Page 54 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

BLOSSOM LITTLE CHERRY

~CORWIN~

R ed gasps in awe, holding the phone up like it's the crown jewels rather than the latest iPhone model.

She's been decorating it for the past forty-five minutes while perched on my lap, and I lost feeling in my left leg about twenty minutes ago. The right one's heading in the same direction, pins and needles creeping up from where her weight has cut off circulation.

But I'd sit here until my legs fell off completely if it meant keeping that expression on her face.

She's applied the case—cherry red, because of course it is—with the precision of a surgeon.

The screen protector took three attempts because she kept finding microscopic bubbles that "ruined the aesthetic.

" The little charm Talon bought her, a tiny boxing glove, dangles from the corner.

She's even arranged the stick-on grip in the exact center of the back, measuring it twice with her fingers to ensure perfect placement.

"It's beautiful," she breathes, turning it over in her hands to admire it from every angle. The late afternoon sun catches the glossy surface, making it gleam like candy. "It's really mine?"

"All yours," I confirm, shifting slightly to try to restore some blood flow without dislodging her. "Latest model, unlimited everything. Talon made sure to get the one with the most storage so you can take as many photos as you want."

She looks up at me with those garnet eyes, and the joy in them makes my chest tight. Then something shifts, uncertainty creeping in.

"I don't know what to do next."

It takes me a moment, my brain still foggy from her proximity and the way she's been unconsciously wiggling in my lap for the past hour.

Then it clicks.

"Red," I say carefully, "have you ever owned a phone before?"

The blush that spreads across her cheeks is answer enough, but she elaborates anyway.

"No. Never had one of my own." She fidgets with the phone, not meeting my eyes.

"I borrowed them sometimes, for work. When we'd get transported to different venues for special performances, they'd give us these old flip phones that only worked for calling the handlers.

But something like this?" She holds up the iPhone like it's alien technology.

"Touch screen and everything? I've only seen other people use them. "

The shock must show on my face, because Red backpedals with a speed and intensity that would impress an Olympic sprinter.

She starts talking even faster, her words tripping over themselves as she tries to make me understand it's not because she's an idiot, or a technophobe, or some kind of luddite. It's just…

"Okay, so, when I say 'never,' I mean technically—like, I had access, sometimes, but it was always someone else's and there were rules, like, you only touch it if it's absolutely necessary and definitely don't open any of the apps unless you're about to die.

" She gives a nervous little laugh that trails into a sheepish smile.

"Which, you know, was a surprisingly frequent possibility, depending on where we were posted. "

She's rubbing her thumb over the smooth edge of the phone, almost like she's afraid it'll break if she holds it too tightly.

"I watched people use them all the time, though," she blurts, as if that somehow erases the embarrassment.

"I know about texting and selfies and video calls.

I just—I never got to, you know, practice.

" Her hands flutter in the air, miming a phone.

"Only the guys on the top floor got to keep their own, and by then I was basically just property.

" She says it with a shrug, but I don't miss the brittleness in her tone.

"Not a lot of point in having one when there was nobody I could safely call. "

I let her ramble, not because I need the clarification but because I think she does. Every word is a little shield, a bit of armor she puts up because the idea of not belonging—of not being up to speed—is still scarier than the memory of being owned by a syndicate that treated her like an asset.

She finally stops, eyes flicking up to gauge my reaction.

I want to say something reassuring. I want to tell her it doesn't matter, that everyone is a novice at something, that the whole point of a phone is to connect and be connected.

Instead, I do the weirdly paternal thing and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, like she's a nervous child on the first day of school.

It makes her relax, just a fraction.

"Would you mind sharing your childhood?" I ask gently, not wanting to push but desperately wanting to understand.

She settles back against my chest, and I wrap my arms around her waist, the phone cradled between us.

"It was good when I was young," she says, voice distant with memory.

"Like, genuinely wasn't too bad. We weren't rich, but we had enough.

Mom would take me to the park, teach me to bake even though we usually burned everything.

Dad would come home from work and toss me in the air, call me his little princess. "

Her voice catches slightly, and I stay quiet, letting her find the words.

"It started with what we thought was just a cold.

Seasonal thing, you know? Mom was always catching whatever was going around.

But then it got worse. She couldn't shake it.

Started coughing up blood." Red's fingers trace patterns on the phone screen, not really seeing it.

"Once it got bad enough that she had to stay in the hospital, that's when things went downhill. "

She laughs, but it's bitter, hollow.

"They say when men get sick, their omega will ensure they're there for the alpha. But when it's the other way around?" She shakes her head. "The alphas are usually the first to leave."

The silence stretches between us, and I can feel her getting lost in the memory. I don't rush her, just hold her steady, my thumb rubbing small circles on her hip through her jeans.

"That's when Dad started bringing other women home," she continues quietly. "At first, he tried to hide it. Said they were just friends helping out while Mom was sick. But kids aren't stupid. I knew what those sounds meant, what the strange perfumes on his clothes were about."

My arms tighten involuntarily, anger flooding through me at the thought of young Red having to witness that betrayal.

"That's why I'm a bit frightened of getting checked," she admits, so quietly I almost miss it.

"At the clinic, I mean. It's the first time having a pack.

Having men who actually want good for me.

" She turns slightly in my lap to look at me.

"I've never experienced this level of love or admiration.

I don't know what it's really like, so I don't want to screw it up. "

"Red," I say firmly, turning her more fully so she's facing me. "That would never happen. We would never abandon you. Period."

She nods slowly, but I can see she's still processing, still not quite believing.

"My dad is an example of an alpha I'd never want," she says quietly. Then her eyes sharpen with realization. "Luca kind of reminds me of him, actually."

That catches my attention.

"How so?"

"That pretty projection of a male that flaunts and attracts omegas who only want him for his money." She tilts her head, thinking. "The surface-level charm that never goes deeper. The way they both seem to think the world owes them something just for existing."

"Do you think Luca is redeemable?" I ask, genuinely curious about her perspective.

She considers this seriously, her analytical mind working through the question.

"Everyone is redeemable," she says finally. "But what if he doesn't think he was truly the problem in comparison to Rafe?"

The insight is startling in its accuracy.

"You're right," I admit. "That's exactly the issue. Luca doesn't think he did anything wrong. In his mind, he was trying to save Sophia, and Rafe was the villain."

She shrugs, a gesture that makes her shift in my lap in ways that are becoming increasingly distracting.

"I've seen a lot of men come and go at the Crimson Roulette.

Men who, at first glance, you know their intentions.

Then there are others who you know are hiding many secrets.

" She pauses, choosing her words. "My intuition isn't necessarily wrong—or at least I've never found out I was wrong—but my intuition tells me Luca isn't someone who's going to change unless he sees the need to for his own benefit. "

"Because when you have the pretty privilege and money to get everything you want and more," I continue her thought, "why would you alter anything?"

"Exactly." She smiles, pleased that I understand.

"I like having discussions like this," I tell her, meaning it. "Deep-rooted ones. The others aren't as talkative, per se, but I like to analyze and explore ideas."

"Maybe it's why you enjoy medicine?" she suggests. "Because there's always a layer to explore and discover that can change someone's trajectory in life."

The observation is so perceptive it makes me stare at her in wonder. This woman who never got to finish high school understands me better after a few days than people I've known for years.

"I wish I could have gone to school and learned," she says wistfully, looking down at the phone in her hands.

"You can," I say immediately. "In the future, once you know what you want to study. Online courses, community college, even a university if you want."

Her head snaps up.

"Really?"

"With us, you're free to learn and excel. Whatever you want to pursue, we'll support it."

The smile that spreads across her face is radiant.

"Does that mean you'll help me learn how to use the phone?"

"Anything you want. You can ask any of us for help."

She shifts again, turning more fully to face me, and her expression shifts to something shyer but determined.

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Anything."

"Is it okay if I can kiss you?"