Page 68 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

ANGRY BIRDS AND COMPLICATED DYNAMICS

~RED~

T he little green pig's smug face taunts me from my phone screen as I adjust my position on the hood of Talon's project car—some vintage muscle car he's been restoring for the past month.

My legs kick rhythmically against the front bumper, a steady thump-thump-thump that matches my concentration as I line up my shot.

"Come on, you stupid bird," I mutter, pulling back the slingshot with surgical precision. "Just a little more to the left and?—"

My phone buzzes with an incoming call, Rafe's name flashing across the screen and completely ruining my trajectory.

The bird goes flying wild, missing the structure entirely.

"Goddammit!" I decline the call with perhaps more force than necessary, returning to the game. "Not now, Ice King. I've been stuck on this level for twenty minutes."

The phone buzzes again.

Another call from Rafe.

Decline.

"I'm busy," I tell the phone, as if he can hear me through sheer force of will. "Very important Angry Birds business happening here."

My focus narrows to the screen, the rest of the world fading away.

There's something deeply satisfying about the simple physics of it—trajectory, velocity, the satisfying crash when everything comes together perfectly.

After three years of constant vigilance, of reading every micro-expression and calculating every interaction, there's a strange peace in just.. . flinging birds at pigs.

The phone buzzes again.

Decline.

"Seriously?" I grumble, readjusting my grip on the phone. "I'm almost there. Just need to knock out that one support beam and the whole thing comes crashing down."

I line up the shot again, tongue poking out slightly in concentration—a habit from childhood that I've never managed to shake. The yellow bird is perfect for this, with its speed boost that can punch through wood like butter. I just need the angle exactly right...

Another buzz.

Another decline without even looking.

"Rafe, I swear to all that is holy, if you don't let me finish this level?—"

The shot releases, the bird rocketing forward with its characteristic screech. It hits the support beam dead center, and I watch with bated breath as the structure wobbles, tilts, then comes crashing down in a glorious cascade of destruction.

The last pig disappears in a puff of smoke, and the victory fanfare plays.

"YES!" I squeal, throwing my hands up in triumph. "Take that, you bacon-destined bastards! Three stars, baby!"

A low chuckle from behind me makes me nearly drop my phone.

I twist around to find Talon leaning against the garage doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, an amused smirk playing at his lips.

He's wearing his work jumpsuit, the dark blue fabric stained with oil and grease, unzipped to his waist with just a white tank top underneath.

There's a smudge of something black across his left cheekbone that somehow makes him look even more attractive—that whole 'rough around the edges mechanic' vibe that he wears like a second skin.

"What?" I ask, trying to sound innocent despite knowing exactly what he's grinning about.

He chuckles again, pushing off from the doorframe and walking closer.

"You're going to keep avoiding Rafe's calls?"

I watch as he approaches, noting the easy swagger in his step, the way his muscles move under the tank top. Three months of living with these men and I'm still not immune to how unfairly attractive they all are.

"I was busy with Angry Birds!" I whine, waving my phone as evidence.

His laugh is full and rich, the kind that makes his whole body shake.

"Yes, we know. He's been calling you for five minutes straight and you were too involved to hear. He's losing his mind in the group chat."

Heat floods my cheeks as I realize I've been that absorbed.

"Five minutes?"

"At least." He stops just in front of me, close enough that I can smell motor oil and that underlying scent of amber and smoke that's uniquely him. "Poor man's probably having an aneurysm thinking something's happened to you."

I pout, crossing my arms defensively.

"I regret nothing. That level was impossible."

"I'm sure it was," he says, clearly fighting back more laughter. "But maybe answer the chat before our pack alpha has a complete meltdown? I'll be back."

He starts to turn away, but I can't resist.

"Yes, Alpha Talon," I say in my most innocent voice, making sure to draw out his name.

He freezes mid-step, and I watch with satisfaction as his shoulders tense. When he turns back, his eyes have darkened from their usual whiskey brown to something closer to molten chocolate.

"Don't," he groans, his voice dropping an octave. "Don't go saying it like that while lying upside down on my car. Makes me want to put you in a different position."

I shift deliberately on the hood, stretching out more fully, and whistle low and appreciative as he starts walking away again, clearly needing distance.

"No one's stopping you from flipping me upside down and sideways."

"Reddddd." The way he draws out my name is part warning, part plea, all frustrated alpha.

I laugh, delighted by his reaction.

"Sorry, not sorry!"

He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like "gonna be the death of me" as he disappears back into the garage.

Still grinning, I finally open the group chat to see what chaos I've missed.

Rafe : Red isn't answering her phone. Rafe : It's been three minutes.

Rafe : Why isn't she answering? Shiloh : Maybe she's busy?

Rafe : Doing what? Corwin : Literally anything?

She doesn't have to be available 24/7 Rafe : But what if something's wrong?

Talon : She's fine. She's literally outside playing phone games Rafe : Then why isn't she ANSWERING?

Talon : Because she's on level 47 of Angry Birds and you're interrupting her concentration Shiloh : Corwin : Our omega's priorities are birds vs pigs over the pack alpha Rafe : This is not funny. Talon : It's a little funny

I quickly type out a response:

Red : I'M ALIVE! Just defeated the pig empire!

The responses are immediate:

Rafe : Finally. Don't ignore calls. Red : I wasn't ignoring, I was FOCUSED Shiloh : On angry birds?

Red : It was a very difficult level!!! Corwin : Which one?

Red : 47-3. The one with the stupid glass fortress Corwin : Oh that one's a bitch Rafe : Are we seriously discussing game levels right now?

Talon : Jealous she hasn't gotten addicted to your boring finance apps?

Rafe : They're not boring. They're practical.

Red : I downloaded one! Then immediately deleted it because it made me sad looking at numbers Shiloh : What did you think would happen?

Red : I thought there'd be fun charts! Colors!

Maybe a congratulations when you save money!

Corwin : That's... actually not a bad idea. We should do a coloring night.

Rafe : We're getting off topic. Why did I call originally? Rafe : Right. The meeting with the mayor tomorrow about your official pack registration. Red : Oh right! The boring government stuff Rafe : It's not boring. It's important. Red : Important can still be boring Talon : She's got a point

My phone starts ringing, and this time it's not Rafe.

Poppy's face fills the screen—a selfie she took where she's making the most ridiculous duck face imaginable, which she insists makes her look "mysterious and alluring."

I answer immediately.

"Hello, my favorite chaos gremlin."

"GIRL!" Her voice is so loud I have to hold the phone away from my ear. "The Country Ridge Fair is here and your ass is coming!"

"Is it?" I ask, though I'm already mentally going through my wardrobe options.

"Hell yeah! Bring your pack too. You gotta make that shit official now so everyone knows you're takeeeeeen!"

I laugh at her emphasis, swinging my legs again.

"Will do. Are you coming alone?"

"Course not! Coming with Malrik."

My eyebrows shoot up.

"Do you two have a thing?"

Her laugh is complicated—part amused, part frustrated, part something I can't quite identify.

"Girllll, I'm not sure what our dynamic is, but neither of us have a pack so I guess he can just exist next to me as we're kind of forced to at the moment."

"What do you mean?" I sit up straighter, intrigued by the odd phrasing.

"Well," she draws out the word, and I can practically see her checking to make sure no one's listening. "It's kinda complicated, but he's technically living with me."

"HUH?!" I practically shriek. "You're living together?!"

"Yeah," she laughs, but there's something underneath it. "But don't tell the whole town. Long story short, his apartment building had a mysterious fire—and by mysterious I mean his psycho ex-alpha tracked him down—and my place has a spare room and better security, so..." She trails off.

"But I guess it's okay cause he's an omega," I say, trying to work through the logistics of two unmated omegas sharing space.

"Yeah..." Poppy's voice takes on a different quality, something between frustration and want. "For now... but it's hard when he's an omega with a big fat dick. Girl, I'd never bend for a girl, but that omega is a whole ass snack and he has some Alpha traits which is crazy."

I nearly choke on my own spit.

"How is that possible?"

"It's a bit of an odd story," she admits, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. "I'll explain in person. Weird experimental shit from his time in Vegas, and now it's being used as collateral almost. It's drama central hidden in the hearts of this small crazed town."

"Damn," I sigh, processing this information. My mind is spinning with the implications—an omega with alpha traits? Experimental shit? "Crimson Collateral should be the label of your life."

The term just pops out, but it fits.