Page 12 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

HOUSE OF PLAYING CARDS

~RED~

T he dressing room reeked of hairspray and desperation, the usual cocktail that preceded another night of performing for alphas who saw us as menu items rather than people.

"Did you see the news about that omega in California?" Tanya was saying, carefully gluing on false lashes that probably cost more than my weekly food allowance. "Bonded to some tech pack. Four alphas, private jet, beach house in Malibu."

"Lucky bitch," Nicole muttered, adjusting her breasts in a corset that defied physics. "Some omegas get fairy tales. The rest of us get this."

"At least the tips are good this week," Amber added, though her optimism sounded forced. "That Japanese delegation dropped serious cash last night."

I tried to tune them out, focusing on applying my makeup with mechanical precision.

Foundation to cover the exhaustion. Concealer for the shadows under my eyes that seemed permanent now. Highlight to catch the light, to sparkle like the diamond I was supposed to be.

But my mind kept drifting back to the storage closet.

To him.

Forest green eyes that had looked at me like I was something precious rather than profitable. Hands that could probably kill but had held me like spun glass. That voice, rough as gravel but somehow gentle when he'd called me his omega.

His omega.

I shivered, heat pooling low in my belly at the memory.

The way he'd kissed me — God, I'd had no idea kissing could be like that. Consuming. Devastating. Like he was trying to crawl inside my skin and I wanted to let him.

Allow him in and not be so afraid that he’d make my world crumble in a heartbeat…

"Earth to Red," Tanya's voice cut through my thoughts. "You're going to rub your skin off if you keep blending that concealer."

I blinked, realizing I'd been working the same spot for who knows how long.

"Sorry. Just tired."

"Well, wake up," Nicole said, not unkindly. "The Castellano pack is back tonight. You know they always request you."

"Actually," Amber leaned in conspiratorially, "I heard the real entertainment tonight is that pack that never loses. You know, the ones who cleaned out the high-roller room last month?"

"The Moretti pack?" Tanya's eyes widened. "They're impossible. I spent three hours trying to seduce the youngest one, and he looked at me like I was furniture."

"Maybe they're gay," Nicole suggested.

"Or maybe they just have standards," Amber shot back. "Not everyone's desperate enough to fuck anything with a knot."

"Says the girl who gave the Reeves pack leader a handjob under the blackjack table."

"That was strategy! He tipped me five grand!"

"For a handjob? Girl, you're underselling yourself."

They continued bickering, but I'd stopped listening again.

My mind was painting pictures I had no business imagining. What would it be like to be part of a pack that actually wanted me? Not my scent, not my body, not the status of owning a virgin omega, but me?

The girl who liked to box, who hoarded books and was trying to save ever penny in a broken compact. This girl who learned to count cards out of boredom and desperation, all in hopes of surviving a world that was simply unkind to Omegas unless it was to strife in the world that rewarded completion.

He hadn't minded my defiance.

If anything, it had turned him on.

I could still feel his body against mine, all that controlled power barely contained. Six-foot-four of military-trained alpha, and he'd let me slap him. Had smiled about it. Had called me his little cherry and made it sound like a promise rather than diminutive.

What did he look like under those clothes?

My imagination supplied unhelpful details. Probably scarred—he'd said he was a veteran, and those kinds of alphas didn't come back unmarked. But instead of being repulsed, I found myself growing hotter at the thought.

Battle scars meant survival. Meant he'd fought and won. Could mean he could protect me and?—

God, was I really getting turned on by the idea of a scarred alpha?

Maybe it was the suppressants failing. Double doses for three years had to be affecting my hormones in ways Dr. Kepler hadn't warned about. Or it was simpler than that. I was just a twenty-four-year-old virgin whose body was finally waking up to what it had been missing.

I pressed my thighs together, trying to ignore the persistent ache between them.

I'd been wet since the storage closet, arousal soaking through the replacement panties I'd put on. Every time I moved, I could feel it, a constant reminder of how he'd made me feel with just a kiss.

Just a kiss.

And I'd left my panties behind like some kind of ? —

"Jesus Christ!"

The shout made everyone jump.

Madison, one of the newer girls, burst through the dressing room door, face flushed and breathing hard like she'd run here from the casino floor.

"What the hell, Maddie?" Tanya snapped. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"There's been a change," Madison gasped, hands on her knees. "Complete change to tonight's schedule and performance."

That got everyone's attention. Marnay never changed the schedule.

The Crimson Roulette ran on precision, predictability, the comfort of routine that kept the customers coming back.

"Well?" Nicole demanded when Madison just stood there panting. "We don't have all day. Spit it out."

I noticed Briar emerging from the back storage room, where she'd been organizing costumes. She moved quietly, drifting toward my vanity with that casual grace that made you forget she was listening to everything.

"Some high-roller pack from out of town," Madison finally managed. "They're bringing big dollars."

Amber rolled her eyes.

"You ran in here for that? Big dollars could be anything. How many millions are we talking?"

Madison shook her head vigorously.

"No. Not millions. Billions."

The dressing room went silent.

Someone's lipstick clattered to the floor.

"Billions?" Briar's voice cut through the shock, calm and curious. "You're sure?"

Madison nodded, finally catching her breath properly.

"There's a group of alphas who are like, in the high end of richness or some shit. At least that's what's being projected. And they want to play high tides."

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.

High tides. The ultimate game.

Where alphas didn't just gamble money— they gambled for ownership. Winner takes an omega, contract and all. It was legal, technically . The contracts we'd signed gave Marnay the right to transfer our "employment" to approved buyers.

By the end of tonight, one of us would be gone.

And once you’re in their hands…all bets are off.

"Fuck," someone whispered.

"Who?" Tanya's voice was sharp with fear. "Did they request anyone specific?"

"I didn't hear much," Madison admitted. "But Marnay is losing his shit. He's changing the entire theme for tonight."

"To what?" Nicole asked, though I could see her mentally calculating her chances. She was pretty enough, young and could be a spark of wildness than the usual submissive Omega, but her scent was ordinary.

Vanilla and cotton, pleasant but forgettable.

Alpha want more than that.

What she’s discovered since playing these games is they enjoy being able to flaunt their Omega like a grand prize, which meant uniqueness in scent was a lot more powerful than the average Omega would think.

"Red," Madison began, and suddenly every eye in the room turned to me.

I rolled my eyes.

"Guys, it's not centered on me."

Tanya huffed, flicking her perfectly styled hair over her shoulder. "You wish a pack would revolve around you. Billions? Please. You're valuable, but you're not that valuable."

The others laughed, that sharp, mean-girl cackle that was meant to cut. Three years ago, it would have. Now it just sounded like scared girls whistling in the dark.

"Aw," Briar's voice was sugar over arsenic. "Is someone jealous that their vanilla-pudding scent can't compete with actual complexity? Don't worry, sweetie. I'm sure someone with no taste will want you eventually."

Tanya's face went red, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. The others looked scandalized.

"So the theme is just... red?" Another girl asked, trying to defuse the tension.

Madison shook her head.

"Red lace and cherries."

My heart stopped.

Red lace.

Cherries.

It couldn't be...right?

The odds were astronomical. Vegas was a city of three million people. The chances that the alpha from the storage closet would walk into the Crimson Roulette on the same night, with enough money to play high tides...

But he'd smelled like power, and to have authority in this crazed world of high stacks, you had to have money. A quality that didn't need to announce itself. The kind of controlled power that came from knowing you could buy your way out of any problem.

And I'd left him red lace panties.

"Red lace, huh?" Briar's voice was carefully neutral, but I could see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

She looked at me, one eyebrow arched in question.

"What?" I tried for innocent, but my voice came out breathless.

A slow smirk spread across her face.

"I have the perfect outfit for you."

"Briar," I whined. "What do you have up your sleeve?"

She shrugged, the picture of innocence if you ignored the mischief in her eyes.

"Who knows? Could be a magic trick."

I shook my head but couldn't stop the smile. Briar had kept me alive in this place, had taught me to see the angles, and play the long game.

If she had a plan, it was better than no plan.

"I'll get the details," she said, already moving toward the door. "You just look extra hot tonight. And Red? The really red lipstick. The one that looks like you've been eating cherries."

"Fine." I turned back to my vanity, reaching for the special occasion lipstick. "What's the worst that can happen?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with possibility.

Truthfully, what was the worst that could happen?

I could be chosen in high tides, sold to some pack of alphas who'd use me until I broke. I could disappear like Giselle, Diana, and all the others who'd thought they'd found a way out.

Or …

A green-eyed alpha with gentle hands and a possessive streak was about to walk through those doors with enough money to buy my freedom.

I thought about the way he'd held me, like I was precious but not fragile. How he'd smiled when I'd slapped him, like my defiance was a gift rather than an insult. Or dare envision the way he'd said he'd find me, not like a threat but a promise.

A sinful vow for an Omega that has nothing left to lose…

"All I need is your name.”

I'd given him more than that.

I'd given him a clue, a challenge, a reason to come looking.

The question was whether he was smart enough to solve it, brave enough to walk into Marnay's web, and rich enough to buy his way out with me in tow.

I applied the lipstick with steady hands, watching my reflection transform. The deep red made my skin look like porcelain, my eyes darker, more mysterious. I looked like what Marnay sold— temptation wrapped in innocence, danger dressed in lace.

But underneath, I was still just Red.

The girl who'd learned to box from a male omega with navy hair. Who saved tips in a broken compact. Who'd been kissed for the first time in a storage closet and left her panties behind like a calling card.

"Five minutes, ladies!" The floor manager's voice boomed through the dressing room.

Five minutes until we walked onto that floor and found out which one of us would be free by morning.

Freedom being a relative term—traded from one cage to another, but at least it would be a different cage.

Hell, could be lucky to be one with unlocked doors.

I stood, smoothing down the standard crimson dress that would soon be replaced with whatever Briar had planned.

My reflection stared back—professional smile, perfect posture, dead eyes.

Well, mostly dead.

Tonight, there was something else there. A spark of hope I couldn't quite extinguish.

Red lace and cherries. A billions-dollar alpha pack. High tides for an omega.

It was probably a coincidence.

The universe wasn't kind enough to send me a rescue in tactical gear with gentle hands and a daddy complex. This was Vegas, where the house always won and dreams went to die.

What were the chances that my scent-matched alpha would walk through those doors tonight?

In fact, what are the odds that he'd have enough money to play Marnay's games?

The probability that I'd actually get out of this hellhole?

Far from likely.

I dare to feel disappointed, as if I ever should have got my hopes up to begin with, but I decide its the only way to keep going down this endless path of uncertainty where all we’re playing is games.

Only difference is we’re the hanging prizes, waiting to be claimed by the grand winner.