The arena went dead silent.
Sixteen hundred pounds of black muscle and fury. That’s what Midnight was. A stallion so aggressive, three experienced handlers had already quit this season. One left with a broken collarbone. Another with a shattered wrist.
Nobody touched Midnight. Nobody.
The ranch had him triple-tied to the post with industrial rope, and even that didn’t feel like enough. You could see the whites of his eyes from fifty feet away. His hooves carved trenches in the dirt every time someone walked too close.
So when Terrence wheeled his chair right up to the edge of the fence, every parent in the bleachers started yelling.
“Get that kid back!”
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