Page 58 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

PREDATORS IN THE RAIN

~RED~

T hunder booms overhead like God's decided to rearrange heaven's furniture, and three of the remaining omegas squeal in perfect synchronization—high-pitched, dramatic, clutching at their pearls like they're about to be struck down despite being inside a perfectly safe coffee shop.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from rolling my eyes so hard they'd fall out of my head.

"Oh my goodness!" Brittany—or maybe it's Bethany, I can never remember which blonde is which—presses a manicured hand to her chest. "That sounded like it hit right outside!"

"We're going to die!" the other one wails. Madison? Addison? Something ending in -son that sounds like her parents couldn't decide between naming her after a president or a street.

The third one, definitely Jennifer because she introduces herself every single week like we haven't met before, fans herself with the book we just finished discussing. "Where ARE our alphas? It's past nine! Don't they know there's a storm?"

I check my phone: 9:17 PM.

Rafe is seventeen minutes late, which for him might as well be a sign of the apocalypse.

The man runs on military precision, every minute scheduled and accounted for. But I'm not worried. The roads are probably flooding, and that Range Rover, while impressive, isn't exactly amphibious.

I turn my attention back to the new book I'd grabbed from the lending library while they'd been dissecting Hearts Divided for the past hour.

It's a crime mystery called The Omega's Revenge , and I'm already thirty pages in despite their incessant whining providing the world's most annoying soundtrack.

"Marcus would NEVER leave me waiting like this," Jennifer declares, though I distinctly remember her complaining last week that Marcus forgot to pick her up entirely. "He knows I have a delicate constitution."

"At least your alpha responds to texts," Madison-Addison sighs dramatically. "Brad's phone might as well not exist for all he uses it."

They continue their complaining—a steady stream of privileged grievances about alphas who provide everything except immediate attendance to their every whim. I tune them out, the way I learned to tune out casino noise, drunk alphas, and Marnay's lectures about proper omega behavior.

The book is getting interesting. The omega protagonist just discovered her alpha's been cheating, but instead of confronting him, she's planning something. The author's building to something delicious, I can feel it?—

"Did you see Rafe's Range Rover earlier?" Brittany-Bethany's voice cuts through my concentration.

My eyes stay on the page, but my attention shifts.

"I was shocked," Jennifer gasps. "He NEVER leaves that office building. You know, the abandoned-looking one on Oak Street?"

"It's not abandoned," Madison-Addison corrects with the authority of someone who thrives on knowing everyone's business. "He owns it. Runs all his mysterious business dealings from there. Very reclusive since... you know."

There's a pause, heavy with the kind of anticipation that comes before particularly juicy gossip.

"Since Sophia," Brittany-Bethany whispers, like saying it too loud might summon her ghost.

"Well, it's good he's suffering with the guilt," Jennifer says with vicious satisfaction. "Pushing his omega to suicide? He should suffer for the rest of his life."

"She was so beautiful too," Madison-Addison sighs. "So perfect. Exactly what an omega should be. Delicate, refined, knew her place."

"Nothing like some omegas these days," Brittany-Bethany says pointedly, and I can feel their eyes boring into me, waiting for me to react, to join their little gossip session.

I keep reading, finding the part where it's revealed the alpha who claimed to love the dead omega had actually been orchestrating everything—the affairs, the isolation, even staging evidence of her mental decline. My frown deepens as I process the plot twist.

Do omegas do that even now?

It would be easy enough. Fake a suicide, disappear, start over somewhere new with a different identity. Especially if you had help, or money, or just enough desperation to make that kind of gamble...

Could Sophia have done that to them?

The thought nags at me. If she didn't love them, if she felt trapped, if she saw no other way out.

.. But they had a funeral, didn't they? Corwin had mentioned medical reports, official documentation.

Still, documents can be forged, bodies can be misidentified, and people who want to disappear badly enough usually find a way?—

"HELLO? Earth to redneck!"

My head snaps up to find all three omegas glaring at me with identical expressions of irritation. The 'redneck' comment is new—apparently, they've decided my small-town origins need mocking.

"What?" I ask, keeping my voice neutral despite the urge to throw my book at Jennifer's perfectly contoured face.

"We were TALKING to you," she says, like I've committed some grievous sin by not hanging on their every word.

I shrug, marking my page with my finger. "Oh. I'm not intrigued by gossip, so you can discuss your own things."

The temperature in the coffee shop seems to drop ten degrees.

"You think you're hot shit, don't you?" Brittany-Bethany snaps, her sweet omega facade cracking like cheap paint. "Just because you're fucking those dangerous boys?"

"It's only because you have a curvy body that they're probably into you," Madison-Addison adds, her tone suggesting 'curvy' is something contagious she might catch.

"Curvy is so unattractive," Jennifer chimes in, wrinkling her nose. "You're completely unproportioned."

"Yeah," Brittany-Bethany agrees eagerly. "Fat girls just ain't it. No wonder you hang with Poppy. Two fat omegas pretending you're something special."

I close my book slowly, considering their words.

Fat?

I look down at myself—these jeans that hug my curves perfectly, the way this sweater clings to my waist before flaring over my hips.

I think about the hours I spent kickboxing, building strength in my thighs, power in my core.

Every curve on my body was earned through survival, through fighting, through refusing to break.

And Poppy? Poppy with her vintage pin-up perfection, her tiny waist and generous breasts, her hips that make men walk into walls when she passes? The way she owns every inch of herself with confidence these stick figures could never achieve?

I smirk, meeting their eyes one by one.

"If you need to belittle others to feel good about yourselves, so be it."

Jennifer's mouth drops open. "You're being a total bitch!"

"So be it," I repeat, shrugging again. "I don't really care what you think. I'm pretty confident about my body." I pause, letting my smirk grow wider. "Plus, my men love it. Doesn't stop them from eating out my pussy every chance they get."

The horrified gasps and pearl-clutching that follows is so dramatic it's almost choreographed. Madison-Addison actually covers her ears like I've just recited satanic verses.

A low, appreciative chuckle from the doorway cuts through their hysteria.

We all turn to find Luca Ferrero standing there, rain dripping from his designer coat, that expensive hair somehow still perfect despite the storm. His green eyes are locked on me with an interest that makes my skin crawl.

"Luca!" The three omegas squeal in unison, their earlier horror forgotten in the presence of an available alpha with a fat wallet.

"Oh my god, what are you doing here?" Jennifer gushes, already fluttering her eyelashes.

He flashes that practiced smile that probably works on omegas who don't know what real predators look like.

"I stopped by to see if anyone needed a ride. The rain's getting dangerous out there." His eyes sweep over the three eager omegas before landing back on me. "The roads are flooding. Figured some lovely omegas might be stranded."

"YES!" Brittany-Bethany practically shouts. "Our alphas aren't here yet, and we're SO scared of the storm!"

"Please, could you take us home?" Madison-Addison adds, already gathering her things.

"Of course, beautiful," Luca purrs, but his attention never leaves me. "I'd be happy to ensure you all get home safely."

The three of them are already heading for the door, chattering excitedly about riding in whatever expensive car he's driving. But Luca stays put, watching me expectantly.

The silence stretches. I return to my book, finding my place and deliberately starting to read again.

"Aren't you coming?" he finally asks.

I look up, feigning surprise. "Oh, no. I can wait."

His perfect smile falters slightly. "If you're waiting for your alphas, they're still at the medical center. I saw their cars parked there on my way here."

I nod, unsurprised. "Rafe's picking me up, so I'm not worried."

A frown creases his forehead. "His fancy little car isn't going to get through the mud and flooding out there. The roads are getting worse by the minute."

I shrug, the picture of unconcern. "I'll wait regardless."

His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "Don't be stubborn. I'm offering you a safe ride home."

"I don't get in cars with strangers," I say simply, returning my attention to my book.

The frown deepens into something darker, more dangerous, before he catches himself and plasters on that fake smile again.

"Suit yourself," he says, voice dripping with false concern. "Hope you enjoy waiting alone in the dark."

"Don't waste your time on her," Jennifer calls from the door. "She's a weird one. Probably gets off on the danger."

Brittany-Bethany laughs, the sound sharp and mean. "Maybe she's hoping to end up like Sophia. You know, for the attention."

The words hang in the air like a curse. Luca's eyes flash with something—anger? Interest? It's gone too quickly to identify.

"Ladies," he says smoothly, "let's get you home before this storm gets worse."