Page 77 of Roulette Rodeo (Jackknife Ridge Ranch #1)

SMOKE AND SALVATION

~RED~

D arkness presses against me like a physical weight, thick and suffocating.

There's no up or down here, just the crushing black and the taste of copper in my mouth. My head throbs in rhythm with my heartbeat—sharp, insistent pain that makes thinking feel like swimming through tar.

Barking.

The sound filters through the darkness, distant and muffled like it's coming through water. Again and again, desperate and frantic. Duke? It has to be Duke. That familiar cadence of his alarm bark, the one he uses when something's truly wrong.

"If this dog doesn't stop barking—" A man's voice, frustrated and exhausted, echoes from somewhere above.

"Wait." A woman's voice cuts through, and something in my chest clenches with recognition. I know that voice. Know it like I know my own heartbeat. "He has to be barking for a reason."

"For fuck's sake, he's been barking at collapsed buildings all night. He's probably traumatized?—"

"Will you shut up for two seconds?" The woman's voice sharpens with authority that makes even my barely conscious brain pay attention. "Jeez. You're such a cocky firefighter alpha."

"Listen here, Briar?—"

Briar.

My heart stutters, then races. Briar. Here. How?

"No, seriously, hush." Her voice drops, and I can picture her—hand raised for silence, head tilted as she listens with the hypervigilance that three years at the Crimson Roulette beats into you.

Silence falls except for Duke's continued barking and the distant sound of water on hot debris. There's shuffling above, footsteps on unstable ground, the scrape of something being moved.

I try to call out, try to make any sound, but my throat feels like I've swallowed glass. The attempt triggers a cough—weak, pathetic, but apparently enough.

"Shush!" Briar's voice is electric with hope. "I heard a cough."

"You're hallucinating," the firefighter says, but there's less certainty now. "Look, I know you said the omega here was an acquaintance, but come on. The structure's been collapsed for over an hour. No one could?—"

"Shut. Up." Each word is precisely enunciated, the kind of tone that used to make handsy alphas at the casino think twice. "Duke, is Red here? Is she here, boy?"

The barking becomes manic, and I hear scratching directly above me—claws on metal. He's found the hatch. Smart, brilliant, perfect dog.

"There's a hatch here," Briar declares, voice rising with excitement. "Hey! Help me move all this wood. Hurry!"

"This is ridiculous?—"

"If I'm fucking right," she cuts him off with vicious precision, "you're going to be in the doghouse begging to even be in the same room as me. Now MOVE."

He shuts up but I hear him grumbling as he calls out, "Team! Over here! Possible survivor!"

The sounds above become purposeful chaos—wood being shifted, debris cleared, multiple voices coordinating the effort. Each crash and scrape reverberates through my skull like thunder, but I fight to stay conscious. Fight to be ready when—if—they break through.

My vision grays at the edges, consciousness flickering like a dying lightbulb. In and out, the darkness pulling at me with seductive fingers. It would be so easy to let go, to sink into the nothing where pain doesn't exist.

But Duke is barking. Briar is here. My pack is... God, I hope they're okay. They have to be okay. I got them out, didn't I? The memories are fuzzy, fragmented, but I remember dragging, pulling, the terrible weight of unconscious alphas.

Light.

It pierces the darkness like a blade, harsh and beautiful. A beam of white cutting through the black, and Duke's barking is suddenly clear as day, no longer muffled by debris and distance.

"Thank fucking heavens, RED!"

Briar's face appears in the square of light above, and even from this distance—what, twenty feet?

More?—I can see her eyes filling with tears.

Her hair is different from the last time I saw her.

Silver-white now instead of the black she maintained at the casino, wild curls that catch the flashlight beams like a halo.

She's wearing something completely inappropriate for a rescue scene—what looks like a sequined dress under a firefighter's jacket—but she's never looked more beautiful.

I try to speak, try to say her name, but nothing comes out except another weak cough. The best I can manage is to raise my hand slightly, just enough to form a shaky thumbs up.

I'm alive. I'm here. You found me.

"We need an ambulance here NOW!" Briar shouts, her voice cracking with emotion. "And a ladder! The rescue basket! Everything!"

The firefighter who was arguing with her—I can see him now, a broad-shouldered alpha with soot-stained gear—leans over the opening. "There's signs of life! Hurry the fuck up! We've got an omega down there, approximately twenty-foot drop, unknown injuries!"

More faces appear at the opening, headlamps creating a constellation of lights that hurt to look at. But I can't look away from Briar, from the proof that she's real, she's here, she's alive and free and somehow part of my rescue.

"Stay awake, Cherry Bomb!" she calls down, and I can hear tears in her voice now. "Don't you dare close your eyes! The ladder's coming!"

But my body has other ideas. Now that I know I'm found, know I'm going to be pulled from this darkness, the adrenaline that kept me conscious starts to fade. Everything hurts—my head worst of all, but also my ribs, my hands burned from pulling hot rope, my throat raw from smoke.

"Red! RED!" Briar's voice is getting farther away even though I know she hasn't moved.

My eyes close despite my best efforts.

But I'm smiling as consciousness fades, because I know what comes next. After they patch me up, after the hospital and the questions and the recovery, there's something I need to do.

Someone who needs to learn that attacking my pack—drugging them, trying to burn them alive, using renovation contractors as cover—carries consequences. Someone who thought distance and time and small-town Montana would protect him from retribution.

The last thought before darkness claims me completely is crystal clear, sharp as winter ice:

Marnay.