Page 69 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

Everything in our lives seems to come back to those years in Vegas, to the debts we accumulated—not in money but in trauma, in survival, in the pieces of ourselves we had to trade just to make it through.

Poppy laughs, bright and genuine this time.

"Right? Only I need some chaos and maybe watch him fight a few battles on my behalf to make things spicy."

I roll my eyes even though she can't see me.

"Please, my spicy life ain't shit."

"If you don't hurry up and start fucking those Alphas the right way," she says with authority, "the universe is going to be mean and risk it all with a hoe."

"Ugh, don't say that," I whine, actually knocking on the hood of the car for luck. The metal makes a hollow thunking sound under my knuckles. "Look, I had to knock on the car hood to save me from such a pitiful end."

Her giggle is infectious.

"Then be more risky, silly goose! I'll see you at the rodeo and wear something extra dazzling and sexy. I want the town to be reminded that you got a sinful side to you."

"Cheeky," I reply, already mentally raiding my closet. "Bye, bitch."

"Bye bitttcccchhhhh!" She draws it out until the call cuts off.

I grin, lowering my phone and staring at the blank screen for a moment.

My reflection stares back—hair messy from lying on the hood, cheeks flushed from laughter, eyes bright with the kind of contentment I never thought I'd experience.

Poppy and Malrik living together.

The thought makes me think about pack dynamics, about the strange rules that govern our lives as omegas.

We're supposed to need alphas, to be incomplete without them. But here's Poppy, unmated and living with another omega who apparently has some kind of experimental alpha traits— whatever that means —and making it work.

And here I am, with four alphas who've claimed me as theirs but who I've barely been intimate with beyond that first time with Shiloh.

Three months of dancing around each other, of heated looks and careful touches, of building something that feels more like courtship than the aggressive claiming I'd expected.

Maybe we're all just making up our own rules as we go.

The sun is starting to set, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink that remind me of Poppy's more dramatic makeup choices. The air is cooling, that crisp autumn chill that makes me want to burrow into oversized sweaters and drink excessive amounts of hot chocolate.

From inside the garage, I can hear Talon working—the clang of metal on metal, the hiss of pneumatic tools, the occasional curse when something doesn't cooperate.

It's become part of the soundtrack of my new life, along with Shiloh's early morning training runs, Corwin's classical music from his study, and Rafe's aggressive typing when he's deep in some business deal.

Three months ago, I was counting cards and dodging grabby hands in a Vegas casino.

Now I'm lying on the hood of a classic car, playing mobile games and making plans for a county fair with my best friend who's apparently in some complicated situationship with my former kickboxing instructor who's somehow an omega with alpha traits.

Life's weird.

I think about Marnay's visit last week, the way my alphas had closed ranks around me, protective and possessive. The fear had been real—probably always will be when it comes to him. But so was the certainty that I'm not alone anymore, that I have people willing to fight for me.

And now there's a fair to attend, apparently. A chance to be normal, to be just another omega with her pack at a small-town event. No casino, no performances, no calculating how much each smile is worth.

Just Red at a fair with her alphas and her friends.

My phone buzzes with another message in the group chat.

Shiloh : Fair starts at 6 tomorrow. We should head over early to get good parking.

Rafe : I have that meeting at 4. Talon : It's a fair, not a business conference.

You can show up in jeans Rafe : I don't do fairs.

Corwin : You do now. Pack solidarity Red : Plus there's supposed to be amazing food trucks!

Shiloh : Red's excited about food. Shocking.

Red : I'm excited about FAIR food. Totally different category Talon : Deep fried everything Red : Exactly!

Deep fried Oreos! Funnel cake! Those giant turkey legs!

Corwin : Your arteries are crying Red : My arteries are CELEbrATING Rafe : This is what we're doing tomorrow night?

Clogging our omega's arteries? Red : *YOUR omega's arteries. Get it right

There's a pause in the chat, and I can practically feel the energy shift even through text.

It's the first time I've really claimed it like that—not just being claimed but claiming them back.

Shiloh : Our omega wants fair food, our omega gets fair food Talon : I'm never going to get tired of hearing that Corwin : Seconded Rafe : Meeting at 4. Fair at 6. Don't be late.

I smile at my phone, warmth spreading through my chest.

These ridiculous, overprotective, emotionally constipated alphas are mine. And tomorrow, we're going to a fair like a normal pack. Well, as normal as we can pretend to be.

I think about Poppy's words about Malrik, about experimental stuff and collateral. About how we're all carrying debts from our time in Vegas, even if we've escaped the physical place. We're all crimson collateral in our own way—marked by those years, shaped by them, but not defined by them.

Not anymore.

My phone buzzes one more time, a text from Poppy:

Poppy : Forgot to mention - there's gonna be a mechanical bull at the fair Poppy : I bet you can't last 30 seconds Red : You're on Poppy : Loser has to do karaoke at the bar. SOBER. Red : Deal

I grin, already imagining the chaos tomorrow will bring.

A fair with my pack, my best friend, and my former instructor who's apparently now more than just an omega.

Mechanical bulls and deep-fried food and probably at least three alphas having a collective breakdown when they realize how many other alphas will be looking at me.

The thought makes me laugh out loud, the sound echoing across the ranch property.

Crimson Collateral.

We're all paying off debts we never asked for, carrying weights we didn't choose.

I slide off the hood of the car, my boots hitting the ground with a solid thump.

Tomorrow's going to be interesting, but then again, every day since that auction has been interesting in its own way.

As I head inside to figure out what exactly one wears to make a town remember you have a "sinful side," I can't help but think that maybe being collateral isn't so bad—not when you get to choose who holds the debt.

And these alphas? They're worth every penny of that hundred million.