Page 11 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

LUCKY HAND

~SHILOH~

T he alpha's head made a satisfying crack against the concrete wall, leaving a smear of blood that would be a bitch for maintenance to clean. Not my problem.

He slid down like a marionette with cut strings, joining his two packmates in various states of consciousness on the gym floor.

The leader—if you could call someone who pissed himself at the first real threat a leader—was the only one still fully awake, hands up in the universal gesture of 'please don't kill me. '

I cracked my neck, the vertebrae popping in sequence like dominoes falling. It was a habit from the sandbox—Afghanistan, not the playground kind, though both had their share of bullies who needed educational beatings.

"Please," the leader whimpered, scrambling backward until his back hit the wall. The puddle of piss spread beneath him, and the acrid smell made my nose wrinkle. "Please, I can give you anything."

I took a step forward, letting my full height and build fill his vision.

Special forces had taught me that intimidation was fifty percent size, fifty percent intent.

Right now, my intent was radiating off me like heat from desert sand.

"What could you possibly have," I said, voice low and controlled, "that would be worthy of my mercy?"

His hands shook as he fumbled in his pocket.

For a second, I tensed, ready for a weapon.

But what he pulled out was worse— a gambling chip.

Not just any chip.

This one screamed exclusive, the kind of gaudy that only Vegas could make look expensive. Red shimmer caught the light, pink hearts floated in the resin like they were suspended in blood, and the whole thing probably cost more to make than most people's monthly rent.

"Here!" He thrust it at me like a talisman against evil. "This is a special playing chip. For that exclusive enterprise—uh, the Crimson Roulette or whatever!"

The Crimson Roulette.

I'd heard whispers about it. The kind of place where money wasn't enough to get you in, where connections mattered more than cash, where the house always won because they were playing different games than the ones on the tables.

"They have a two-year wait list and shit," he continued, words tumbling over each other in his desperation to live. "Only the wealthy can get in. I got it by chance—no, no, I stole it! But you can have it. It really is one of a kind, I'm not lying."

I frowned, though internally, my interest was piqued.

We hadn't come to Vegas for the gambling, but Rafe had been wound tighter than piano wire lately. Maybe a night at an exclusive casino would help him unwind, remember what it felt like to win instead of just survive.

I crouched down in front of the alpha, a predator's squat that made him press harder against the wall. His eyes went wide as dinner plates, and the smell of piss intensified.

"Fine," I said, plucking the chip from his trembling fingers. "I'll let you off the hook."

"Thank you, thank you—" He pressed his forehead to the floor, right into his own puddle, then scrambled to his feet and ran. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, getting fainter until they disappeared entirely.

I stood slowly, examining the chip in better light.

'Crimson Roulette' was embossed in fancy script, the red shimmer catching light like fresh blood. The pink hearts floating inside looked almost alive, pulsing with each turn of the chip.

I flipped it over.

"I'm so lucky" was inscribed on the back in the same elaborate font.

Lucky.

My mind immediately went to the omega in the closet. Her scent still clung to my clothes, to my skin, like she'd marked me without trying. Cherry and spice, honey and smoke, and that underlying sweetness that came from?—

A virgin.

In Vegas.

At twenty-four.

The statistical improbability of it made my tactical brain itch. This city ate innocence for breakfast and shat out broken dreams by lunch. Yet somehow, this omega had survived with her virginity intact.

Either she was incredibly lucky, protected, or incredibly strong.

With your perky attitude, she could be all three.

I pocketed the chip and headed back down the hallway, keeping to the shadows out of habit more than necessity.

The gym was nearly empty now—the alphas I'd dealt with had been the last of the early morning rush crowd, and gym junkies wouldn't start rolling in for their self reflection weight training bullshit for another hour.

The closer I got to the storage closet, the more my pace quickened. Not quite running— I didn't run unless someone was shooting at me —but what Talon called my 'murder walk.'

Fast, purposeful, designed to cover ground while maintaining tactical awareness.

Her scent hit me before I reached the door. Faint now, fading like morning mist, but still potent enough to make my cock twitch with interest.

She wouldn't be there.

I knew it before I opened the door. An omega that fierce and defiant, wouldn't wait for a stranger who'd given her orders. Especially not after I'd taken her first kiss like a conquering army taking territory.

But knowing and accepting were different things.

I opened the door to emptiness and her lingering scent.

"Fuck," I muttered, stepping inside and closing the door behind me.

The rational part of my brain—the part that had kept me alive through seventeen deployments—said to let it go.

One chance encounter, one kiss, one moment of insanity in a storage closet. It didn't mean anything. Couldn't mean anything in this fucked up world where people came and went.

Except…

I could still taste her on my lips. Still feel the way she'd molded against me, soft curves fitting into all my hard angles like she'd been designed for it. Hear that little moan she'd made when I'd deepened the kiss, inexperienced but eager, innocent but not ignorant.

Should I tell the pack?

The thought stopped me cold.

Rafe would shut down immediately—any mention of omegas still sent him spiraling.

Talon would want to hunt, and not in a good way.

His history with omegas was almost as traumatic as Rafe's, just manifested differently.

And Corwin would analyze it to death, turn it into a case file to be solved rather than a person to be cherished.

But if she was my scent match— our scent match, because these things didn't happen to just one member of a pack —then they had a right to know.

I was about to leave, to close the door on this moment of temporary insanity, when something caught my eye.

A splash of color against the industrial gray shelving.

I moved closer, special forces training making me check corners and shadows even in an empty storage closet. On the shelf, weighed down by a dead pen, was a sticky note.

And underneath it...

"Bold," I murmured, a slow smile spreading across my face. "Bold as fuck for a virgin omega."

I picked up the folded fabric, the material silk-soft between my fingers.

Cherry red lace, delicate as spider web, probably cost more than most people spent on entire outfits. The kind of underwear that was meant to be seen, to be appreciated, to be slowly removed by someone who knew what they were doing.

Or left behind as the world's most provocative calling card.

The sticky note read "My name is..." with the ink dead mid-sentence. But the message was clear in what she'd left.

I couldn't help myself.

I lifted the lace to my nose and inhaled deeply.

Her scent exploded through my senses like a flash bang—bright, overwhelming, disorienting. But there was more. The fabric was damp with slick, her arousal soaked into the delicate material like perfume into silk.

"Fuck," I growled, my cock going from interested to granite in seconds.

She'd been wet. For me. Because of my prescence.

This innocent, virgin omega had soaked her panties from our kiss, then had the audacity to leave them behind like a challenge.

I inhaled again, longer this time, letting her scent fill my lungs.

Cherry and honey, smoke and spice, but underneath—fuck, underneath was pure omega arousal.

Sweet and rich, like nothing I'd ever scented before.

Virgin arousal had a particular quality, untainted by other alphas' scents, pure in a way that made my alpha brain go into overdrive.

Mine. Hunt. Claim. Protect.

The thoughts came in rapid succession, military training warring with alpha instinct. I needed to find her. Desperate to taste her again, properly this time. To show her what that scent did to me, what she did to me.

But first, I needed to think tactically.

This omega— my omega —had left me a clue.

The red panties, the unfinished note, the color itself...

"Red," I whispered, the name clicking into place like a round chambering. "Your name is Red."

It fit.

That auburn hair that caught light like fire.

The cherry notes in her scent.

The way she'd blushed crimson when I'd called her 'little cherry.'

Red.

I folded the panties carefully, reverently, like handling critical intel. Which, in a way, they were. These were going in my pocket, and they were staying there. The pack didn't need to know. Not yet.

Because if I told them, showed them what she'd left, they'd want to hunt.

And while part of me— the predator part that had been honed in countless firefights —wanted that too, another part knew she wasn't ready.

She was virgin.

Untouched. Unclaimed.

In Vegas.

Which meant she was either hiding or hidden.

Protected or imprisoned. And given what I knew about this city's underbelly, the latter was more likely than the former.

I pulled out the casino chip again, looking at it with new eyes.

The Crimson Roulette. Exclusive. Private.

The kind of place that might keep beautiful omegas as... what? Decorations? Entertainment?

The thought made my hands clench into fists.

If someone was keeping her against her will…dare had caged my omega?—

No.

I forced myself to calm, to think strategically. I didn't have enough intel. Had no clue about her situation, story, or why she was here or even how she'd stayed untouched in a city that devoured innocence.

But I could find out.

Vegas was a city built on information. Everything was for sale if you knew the right people, asked the right questions, applied the right pressure.

And after seventeen years of applying pressure in places where the Geneva Convention was more suggestion than law, I knew exactly how to get what I wanted.

I pulled out my phone, scrolling through contacts until I found the one I needed.

Melro "Mercury" Chen—information broker, former CIA, current pain in the ass who owed me three favors from Kabul.

"I need intel on the Crimson Roulette," I said when he answered. "Everything. Ownership, employees, especially any omegas on staff."

"That's gonna cost you," Mercury said, but I could hear the keyboard clicking. He was already searching. "That place is locked down tighter than Fort Knox. Very exclusive clientele, very particular services."

"Define particular."

"The kind that skirt the law but never quite break it. At least not provably."

My jaw clenched.

"Trafficking?"

"Not technically. Everything's legal on paper. Employment contracts, work visas where applicable, all filed properly with the gaming commission."

"But?"

"But once you sign those papers, you might as well be signing your life away. Iron-clad contracts, impossible buyout clauses, and a very specific clientele who pay premium for...experiences."

"Omegas?"

"Among other things." More keyboard clicking. "You looking for someone specific?"

I thought about Red's scent, her defiance, the way she'd kissed me back like she was drowning and I was air.

"Maybe. Red hair, about five-five, omega, early twenties."

"That narrows it down to about a dozen. The Crimson Roulette has a very specific aesthetic. Lots of red, lots of omegas, lots of things that stay in Vegas."

"Send me everything you've got."

"This'll burn one of those favors."

"Fine."

"Give me six hours. And Shiloh? Be careful. The Crimson Roulette isn't just connected. It IS the connection. You go after them, you're going after half the power structure in Nevada."

"Wouldn't be the first time I've gone after power structures."

Mercury laughed, dark and knowing.

"No, but it might be the first time you've done it for an omega instead of orders."

I hung up without responding.

He wasn't wrong, but he wasn't entirely right either.

This wasn't just about an omega. This was about MY omega.

The one whose scent was currently burning through my pocket like radioactive material.

A woman who'd kissed me with virgin enthusiasm and slapped me with warrior strength.

An omega who'd left her panties behind like a declaration of war.

I flicked the casino chip, watching it spin in the air before catching it.

The "I'm so lucky" side faced up, mocking me with its optimism.

Lucky…we'd see about that.

I had six hours to wait for intel. Enough time to decide how much to tell my pack.

Six hours to plan an infiltration of what was apparently Vegas's most exclusive prison.

But first, I had something more important to do.

I lifted the red lace to my nose one more time, inhaling deeply, letting her scent brand itself into my memory. Cherry and smoke, honey and rebellion, virgin and warrior all wrapped up in a scent that made my alpha brain go haywire.

"Red," I said to the empty storage closet, making it a promise.

A vow.

A threat to anyone who thought they owned her.

"Daddy will find you... so you better be waiting for me."