Page 182 of Roulette Rodeo
His retreat is unhurried, hands in his pockets, whistling something that sounds suspiciously like a funeral dirge.
The crowd parts for him automatically—even in a place like Jackknife Ridge, people recognize a predator when they see one.
SURPRISE RODEO QUEEN
~RED~
"Oh, they're going to kill me," I giggle to myself, checking the tracking app one more time.
The little dots representing my alphas blink on the map—they're clustered together near the beer garden, probably celebrating Corwin's victory and enjoying their drinks on Luca's tab. Perfect. They're far enough away that by the time they hear the announcement, it'll be too late to stop me.
The sequined outfit Poppy helped me change into catches the light from the fair rides, sending little rainbow reflections dancing across my skin. It's absolutely ridiculous—a sparkly silver crop top that's basically a bedazzled sports bra, matching high-waisted shorts that hug every curve, and white cowboy boots with silver fringe. My hair is piled up in a messy bun with tendrils framing my face, and Poppy insisted on body glitter. Lots of body glitter.
"You look like a disco ball had a baby with a rodeo queen," Malrik had said when he saw the final result.
"Perfect," I'd replied.
Because that's exactly the point. This isn't just about winning—it's about making a statement. About showing this town, thesealphas, everyone who still sees omegas as delicate flowers, that we can be more. That I can be more.
The announcer's voice booms across the fairgrounds. "Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat tonight! For the first time in Country Ridge Fair history, we're opening the mechanical bull competition to omegas!"
The crowd goes wild, and I take a deep breath. This is it.
"Our final contestant of the evening, representing the Lucky Ace Pack—Miss Rowenna Vale!"
I strut out from behind the operator's booth, and the reaction is immediate. Whistles, cheers, several alphas howling like actual wolves. The crowd has swelled since Corwin's ride—word travels fast at these things, and everyone wants to see what the hundred-million-dollar omega is going to do.
The fact that there are plenty of unfamiliar faces helps. The fair draws people from surrounding towns, even some from out of state. They don't know me as the rescued casino omega or the Lucky Ace Pack's carefully protected treasure. To them, I'm just another competitor, albeit one dressed like I'm about to perform at a very specific type of club.
I approach the mechanical bull with confidence I don't entirely feel, but fake it till you make it, right? The operator—a grizzled older man who's been running this ride for probably twenty years—gives me a skeptical look.
"You sure about this, sweetheart?"
I flash him my brightest smile. "Oh, I'm sure."
I grab the side of the bull and hop up with more grace than I expected, muscle memory from childhood fairs flooding back. Mom had signed me up for the kids' competition when I was eight, determined that her daughter would win that giant teddy bear. I'd practiced for weeks on a neighbor's actual bull—a gentle old thing named Ferdinand who barely moved faster than awalk. But it taught me balance, taught me how to move with the animal instead of against it.
Of course, I was about sixty pounds lighter then and significantly less top-heavy. But the principles are the same, right?
I settle into position, wrapping my hand around the rope handle, and start my mental countdown. Fifteen seconds. That's about how long it'll take for?—
"Oh no, she fucking didn't."
There it is. Talon's voice carries over the crowd, and I can't help the grin that spreads across my face.
The announcer continues, building the drama. "This is our FINAL participant in the mechanical swing madness, OMEGA EDITION! A first for our fair! And folks, the prize isn't just bragging rights—it's a brand new barn, farmhouse, or ranch makeover! Completely sponsored by Henderson Construction, no questions asked!"
The crowd gasps at the prize value—we're talking potentially hundreds of thousands of dollars in construction and renovation. I keep my expression neutral, but inside I'm vibrating with excitement. Last week, I'd overheard Shiloh and Rafe talking about the barn where Rafe parks that truck—the one he hadn't touched in two years until the night of the storm. Shiloh mentioned it needed serious structural work, a new roof, updated electrical. But Rafe had shut down the conversation, saying it wasn't a priority.
Except I'd seen his face when he said it. The way his jaw tightened, the slight flinch when Shiloh mentioned maybe just tearing it down and starting fresh. That barn means something to him. Something connected to Sophia, probably, something painful but important.
And if I can win this—if I can give him the chance to remake that space into something new, something that isn't haunted by ghosts—then a little potential alpha rage is worth it.
"ROWENNA VALE, IF YOU DON'T GET YOUR SEXY ASS DOWN FROM THERE!"
Shiloh's bellow cuts through my thoughts, and several alphas near the ring start laughing.
"Someone's in trouble!" one calls out.
