Page 168 of Roulette Rodeo
Last week, he actually let me lean against his shoulder while we watched some terrible action movie Talon picked.
"Business has been rather stale as of late with the riots," Marnay says, bringing me back to the present. "But my clientele has been requesting Red. Her act that night caught their eye, and they're begging for an encore."
My stomach drops. No. No, no, no.
"So," he continues with the casual air of someone discussing the weather, "I'd like to buy her back."
I have to clamp both hands over my mouth to stop from gasping. The truck stays silent, Talon and Corwin as frozen as I am.
The one who laughs is, surprisingly, Rafe. It's not his usual cold chuckle but something darker, more dangerous.
"How much are you offering to buy her for? Double?"
"Triple," Marnay announces, and the number hangs in the air like a threat.
Three hundred million dollars. For me.
The real underlying question is why? There has to be another reason.
Or intriguingly enough, another player on the playing field…
"No," Shiloh says flatly, not even pretending to consider it.
"It's not really your say, is it?" Marnay's voice has taken on an edge. "The pack alpha makes these decisions."
Rafe sighs, the sound carrying clearly.
"Do you think we really need money? We're multimillionaires. A billionaire pack, actually, if you're counting properly. Your whole establishment couldn't buy this omega."
His voice takes on a mocking tone that makes my cheeks burn.
"We're getting used to her, you see. Especially having her mouth on our cocks and her small body warming us up at night. Plus, her heat's pretty close, so it's a no. We aren't missing that for your little entertainment scheme."
The casual vulgarity of it should offend me, but I understand the game he's playing.
Making me sound used, claimed, thoroughly owned in ways that matter to alphas like Marnay.
"It would be in your best interest to cooperate," Marnay says, and there's something in his tone that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"Why?" Rafe's voice is curious now, like a cat playing with a mouse. "Are you going to threaten us?"
The silence stretches, heavy with implication.
When Rafe speaks again, his voice has changed completely. The authority vibrating through it is so cold, so absolutely terrifying, that I feel my omega instincts screaming at me to bare my neck in submission even though he's not talking to me.
"Maybe you've forgotten how we built our empire, Marnay."
Each word is precisely enunciated, falling like hammer blows.
"You think because our roots are in the wild west that we don't have enough force to destroy your little showbiz with the snap of our fingers?"
I can hear footsteps—Rafe moving closer to Marnay, each step deliberate and far too loud.
"Let me remind you of something," he continues, and his voice has dropped to something that's almost a purr but infinitely more dangerous. "We didn't become the most feared pack in Chicago by playing nice. We didn't survive the Ferrero war by being civilized. And we certainly didn't disappear into Jackknife Ridge because we were running scared."
Another step.
"We came here because the body count was getting inconvenient. Too much paperwork. Too many questions. But make no mistake—retirement hasn't made us soft. It's just made us selective about who deserves our attention."
