Page 18 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

To his right, ice-gray eyes track my movement with calculating precision.

This one is leaner, built like a blade rather than a battering ram.

Dark hair falls across his forehead, and there's something in his expression that reminds me of Marnay— not cruelty, but the ability to be cruel if necessary.

His suit probably costs more than most cars, tailored to showcase a body that's all controlled power.

On forest green's left, amber eyes burn with barely contained energy.

This alpha vibrates with intensity, like he's physically restraining himself from moving.

Tattoos peek from beneath his rolled-up sleeves, and his smile is all teeth and promise.

Dangerous in a different way than the others—not cold calculation or controlled power, but raw, unleashed potential.

Behind them, standing like he's guarding their backs even here, hazel eyes catalog every detail of my appearance. He's massive—not just tall but broad, built like he could bench press a small car. His expression is carefully neutral, but there's a softness around his eyes that the others lack.

The Lucky Ace Pack.

"Gentlemen," Marnay's voice breaks the spell. He's here too, hovering near the bar like he's afraid to get too close. "May I present Red, as requested."

"Leave us." Ice-gray doesn't look away from me as he speaks, but the command in his voice is absolute.

"Of course, but the paperwork?—"

"Will be handled by our lawyer." Hazel eyes speaks this time, producing a card from his jacket. "Send the contracts to this address. The funds have already been transferred."

Marnay takes the card with shaking hands.

For three years, I've watched him rule this place like a king.

Now he looks small, diminished, just another beta in a room full of apex predators.

"Of course. Yes. I'll just—" He backs toward the door, nearly tripping over his own feet. "Enjoy your purchase."

Purchase…

That’s all my value was worth.

The years of torment. The nights I breathed every second hopes of seeing the morning after a night of survival. When it was all said and done…this was nothing but a game to the man who enjoyed using as his ugly duckling.

A prize to be claimed when I became the swan everyone yearned to admire…

The door closes with a soft click.

Silence.

They watch me, and I watch them, and the air grows heavier with each passing second.

I should be terrified. Hell, I might as well call this whole confrontation quits by planning escape routes, calculating odds, and preparing for whatever could be in store for me by running away from these men whom literally “bought” me.

Instead, I'm wet enough that I can feel it on my thighs, and all I can think about is the taste of forest green's mouth.

How am I going to run away craving this toxic addiction of masculinity with glimmering eyes that project the heart of nature…

"Hello, little cherry." His voice is exactly as I remember—gravel, smoke, and dark promises. "Nice panties you left me."

Heat floods my face, my chest, pools low in my belly.

My smart Alpha…God…claiming them already and don’t even know his name…

"You figured it out," I sound completely breathless as I stand in blissful stillness.

"Wasn't hard." He reaches into his pocket, pulling out red lace that makes my breath catch. My panties. He's been carrying them around like a won token of appreciation. "Red lace. Cherries. A virgin omega who smells like everything I never knew I needed."

I can tell the news has the other’s Alpha’s attention — their eyes gravitating to forest eyes. Clearly that’s a small tidbit he must have left out until this very moment.

Taunting.

"Shiloh." Ice-gray's voice carries a warning, but forest green— Shiloh —waves him off.

"She should know our names if she's going to be ours.

" He stands slowly, unfolding from the chair with predatory grace as he approaches. I watch every step, fighting to keep completely still despite how my body quakes in need for him. His prescence steals my breath, the approach and tease of closeness only making my body sing. It takes everything to stand my ground because I didn’t want to seem weak in this first encounter.

This introduction was going to make or break us.

"Hey,” he whispers that greeting like he truly wants it to be just between us, giving off this impression that he’s stunned to believe he’s before me.

That he truly found…and won me. “I'm Shiloh.

That's Rafe." He indicates ice-gray. "Talon.

" Amber eyes grins wider. "And Corwin." Hazel eyes nods slightly.

"Red," I manage, though they obviously already know that.

"Is that your real name?" Rafe asks, studying me like I'm a puzzle to be solved.

I think about lying, about maintaining the fiction, but something in their eyes stops me.

These aren't men who deal in facades.

"Rowenna. Rowenna Vale. But everyone calls me Red."

"Rowenna." Shiloh tastes my name like expensive whiskey. "I like it."

He moves closer, and I have to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact. This close, his scent washes over me—cherries and bourbon, leather and smoke, everything that made me lose my mind in that closet.

"You know what you did tonight?" he asks, voice low enough that I have to strain to hear. "You declared war. Made every alpha in that casino want what's ours."

Ours. Plural. possessive.

"I didn't mean?—"

"Yes, you did." His hand comes up, fingers ghosting over my cheek without quite touching. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Coming for me, marking me, walking away like a queen among peasants."

"You started it," I breathe, caught between defiance and desire. "You kissed me first."

"And I'll kiss you last," he promises. "And every time in between."

"Bold words for someone who just met me."

His smile is slow, dangerous.

The moment our eyes lock, a live wire of heat crackles between us. I presses my teeth into my lower lip, fighting the fierce pull to fuse to him—to cling like sap, to taste him as if each breath depended on it, to escape these fractured glass walls and plunge together into whatever world awaits.

Inside, my nerves erupt into a riot of butterflies, wings brushing against my ribs. His scent swirls around me and for an instant, I savors every molecule of the air—until his next words drift in like distant thunder, garbled and thin despite the close space.

My bottom lip pouts, and he arches a brow, curiosity igniting in his gaze.

I try to speak, but my thoughts slog through molasses.

What…?

The others’ anxious faces hover at the edge of my vision, their murmurs flickering in and out of focus as if time itself has thickened.

The vial…fuck…fuck, fuck, fuck…

The small glass vial—its crimson liquid flecked with sediment. I lifts my hand up, each millimeter costing precious seconds. Across the table, the three Alphas turn to question Shiloh, perhaps blaming some glitch in their newly claimed swan, but Shiloh’s eyes never waver.

Emerald fire, unrelenting, searching her soul for truth.

Fumbling, she pinches her thumb and forefinger to the vial’s size and tips her hand back. A tremor shatters her fingers; her mind slows to a crawl, her body weighted by invisible chains. Seconds tick like hours.

He leans forward, voice a heard-but-unheard murmur.

“Drugged?”

Bingo.

My veteran alpha pieces it together like a jigsaw puzzle begging to be completed.

Guilt coils the pit of my stomach as black stars bloom across my vision. I’d never envision what an Alpha would look like when the solid wall of emotionlessness comes undone, and yet I watch it in slow motion; that steely calm in Shiloh’s forest-green eyes shatter into raw terror.

He jerks forward, movement swift and desperate—an instinct to rescue burning in him.

That flash of vulnerability, that fierce urge to save her—it sears her craving.

Oddly enough, it’s all the strength she needs to let go, knowing that somehow she’d fall into the arms of a man she’s just met, and yet seemed to navigated this crazy unpredictable world to find her.

Could he save her from this impending doom was the real question she didn’t have time to wonder upon…

My eyes roll back; her limbs fold like spent paper and how the darkness unfurls at the edges of my sight.

All I can do is surrender to its inviting bliss.

In a world this brutal, sometimes winning means embracing the cost of losing…