My Fiancee's Vengeance

The roar of the Cheyenne crowd was familiar thunder, but on my 100th matchup against Wesley Johns, it felt heavy.

I' d beaten him ninety-nine times straight.

Just before I entered the chute, my fiancée Bree held my arm, pleading, "Caleb, please... let him have it."

I refused, swinging onto the bull, ready for another easy win.

My rope snapped.

I hit the dirt, my ankle exploding with pain, hearing a crack louder than the crowd.

Wesley won.

From the ground, I watched Bree run not to me, but straight to him, embracing him victoriously.