Page 173 of Roulette Rodeo
Malrik nods, his whole demeanor shifting from playful to serious. "Red probably mentioned me. I taught her to fight back in Vegas. Kept her as safe as I could before I had to disappear."
"Why?" Rafe asks, his CEO voice in full effect. "What was your interest in her?"
"No interest beyond keeping another omega from becoming another statistic," Malrik says flatly. "You know how many omegas die in places like the Crimson Roulette? Not fromthe obvious violence, but from the slow drain? The drugs, the despair, the gradual erosion of self until there's nothing left but a pretty shell?"
He shakes his head, anger flashing in those unusual eyes.
"Red had fire. Still had fight in her. That's rare after even a few months in that place. So yeah, I taught her to throw a punch, to break a hold, to go for the eyes if someone got too close." He meets each of our gazes steadily. "And before you ask, no, I never touched her beyond training. Not my type, for one thing. For another, she was saving herself for something better. Guess she found it."
"She found us," I correct, not liking the implication that we're just 'something better' rather than her pack, her mates, her everything.
"Sure," Malrik agrees easily. "And then Marnay found you."
The casual mention of what just happened tells me he knows more than he should.
"How did you?—"
"Passed his tacky Bentley on the way here," Malrik explains. "Man drives like everyone should part for him like the Red Sea. Plus, Poppy's got her ear to the ground. Lots of chatter about omegas being recalled to Vegas, about certain establishments trying to recover 'lost assets.'"
"Red's not an asset," Talon growls.
"No," Malrik agrees. "She's bait."
We all stiffen at that, but he continues before we can respond.
"Think about it. Marnay doesn't need Red specifically. He's got dozens of omegas. But Red? The hundred-million-dollar omega who went to the mysterious Lucky Ace Pack? She's the prize that proves he's still in control, still the king of his little kingdom even with the government breathing down his neck."
"He wants to make a statement," Corwin says, understanding dawning in his voice.
"Exactly. Taking her back from you isn't about money or even about her specifically. It's about showing everyone that nobody's beyond his reach. That even a pack with your reputation can't keep him from taking what he considers his."
"He's going to be disappointed," Rafe says quietly, and there's something in his tone that makes even Malrik reassess him.
"I'm counting on it," Malrik says with a grin that's all teeth. "I didn't spend six months planning my escape from Vegas just to watch Red get dragged back. She deserves this life. Deserves you all, even if you're clearly emotionally constipated alphas who don't know what to do with genuine affection."
"Excuse me?" I bristle, but he waves me off.
"Please. She's been here three months and you're all still dancing around each other like teenagers at prom. Well, except for soldier boy here who at least had the balls to make a move." He gives me a mock salute. "Good job on that, by the way. She was starting to think none of you actually wanted her."
How does he even know all this shit?
"That's not—" Corwin starts, but Poppy's horn cuts him off.
"FIVE MINUTES ARE UP! WHERE IS SHE?"
As if summoned, the front door flies open and Red emerges, having somehow completely transformed in the promised five minutes. Gone are the comfortable clothes she'd been wearing. Now she's in dark jeans that hug every curve, a deep red tank top under a black leather jacket I didn't know she owned, and boots that add a couple inches to her height. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun that somehow looks both casual and styled, and she's added just enough makeup to enhance rather than hide.
She looks dangerous. Confident. Like the woman who boxed in lingerie and set a casino full of alphas on fire with want.
"How?" Talon mutters. "How did she do that in five minutes?"
"Three years of quick changes between performances," Red says, having heard him. "You learn to be efficient."
She does a little spin, the jacket flaring out. "Too much?"
"Perfect," Malrik assures her. "You'll fit right in at the rodeo."
"Rodeo?" I ask, suspicious.
