Page 56 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

OBSERVATIONS AND OBLIGATIONS

~RED~

T he rain patters against the window in a steady rhythm that should be soothing but instead makes me grip the book tighter.

I'm curled up in what's become my favorite reading spot—the window seat in the library, surrounded by pillows that smell like cedar and old paper, wearing my most ridiculous comfort outfit: puppy-themed plushie slippers that Talon bought me as a joke and an oversized fuzzy t-shirt that reaches mid-thigh.

The book in my hands is called Hearts Divided , and I'm almost at the ending.

It's been holding my attention for the past three hours, though not necessarily for good reasons.

The omega protagonist, Celeste, has been stringing along two alphas for the entire story—Marcus, the wealthy businessman who showers her with diamonds and promises of power, and Gabriel, the struggling artist who offers her passion and authenticity.

I flip the page, brow furrowing as I read.

"I cannot choose," Celeste whispered, tears streaming down her porcelain cheeks. "To choose one is to lose the other, and I would rather die than live with half a heart."

Marcus gripped her shoulders, his ice-blue eyes blazing.

"Then we'll share you. Create a pack. Anything to keep you."

But Gabriel pulled away, disgust written across his features.

"Share? Like you're some prize to be divided? I'd rather lose you than degrade what we have into some business arrangement."

I roll my eyes so hard it actually hurts.

The omega's been playing them both for two hundred pages, accepting Marcus's money while secretly meeting Gabriel for passionate rendezvous, and now she's acting like she's the victim?

The next chapter reveals her plan—fake her own death, let them both mourn her, then start fresh in a new city with a new identity.

Free from the burden of choosing.

I pause, placing my bookmark— a photo strip from the town's ancient photo booth that Poppy and I crammed into last week —between the pages.

Did Sophia ever think of that?

The thought comes unbidden, and I immediately feel guilty for it.

But I can't help wondering if she'd been influenced by books like this.

The dramatic gesture, the ultimate escape, the way to hurt everyone equally so no one wins...

It's been four weeks since I arrived in Jackknife Ridge, and in that time, I've devoured more books than I read in three years at the casino.

The library here is extensive, clearly cultivated by someone who actually reads rather than just collecting for show.

I've found everything from classic literature to contemporary romance, medical journals that Corwin bookmarks, and military thrillers with Shiloh's notes in the margins.

This particular book came from the book club I've been attending—once a week at the town's combination coffee shop and bookstore, creatively named "Grounds for Literature." Tonight will be my fourth session, and I'm dreading it a little.

The first two weeks, Poppy came with me.

She admitted she's not necessarily a reader— "Words on a page make me sleepy unless they're gossip about real people" —but she enjoyed the chaos of putting the other omegas in their place when they got too catty.

Her presence made the evenings bearable, even fun.

Last week, I went alone.

It was...different.

The other omegas are nothing like Poppy or me.

They're what I've started thinking of as "traditionally raised"—soft-spoken until they're not, sweet-smiled while delivering barbs, the kind who've never had to fight for anything because it's always been provided.

They looked at me like I was some exotic creature when I mentioned actually enjoying the fight scenes in the thriller we'd read.

"Violence is so unnecessarily masculine," one had said, her nose wrinkling delicately.

"Have you ever been in a situation where violence was necessary?" I'd asked, genuinely curious.

The silence that followed told me everything.

They go to book club because it's what omegas do. It's acceptable, safe, a sanctioned activity that keeps them occupied without challenging anything. They pick romance novels with guaranteed happy endings and clutch their pearls when someone suggests reading something with actual conflict.

My phone buzzes, interrupting my brooding. Shiloh's name lights up the screen, and I answer immediately.

"Hey, everything okay?"

"Red." His voice is strained, and I can hear commotion in the background. "We might not be able to get back in time to drive you to book club."

"What's wrong?" I sit up straighter, book forgotten.

"Medical emergency. Some omega in psychosis tried to..." He trails off, but I can fill in the blanks. "Corwin's dealing with it, but it's bad. Really bad. We're all here for support and safety reasons."

My heart clenches thinking about some poor omega driven to that point.

"It's fine, I can skip?—"

"No," he interrupts firmly. "You've been looking forward to it all week. Is Rafe around?"

I glance toward the door. "Uh..."

As if summoned by his name, the door opens and Rafe walks in, looking immaculate as always in charcoal gray slacks and a black button-down that probably costs more than most people's rent.

His ice-gray eyes find mine immediately, one eyebrow arching in silent question at finding me curled up like a college student during finals week.

"He just arrived," I tell Shiloh, watching Rafe's expression shift to suspicion.

"Perfect. Pass the phone to him."

I unfold myself from the window seat, shuffling over to Rafe in my ridiculous puppy slippers.

The contrast between us—him looking like he stepped out of a business magazine, me looking like I raided a teenager's sleepover supplies—should be embarrassing.

But there's something in his expression, a flicker of.

.. something... that makes me think he doesn't entirely hate it.

I offer him the phone. "Shiloh wants to talk to you."

He takes it with obvious reluctance, his fingers brushing mine in the exchange. "What?"

I can't hear Shiloh's side of the conversation, but watching Rafe's face is entertaining enough. His frown deepens with each passing second.

"Why do I have to do it?" He pauses, listening. "I have work to—" Another pause, longer this time. His eyes flick to me, then away. "That's manipulative and you know it."

Whatever Shiloh says next makes Rafe's jaw clench so hard I'm worried he might crack a tooth.

"Fine," he grits out, then practically throws the phone back at me.

I catch it, bringing it back to my ear as Shiloh's voice comes through. "Rafe has generously offered to take you to book club."

I smirk, looking at Rafe who's glowering at the wall like it personally offended him. "Oh, has he? How generous of him."

"Play nice, little cherry," Shiloh says, and I can hear the smile in his voice despite the stress. "Text us when you get there. And be careful, the rain's getting worse."

"You be careful too," I tell him. "All of you. That omega needs you more than I need book club."

"We've got it handled. Have fun tonight."

After we hang up, I look at Rafe who's still practicing his statue impression.

"If it's going to be a hassle, I really don't have to go. I know you're busy with your work."

He stares at me for a long moment, those ice-gray eyes unreadable. Then, unexpectedly, he asks, "Do you actually like it?"

"What?"

"The book club. Do you actually enjoy going, or are you just going to keep yourself busy?"

The question is so unexpectedly perceptive that I'm caught off guard. I think about lying, giving him the easy answer that would let us both off the hook. But something about the way he's looking at me—like he genuinely wants to know—makes me honest.

"I don't know yet," I admit, moving back to the window seat to put my book away. "I've never been part of anything like it before. Wasn't in school long enough to do clubs or after-school activities. And I know if I seclude myself here, I can't learn. Can't grow."

I pause, organizing my thoughts the way this conversation deserves.

"I like going with Poppy because she's very open-minded and a lot more sophisticated than people give her credit for.

She sees through the performance of it all, you know?

The way those omegas pretend to be delicate flowers while secretly competing over whose alpha provides better, whose nest is more elaborate, whose life is more perfect. "

"Then it doesn't make sense for you to go if you're clearly smarter than them," Rafe says, and there's something in his tone that might almost be... protective?

"Maybe," I agree, picking at a loose thread on my shirt. "But I like to observe people."

His frown deepens in confusion. "Observe?"

"When you watch people's actions from afar, you can learn their true intentions.

" I think about how to explain years of survival tactics to someone who's probably never had to read a room to avoid being cornered.

"Those omegas? They don't really care about the books.

Half of them don't even finish them. They go because realistically, it's one of the only places omegas can go where we're not expected to do much. "

Rafe's expression shifts as he processes this. "There really aren't many places for you to go, are there?"

"Not really," I confirm. "I mean, I want to check out the gym, see what they'd need if I want to set up that kickboxing class for omegas. But beyond that? There's the coffee shop, the bakery, the book club, and... that's about it. Everything else is either alpha-dominated or couple-focused."

I stand, walking over to the shelf to properly put my book away.

"Staying home all the time is isolating. And I want to prove I can be independent. Not one hundred percent reliant on the pack because, at the end of the day, you all have lives. Jobs. Responsibilities. I can't expect you to entertain me constantly. That's not realistic. Or fair."

He's quiet for a long moment, and when I turn back, he's watching me with an expression I can't quite read.