When Simon and the other boys walked into the bar, everyone tipped their hats in greeting, the barman already making their usual drinks behind the counter. Johnny chuckled when they saw the way some kids were picked up by their collars and forcefully moved away from their table.

When they had all sat at the table, their drinks were promptly served in front of them. That was the treatment you received when you owned the most land, respected by - mostly - everyone who wasn’t dumb enough to cross Simon Riley, John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick and John Price.

John had licked the beer foam off his moustache, his blue eyes locked onto the door of the bar- and you. He’d tipped his hat in your directions, and you’d immediately felt his eyes burn through you when Simon turned around. You and your father had recently moved in, the four men surely had heard about a newcomer, but hadn’t expected it to be such a sight for sore eyes.

You tried to put on your confident mask and began to explore your surroundings, your eyes falling on the large rink on the far end of the bar, and the mechanical bull standing right in the middle of it. A chart hung on the wall above it, saying that whoever could ride the longest, would get free drinks. The name Simon Riley occupied the first place.

“Lookin’ to get yourself hurt, kiddo?” A booming voice rose from behind you, those same brown eyes now narrowed in on you from across the bar. “That bull is feisty, I surely do know a thing or two ‘bout that.” He added, laughter from the other patrons following his words, his blue eyed friend palyfully nudging his shoulder. So that was Simon. Too bad he didn’t know you were your father’s child, and were about to show everyone “a thing or two”.

“I want you to pay for the whole bar if I can beat you.” You challenged confidently, before putting your leg over the railing of the rink, and taking a seat on top of the mechanical bull, hand secured around the handle. You were ready to make his wallet cry.

“Give us your worst, kid.” He challenged right back.