in one moment of mechanical failure. Then I heard the sound that made my blood run cold, the deep rumble of multiple motorcycles approaching. Heavy bikes. Harleys, from the sound of them. The crowd parted like the Red Sea as five riders rolled into the circle of light cast by the spectators' headlights. The lead rider dismounted with predatory grace. Even in the dim light, I recognized him. Everyone in Coldwater knew Dax Steele. Six-foot-three of leather-clad muscle, dark hair pulled back in a knot, and eyes that could cut through steel. The Vice President of the Iron Wolves Motorcycle Club.