Page 41 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

MORNING CONFESSIONS

~RED~

T he first thing I notice is warmth.

Not the artificial, recycled heat of the Crimson Roulette's climate-controlled rooms, but real warmth—the kind that comes from another body, from shared space and tangled limbs.

The second thing I notice is the ache between my legs, a sweet soreness that brings everything flooding back in vivid detail.

I'm not a virgin anymore.

The thought should feel bigger, more momentous, but instead it just feels... right . Like a puzzle piece clicking into place after years of trying to force it into the wrong spot.

Sunlight creeps through the curtains, painting golden stripes across the bed, across the muscled arm draped over my waist. The soft, rhythmic snoring against my neck tells me Shiloh is still deep asleep, his breath warm against my skin in a way that makes me want to burrow deeper into his embrace.

I open my eyes slowly, confusion washing over me for a heartbeat. The room is unfamiliar—wooden beams, a handmade quilt, the scent of cedar, and something uniquely masculine. This isn't my cramped quarters at the casino with their industrial gray walls and ever-present smell of desperation.

Right. I'm not there anymore.

The memories cascade through my mind like shuffling cards: the auction, the hundred million dollars, being drugged, waking up in this haven hidden in the mountains.

Watching Shiloh chop wood with Duke at his side, the storm that drenched us both, the shared bath that led to whispered confessions, and finally— finally —the night I gave away what I'd protected so fiercely.

Not gave away.

Chose to share.

There's a difference, and it matters.

I shift slightly, testing the soreness. It's there, a dull throb that speaks of change, of boundaries crossed and new territories explored.

But underneath the physical discomfort is something else—a sense of wholeness I hadn't expected.

Like I'd been walking around with a piece missing, not because I needed a man to complete me, but because I'd been denied the choice for so long that making it finally felt like reclaiming part of my soul.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, I turn in Shiloh's arms until I'm facing him.

In sleep, all the sharp edges soften. The perpetual vigilance that marks his waking hours has melted away, leaving something younger, more vulnerable.

His sandy brown hair is mussed, sticking up at odd angles that would probably mortify him if he knew.

There's a small scar through his left eyebrow I hadn't noticed before, white against his sun-bronzed skin.

I study him like he's a map I'm trying to memorize. The strong jaw shadowed with stubble, the way his lashes—unfairly long for a man—rest against his cheeks. The compass rose tattoo over his heart rises and falls with each breath, and I resist the urge to trace it with my finger.

This is the start, I realize.

Now that the physical barrier has been crossed, now that we've shared this fundamental intimacy, I can actually start learning about him.

About all of them, really. Not as the omega they bought or performer putting on a show, but as Red.

Just Red, who wants to know what makes them laugh, what haunts their dreams, what brought them to this isolated paradise.

The thought is thrilling and terrifying.

What if they don't like who I really am when the performance ends? What if without my virginity as some prized possession, I lose whatever value I had?

I need to pee.

The mundane necessity breaks through my spiraling thoughts, and I carefully extract myself from Shiloh's embrace.

He mumbles something unintelligible, arm tightening briefly before relaxing again.

I slip out of bed, grabbing his discarded henley from the floor and pulling it on.

It smells like him—gunpowder and cedar, that underlying scent of cherries and bourbon that makes my body respond even now.

The bathroom tiles are cold under my bare feet, sending shivers up my legs. I handle my business, then wash my hands, taking my time with the soap. The face in the mirror stops me cold.

I look... peaceful.

It's such an alien expression on my face that I lean closer, studying my reflection like it might be a stranger.

The perpetual tension around my eyes has softened.

My mouth, usually held in either a performative smile or defensive smirk, is relaxed.

Even my hair, wild from sleep and sex, seems softer somehow.

Is this what contentment looks like?

Three years of seeing myself in mirrors—applying makeup for performances, checking for bruises, practicing expressions that would earn bigger tips—and I've never looked like this. Like someone who belongs to herself.

The darker thoughts creep back in as I stand there.

What happens now? Will I be discarded, having served my purpose?

Maybe without my innocence as a selling point, I've lost whatever made me special.

The others haven't even really met me yet—what if Rafe's cold dismissal spreads to them all once the novelty wears off?

I must stand there longer than I realize, lost in my worried thoughts, because suddenly warm arms wrap around my waist from behind. Shiloh mumbles something against my shoulder, the words completely incomprehensible.

"был сон где ты ушла."

The syllables are harsh and soft at once, definitely not English.

"Was that Russian?" I ask, curious despite my melancholy.

There's a pause, like his brain is coming online in stages.

"Hmm?" Another pause, longer. "Oh. Yeah. English. Right."

A giggle bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest. I put my hand in his messy hair, ruffling it even more.

"Are you a deep sleeper or something?"

He lifts his head to peer at me in the mirror, his green eyes still soft with sleep.

"Get disoriented sometimes. Switch languages here and there without meaning to."

"That's actually pretty cool."

He smirks, but it's self-deprecating.

"Started after a training bomb went off accidentally.

Sent me and my team flying into a drainage ditch.

Hit my head pretty hard—took some time to recover from.

" He yawns, jaw cracking. "Now I either sleep like the dead or can't sleep at all.

Guess I was tired today, so..." He gestures vaguely. "Deep sleep."

I'm intrigued despite myself, turning in his arms to look up at him properly. He lifts his head back, meeting my gaze with those forest-green eyes that still make my stomach flip.

"I want to learn more about all of you," I admit. "Really learn, not just the surface stuff."

Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of sadness that makes my chest tight.

"You okay?" I ask, reaching up to touch his jaw.

He leans into my touch for a moment before speaking, his voice quiet and serious.

"We're not good people, Red."

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. Just looks at me with those sad eyes like he's already mourning something that hasn't happened yet.

I shrug, trying for casual despite the weight of the moment.

"I'm not a good omega. Not perfect, not groomed in some wealthy home, trained to be the ideal mate." I meet his eyes steadily. "That didn't stop you from caring for me the right way. From protecting me when danger was near at the gym. it didn’t stop you from pulling every string to locate me."

He nods slowly, understanding dawning in his expression.

Then he pulls me into a fierce hug, his face buried in my shoulder. When he speaks, his voice is muffled but the emotion in it is clear.

"It scares me."

"What do you mean?" I ask, my arms coming up automatically to hold him back.

"You're so fucking perfect." The words tumble out like a confession. "Understanding, beautiful, accepting. A scent match, which shouldn't even be possible. And it scares me because..." He takes a shaky breath. "We can't protect you in a world as peaceful as this."

I pull back slightly, confused.

"Why would I need protection?"

His jaw tightens.

"We have enemies, Red. Dark pasts that don't just disappear because we're living in this fairytale. Raising animals, growing crops, pretending we're just ranchers in the middle of nowhere—it's all temporary. Eventually, our past will find us."

He cups my face gently, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones.

"Before, I only had Duke and the boys to worry about. We can handle ourselves. But now there's you, and you're..." He struggles for words. "You're precious. A jewel. And I don't want to see you break when our pretend world comes crashing down."

The emotion in his voice, the genuine fear for my safety, should be touching.

Instead, it ignites something rebellious in me.

I snicker, completely ruining the moment.

"What—" he starts, but my knee comes up, catching him right in the balls.

Not hard—I 'm not trying to actually damage him —but enough to make him groan and double over slightly.

"Little cherry," he wheezes, "you're ruining the moment here."

"See?" I grin, unrepentant. "I'm not some precious jewel. I can fight."

He's still groaning, hands cupped protectively over his groin, but there's amusement mixing with the pain in his expression.

"Oops," I say, not sounding sorry at all. Then I put my hands on his cheeks, drawing his attention back to my face. I reach up on my tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The kiss is slow, loving, sweet—everything the knee to the balls wasn't.

When we part, I whisper, "Isn't that what life's supposed to be? Living in the moment instead of fearing when our time's up?"

He nods slowly, still processing the emotional whiplash of being kissed after being kneed.

"Besides," I continue, my voice thoughtful, "I have enemies too. Probably. I have no clue what happens to omegas who leave the Crimson Roulette. I know most never return, and the few that ever have…well they’re back to what they know best.” I can’t help but think of Briar in the moment.

“For all I know, Marnay's plotting to steal back his golden omega as we speak. "

His arms tighten around me protectively at the thought.

"We can't predict anything," I say, running my fingers through his messy hair.

"But we can enjoy every moment in this peaceful space, even if it's all painted and morphed and temporary.

Who cares? It's ours right now. And I'd rather enjoy the fairytale than spend all my time anticipating when I'll wake up. "

His smile is slow but genuine, transforming his whole face.

"You're right."

"I usually am," I tease.

He laughs, shaking his head.

"Want to go back to bed? Actually sleep this time?"

"Yeah," I yawn, suddenly aware of how early it must be. "I'm not used to sleeping in. Three years of 4 AM wake-up calls for morning cleanup duty will do that."

"Me neither," he admits, leading me back toward the bedroom. "The guys will probably be home soon anyway."

We crawl back into bed, the sheets still warm from our bodies. I curl into his chest, feeling safe and content in a way that should probably scare me but doesn't. His hand strokes through my hair, the repetitive motion soothing.

But there's one more thing on my mind.

"Shiloh?" I whisper.

"Hmm?"

I lean closer, my lips brushing his ear.

"Can we do 'that' again?"

I feel more than hear his inhale, his body going still for a moment.

When I pull back to look at him, his eyes have darkened, pupils dilating with want. That slow, wicked grin spreads across his face—the one that makes my thighs clench and my heart race.

"We're gonna have to get you on birth control, little cherry," he murmurs, voice rough with desire, "if you're going to seduce me like this."

I grin back, matching his energy.

"It's your fault for popping the cherry."

His laugh is dark and rich, full of promise.

He rolls us so I'm pinned beneath him, his weight comfortable and exciting all at once. His lips brush mine, not quite a kiss, just sharing breath.

"I ain't complaining."