Page 169 of Roulette Rodeo
I can picture him now, probably close enough to Marnay that the casino manager can feel his breath, see the promise of violence in those ice-gray eyes.
"I dare you to touch what's ours," Rafe says softly, almost gently. "See if youliveto tell the tale. Actually, I beg you to. I enjoy proving to our enemies that we're still the mostthreatening pack in America, whether in Chicago, Nevada, or in the little outskirts of Jackknife Ridge."
A pause, then…
"You decide."
The silence that follows is deafening. I'm holding my breath, Talon's hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel, and even Corwin has gone completely still.
"Good day, then," Marnay finally says, his voice giving away nothing.
We listen to his footsteps returning to his car, the door closing with an expensive thump, the engine purring to life. Nobody moves until the Bentley has disappeared down the drive, even after we can no longer hear its engine.
"Holy shit," Talon breathes.
"Stay down," Corwin warns me quietly. "Until we're sure he's really gone."
But I barely hear him.
My heart is beating so fast I feel lightheaded, and not from fear.
From the knowledge that Rafe just threatened one of the most dangerous men in Nevada on my behalf. That he called me theirs with such possessive certainty. That this pack would go to war rather than let me go back to that life.
But underneath the warmth of that protection, a cold dread settles in my stomach.
Because I know something they don't.
Marnay didn't get where he is by backing down from threats. He didn't build the Crimson Roulette into Nevada's most exclusive omega entertainment venue by being scared of dangerous men. He's dealt with mob bosses, cartel leaders, and worse.
When he wants something, he finds a way to get it.
And he clearly wants me back.
"Red?" Corwin's voice breaks through my spiraling thoughts. "You can come up now."
I crawl out from behind the seats, my legs shaky. Through the windshield, I can see Rafe and Shiloh still standing where they confronted Marnay, talking in low voices.
"You okay?" Talon asks, turning to look at me with concern.
I nod, then shake my head, then shrug. "I don't know."
"He won't touch you," Corwin says firmly. "We won't let him."
"You don't understand," I whisper, watching Rafe run his hand through his hair in a gesture of frustration I've come to recognize. "Marnay doesn't make empty trips. If he came all the way here, if he made that offer, it means he already has a plan."
"We can handle him," Talon says with the confidence of someone who's never dealt with Marnay's particular brand of patient cruelty.
"He has connections everywhere," I continue, dread settling deeper. "Judges, cops, politicians. He owns half of Nevada's underground and has dirt on the other half. He's survived every FBI investigation, every rival who tried to take him down, every change in the political winds."
I meet their eyes, needing them to understand.
It hits me with a sick, metallic aftertaste: Rafe might've just painted a target on every one of our backs, a neon bullseye visible from orbit.
I've seen Marnay lose before, and what he does afterwards is never as simple as sulking and licking his wounds.
He doesn't just get even—he multiplies vendettas, compounds humiliation into a new currency, and spends it gleefully on the utter destruction of whoever crossed him.
Rafe's threat might've scared lesser men, but all it did was light a fuse in Marnay's chest, and now I'm watching the sparks inch closer to the stick of dynamite that is our little found family.
