Page 124 of Roulette Rodeo
"Aren't you going to let me call what it is?"
I shrug, the picture of innocence.
"No need. Both sides are heads."
The silence that follows is beautiful.
The guys exchange looks of dawning understanding while Luca's face goes through several fascinating expressions.
Without waiting for his response, I reach over and flip the coin myself, revealing what we all now know—both sides show the same eagle.
"What the fuck, Luca?" Talon explodes. "You literally cheated."
Luca shrugs, trying to reclaim his nonchalance.
"Usually omegas aren't smart enough to catch the trick."
"Well," I smile sweetly, extending my hand, "pay up."
He huffs but pulls out his wallet, extracting a crisp hundred-dollar bill and placing it in my palm with obvious reluctance.
"And the open tab," I remind him.
"Fine," he grumbles. "Not like you can drink that much anyway."
"Oh, I never said I was going by myself." My smile turns sharp. "But I guess you'll have to take your chances figuring out when I do pass by."
His eye twitches, actual visible frustration breaking through his polished exterior.
"Who the hell are you?"
"Red," I say simply, offering nothing more.
He stares at me for a long moment before offering his hand.
"Luca."
We shake, and the tension between us is palpable—not sexual, but something else. Recognition that I’m a threat to whatever ploy he’s playing in this small town. One player acknowledging another.
"What exchange is happening here?"
The new voice cuts through the moment like a blade.
We all turn to find Rafe standing ten feet away, looking absolutely furious. His usually perfect appearance is slightly disheveled, like he ran here, and his ice-gray eyes are practically shooting lightning at Luca.
Luca rolls his eyes, his smugness returning full force.
"This new omega was teaching me a few tricks." He points to the hundred in my hand. "Smart cookie, if you ask me. Smart and sweet."
"If sweet-talking could get you into an omega's pants," I say conversationally, "you would have been mated by now."
The laughter that erupts from behind Rafe is deep and delighted.
An older man emerges—tall, bulky, with the kind of presence that fills spaces. He's wearing worn jeans and a flannel that's seen better days, but something about him screams authority.
"Now who's the feisty omega that seems to have reunited the Lucky Ace Pack to its full glory?"
"We're not reunited," Luca and Rafe say in perfect, angry unison, glaring at each other with enough heat to start a fire.
