Page 20 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

These emotions are just biological in nature. I don’t give a damn if she succumbs to the concoction this fucker mastered to fool us.

We move like the unit we used to be. Corwin takes point, checking corners and clearing our path. Talon covers our six, ready for any surprise Marnay might have planned. Shiloh carries our cargo, and I'm left to process what we've just done.

The private elevator is still accessible—Marnay's arrogance working in our favor. He probably assumed we'd be too distracted by our dying omega to leave quickly. The ride down feels eternal, Red's labored breathing the only sound besides the mechanical hum.

"Is she—" Shiloh starts.

"Pulse is stronger," Corwin reports, checking again. "The medication's working, but she needs proper medical attention."

"We've got the van," Talon says, already on his phone. "Duke's in the alley, engine running."

Duke. Our driver, one of the few people we trust absolutely. Former Marine, steady hands, and most importantly, he doesn't ask questions.

The casino floor passes in a blur. A few security guards start to approach, but something in our formation— or just the unconscious omega in Shiloh's arms —makes them reconsider. We're out the side door before anyone can form a proper response.

The van's waiting exactly where it should be, black and anonymous in the alley shadows. Duke doesn't even blink at the unconscious woman, just nods and guns it the moment we're inside.

And then I'm trapped.

Trapped in a speeding van with my three brothers and an omega who smells like everything I've spent two years trying to forget exists.

She's laid out on the bench seat, still terrifyingly pale.

The dress they'd put her in—much simpler, pale in comparison to the dazzling performance outfit—rides up her thighs, revealing legs that had wrapped around Shiloh in that storage closet, or at least from his brief explanation of the “connection'“.

The thought makes me grind my teeth.

There shouldn’t be anything to be jealous of yet I am.

We’ve fucked plenty of Omegas in the past. Why the idea of him being with this one pisses me off?

"How long until we're airborne?" I ask Duke, needing to focus on logistics instead of the way her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath.

"Twenty minutes to the airfield. Jet's fueled and ready."

Twenty minutes. I can survive twenty minutes.

Except I can't stop staring at her.

Even unconscious, playing with the beautiful edge of death, she's beautiful in a way that makes me upset. Not delicate beauty like Sophia's had been—this is something fiercer. Sophia was nurtured right. In a bubble of protection where the world’s cruelty didn’t taint her.

Yet, this Omega…Red…the fierceness that leaked off her was a kind of beauty that comes from survival, fighting, and refusing to break even when the world tries to shatter you.

And why does that even attract me?

Her scent fills the van despite the air conditioning or the open windows Duke cracked without being asked.

It wraps around us like smoke, insidious and inescapable.

My cock stirs despite my best efforts to think of anything else—tax codes, territorial disputes, the memory of Sophia's funeral—but nothing works.

This omega's scent is rewriting my DNA with each breath.

"She's stabilizing," Corwin announces, and the relief in his voice makes me want to snarl.

When did he start caring? Or in act, any of them start caring about an omega we've known for less than an hour?

"Good," Shiloh says, and his hand is stroking her hair, gentle in a way I've never seen him be with anyone. "You're going to be okay, little cherry. I've got you."

Little cherry.

Pet names already. Like she's theirs— ours —when she's nothing but a bad investment that's already nearly died on us once.

"What's the plan?" Talon asks, looking at me. They always look at me for plans. I'm the strategist, the one who sees angles and calculates odds. "When we get home?"

Home. Jackknife Ridge. Our territory, where we're kings instead of customers. Where we run the town and have everything from the medical facilities and security to keep anyone safe.

Or prisoner , a dark part of my mind whispers.

"We get her medical attention," I say, voice flat. "Make sure she survives. Then we figure out what to do with her."

"What to do with her?" Shiloh's head snaps up, and there's warning in his green eyes. "She's ours. We paid for her."

The way he’s saying “paid” isn’t the way I like either. It should sound as if she’s the property we just bought but the softened touch in his tone tells me that’s a facade.

A ploy to act like he’s going along with this like its protocol but he wants this to be our pack’s saving grace.

"We paid for a fantasy," I counter. "For your fantasy. One omega isn't going to fix what's broken in this pack."

"Rafe—" Corwin starts, but I cut him off.

"No. We agreed. After Sophia, we agreed. No more omegas. It's safer for everyone."

"That was before?—"

"Before what? Before Shiloh got his dick wet in a storage closet? Before we threw away a hundred million dollars on damaged goods?"

The words hang in the air like poison gas.

Red shifts slightly, a small sound escaping her lips—pain or protest, I can't tell. But it's enough to make all three of them focus on her again, their attention laser-focused on her comfort.

When did I become the outsider in my own pack?

The answer is obvious:

The moment she appeared.

This omega with her cherry scent and her defiance and her ability to make my brothers forget why we'd sworn off this kind of complication. She's been in our lives for less than six hours and already she's dividing us.

Just like Sophia had.

Except Sophia had been innocent, truly innocent.

She'd never understood the darkness she'd walked into, the kind of men she'd gotten involved with.

This one— Red —she knew exactly what she was doing.

That performance tonight, the way she'd claimed Shiloh in front of everyone, the way she'd left those panties like a calling card. ..

She's dangerous in a way Sophia never was.

And that makes me hate her more.

The van hits a pothole, and she moans—a soft, pained sound that goes straight to my cock despite my best efforts.

Her scent spikes with distress, and all three of my brothers respond instantly.

Shiloh pulls her against his chest, Corwin checks her pulse again, Talon actually growls at Duke to be more careful.

They're already lost to her.

The realization sits like lead in my stomach.

Three of the most dangerous men I know, reduced to mother hens by an unconscious omega who might not even survive the night.

"Heart rate's dropping again," Corwin says urgently. "She needs another dose."

He's already prepping another injector, this one pulled from the medical kit Duke always keeps stocked. The needle goes into her thigh, and we all wait, holding our breath like her next one matters.

It shouldn't matter.

She's just an omega.

A purchase.

A complication we don't need.

But I find myself watching for the rise of her chest, for the flutter of her eyelids, for any sign that she's fighting.

Stop it , I tell myself. Stop caring.

"There," Corwin breathes as her breathing deepens slightly. "That's better."

"Five minutes," Duke calls back.

Five minutes until we're on our jet, heading home to Jackknife Ridge, where this becomes real instead of some fever dream in a city built on illusions.

"She's going to need round-the-clock care," Corwin is saying, already in planning mode. "I can set up a medical suite, monitor her vitals, make sure there's no lasting damage from whatever Marnay gave her."

"I'll handle security," Talon adds. "Make sure that fucker doesn't try anything else. Maybe pay him a visit once she's stable."

"No," Shiloh says, and there's something dark in his voice. "Marnay's mine."

They're already planning her integration into our lives like it's a foregone conclusion. As if we're keeping her. Like she's going to wake up and somehow fit into our broken dynamic and make everything better.

She won't.

She can't.

That’s not how any of this is going to work…

Because the last omega who tried ended up dead, and I'll be damned if I watch history repeat itself.

The airfield comes into view—private, secure, the kind of place that doesn't ask questions about unconscious passengers.

Our Gulfstream is waiting, engines already warming up. The transfer is smooth, practiced. We've moved sensitive cargo before, though usually it was weapons or cash, not women who smell like home and heartbreak.

She's settled into the medical chair we had installed for emergencies, IVs and monitors attached with Corwin's efficient expertise. She looks small surrounded by all the medical equipment, fragile in a way that her stage performance suggested she wasn't.

Smoke and mirrors , I remind myself. Everything in Vegas is smoke and mirrors.

"Thirty minutes to Jackknife Ridge," our pilot announces.

Thirty minutes to figure out what the fuck we're going to do. Enough time to find a way to convince my pack that this is a mistake.

At least before this omega becomes a permanent problem instead of a temporary complication.

I take my usual seat—the one that lets me see all exits and everyone in them.

Strategic positioning, even here among my brothers.

Especially here, where I can watch them fawn over an unconscious woman who's already causing fractures in our foundation.

Her scent is even stronger in the enclosed space of the jet. It mingles with the leather and recycled air until every breath is a reminder of what we've done. What I've allowed to happen.

One hundred million dollars for an omega who might not survive the night.

Ridiculous…insanity. She might as well be deemed as bad luck.

The thought should make me angrier, but instead, I feel something else creeping in. Fear. Not of losing the money—we have more than we could spend in ten lifetimes.