Page 13 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

PLAYING AGAINST ALL ODDS

~RED~

T he chaos behind the curtain was controlled pandemonium, the kind that only happened when Marnay's carefully orchestrated world tilted off its axis.

Girls rushed past in various states of undress, costume changes happening at breakneck speed as the entire evening's program had been scrapped and rebuilt.

The theme change to "red lace and cherries" had sent the wardrobe mistress into near hysteria, pulling every crimson piece from storage, every cherry-themed accessory that had been collecting dust.

"They're from where?" Amber hissed to Nicole as they waited in the wings.

"Someplace called Jackknife Ridge. Never heard of it."

"It's off-grid," Tanya supplied, adjusting her cherry-red corset for the tenth time. "Like, literally not on most maps. The fact even google maps can’t take you there is some real isolated shit. No service or way of tracking. Some tiny town in the middle of fucking nowhere."

Which explained the billions appearing out of thin air.

Old money, hidden money, the kind that didn't need to announce itself until it wanted something specific.

And that “specific” something is clearly among us for them to be here tonight.

"The Morettis look pissed," someone whispered. "They've been the high-rollers here for three years, and suddenly they're second tier."

"The Castellanos are worse. Tommy's been drinking straight bourbon since the new pack walked in."

New pack. Unknown players.

The kind of variables that made Marnay sweat through his expensive suits.

I stood in the shadows, trying to breathe through the contraption Briar had somehow procured in the span of two hours.

The base was deceptively simple—a bodice of cherry-red lace so fine it looked like it had been spun from spider silk and sin.

But the construction was architectural, each piece of lace strategically placed to reveal and conceal in equal measure.

The bodice started just below my breasts, leaving them lifted and displayed by an underwire structure that defied physics.

The lace created the illusion of coverage while actually showing everything—shadows and curves visible through the delicate pattern of roses and thorns.

My nipples, barely concealed by strategically placed embroidered cherries, were clearly visible through the sheer material.

The bottom was worse. Or better, depending on your perspective.

High-cut French lace that sat low on my hips, the waistband a mere suggestion of fabric.

The back was essentially nonexistent—a single strand of pearls running down between my cheeks, connecting to a small triangle of lace that barely covered what needed covering.

The front wasn't much better, the lace so sheer that the carefully groomed strip of hair beneath was visible in the right light.

Garter straps ran down my thighs, connecting to sheer stockings that had a subtle shimmer, like they'd been dusted with diamond powder.

The stockings themselves were works of art—black at the top, gradually lightening to cherry red at my ankles, with tiny embroidered cherries climbing up the backs like they were growing from my heels.

The heels themselves were six-inch platforms, cherry-red patent leather with actual Swarovski crystals embedded in the heels.

They caught the light with every step, throwing red sparkles across the floor like drops of blood.

But it was the details that sold the entire ensemble.

Briar had covered my skin in shimmer oil that smelled faintly of cherries and made me glow like I'd been dipped in candlelight.

Every curve caught the light, every movement created new shadows and highlights.

She'd even dusted the shimmer across my collarbones, down the valley between my breasts, along the curve of my hips.

My hair had been styled into Hollywood waves, but with a twist—tiny red crystals had been woven through, catching the light like hidden fire. It was pulled to one side, leaving my neck exposed, the vulnerability of it somehow more provocative than full nudity.

The makeup was a masterpiece of contradiction.

Innocent and debauched simultaneously. Smoky eyes with hints of burgundy, lashes so long they cast shadows on my cheeks.

Cheekbones highlighted to razor sharpness, making me look both younger and more dangerous.

And my lips— God, my lips were a work of art for something so fragile as a wrong wipe or a sloppy kiss.

Briar had outlined them to look fuller, then painted them in layers of red that went from deep burgundy at the edges to bright cherry in the center.

Glossed to high shine, they looked perpetually just-bitten, kissed, or used for one’s sinful swollen pleasure.

The mask was the final touch.

Red lace that matched the outfit, covering from my forehead to just above my lips. It should have provided anonymity, but instead it just drew attention to my eyes—the garnet brown enhanced by contacts that made the gold flecks look like they were on fire.

"You look like sin incarnate," Briar had said with satisfaction.

What she hadn't mentioned was how I'd feel standing here, waiting to perform, knowing that somewhere in that audience was a pack with enough money to buy my entire existence.

To get me out of this glittering cage of crimson gold.

Through the curtain, I could hear the crowd. Different from our usual clientele.

The regular alphas were loud, brash, their arousal and entitlement filling the space like toxic smoke. This new pack was quiet, their presence felt more than heard.

Like predators who didn't need to announce themselves.

Tanya was up next, strutting over to where I stood with a confidence that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"About to win myself a new pack," she said, loud enough for the other girls to hear. "Getting out of this hellhole. You should take notes, Red. Learn what real alphas want."

I didn't respond. Didn't need to. We both knew her vanilla-pudding scent and predictable moves weren't what would catch the attention of alphas who'd walked in here with billions.

Her name was called, and she plastered on that showgirl smile— all teeth and no soul —before sauntering onto the stage.

I moved closer to the curtain, peering through the gap to watch.

The stage had been transformed for the cherry theme.

Red lights bathed everything in a bloody glow, and someone had scattered actual cherry petals across the floor.

The pole in the center gleamed like a candy cane, and I could see the shadow of the backup poles waiting in the wings for the group performances.

Tanya moved through her routine with technical precision. Hip swivel, hair toss, the slow descent down the pole that was supposed to mimic other activities. She arched her back, ran her hands over her body, licked her lips in that practiced way that said 'imagine what else this mouth can do.'

It was perfect. Technically flawless.

And utterly boring.

I could see it in the audience's body language.

The regular packs were watching with mild interest, a few dollars thrown on stage more out of habit than enthusiasm.

But the new pack— I could just make out their silhouettes in the VIP section —didn't move.

Not a single shift. Didn't even seem to be breathing.

Tanya spun faster, bent deeper, practically humped the pole in desperation.

But it was like watching someone scream into the void.

The sexuality was so performative, so obviously rehearsed, that it had all the erotic appeal of a medical diagram.

By the time her song ended, the stage had maybe fifty dollars scattered across it.

For a Saturday night with high-rollers in attendance, it was pathetic.

She came off stage with her head high but her hands shaking. The other girls avoided eye contact, each lost in their own pre-performance anxiety.

Madison went next, then Amber, then three girls whose names I'd never bothered to learn. Each one tried something different—props, costumes, special moves they'd been saving. None of it mattered.

The new pack remained unmoved, stone sentinels in their VIP booth while Marnay probably sweated bullets in his office.

Finally, the speakers crackled to life, and Briar's voice filled the space.

But it wasn't her usual announcement tone.

This was lower, more intimate, like she was sharing a secret with each person individually.

"Gentlemen, what you're about to witness isn't just another performance. It's not another body going through the motions you've seen a thousand times before."

A pause.

I could feel the audience lean forward.

"Tonight, you'll see something rarer than virgin diamonds, more valuable than untouched gold. An omega who hasn't been broken by this world. Who hasn't learned to fake pleasure for your dollars. Or more importantly, hasn't been taught that submission means surrender."

My hands clenched into fists at my sides.

What in the heavens was Briar doing?

"She's defiant yet feminine. Bold yet beautiful. An omega who isn't afraid of showing you exactly what she's capable of, even if it's not what you expect. No… especially if it's not what you expect."

The lights dimmed to almost nothing.

"Gentlemen, I present to you the crown jewel of the Crimson Roulette. The only omega in Vegas who's never been touched, claimed, or conquered. Introducing….Red."

The spotlight readied for my entrance and I stepped onto the stage.

The first thing I saw wasn't the audience. It was what Briar had prepared for my performance.

This cunning bitch…

The way my heart swelled like a child waking up to a sea of presents on Christmas morning.

Only this was far more grand with a audience begging for uniqueness in this sea of bland sexiness.