Page 195 of Roulette Rodeo
The photo of Sophia with those familiar eyes still clutched against my chest as everything goes black.
ASHES AND SCREAMS
~RAFE~
Someone is shaking me, desperate hands gripping my shoulders hard enough to bruise.
The world swims in and out of focus like I'm underwater, drowning in thick syrup that won't let me surface. Voices echo from somewhere far away, distorted and urgent, but I can't make out the words through the fog in my head.
"Rafe! RAFE! Come on, wake up!"
I know that voice. Should know it. But thinking is like swimming through molasses, every thought taking enormous effort to form. Someone was calling me earlier. Red? Was it Red? We were talking about something important. She needed to run. Why did she need to run?
My head pounds with the kind of headache that comes from the worst hangovers, but multiplied by ten. Nausea rolls through me in waves, and I have the vague memory of drinking something. Whiskey? The renovation guys had brought whiskey. Some special release they wanted to share, a toast to the project...
The memory sharpens suddenly, like a camera coming into focus. The construction workers. Three of them, all smiles and enthusiasm about the barn renovation. They'd seemed sogenuine, so excited about the project. Had the plans spread out, measuring tapes, legitimate contractor paperwork. And the whiskey—some rare Kentucky bourbon they said they'd been saving for a special occasion.
We'd all had a glass. Just one. A toast to new beginnings, to moving forward, to letting go of the past.
Then... nothing. Darkness. Floating.
We'd been drugged.
Something sharp pinches my arm, like a needle piercing skin. Cold spreads from the injection site, racing through my veins like ice water. It's not pleasant—actually burns as it moves through my system—but with it comes clarity. The fog starts to lift, the syrup thinning, letting me claw my way back to consciousness.
My eyes snap open, and I immediately regret it. The world is too bright, too loud, too much. I'm on the ground, grass beneath me, and someone's holding me steady. My vision focuses on a face—male, mixed features, unusual amber eyes that I recognize but can't quite place.
"That's it," the man says, voice steady despite the chaos around us. "Come back. Fight through it."
Malrik. That's his name. Red's friend from Vegas, the omega who owns the gym. But why is he here? Why are there people in firefighter gear running past us? Why do I hear sirens?
"Hurry!" A woman's voice—Poppy, I think—calls from somewhere to my left. "More sirens coming! The ambulances are almost here!"
Ambulances? Why do we need ambulances?
I try to sit up, but Malrik keeps his hands on my shoulders, holding me in place. My body feels wrong, disconnected, like the signals from my brain aren't quite reaching my limbs properly. Whatever they gave us—and I'm certain now that we weredrugged—it's strong. Professional grade. The kind of thing you don't just buy on the street.
"What the fuck is happening?" My voice comes out rough, throat raw like I've been screaming. Have I been screaming?
I manage to turn my head, spotting familiar forms nearby. Shiloh is on his back, still unconscious, with Poppy checking his pulse. Talon is stirring slightly, groaning. Corwin is sitting up with help from someone in an EMT uniform, looking as disoriented as I feel.
They're all here. All alive. But...
"Where's Red?" The question comes out sharper than intended, but the absence of her presence is suddenly the only thing that matters.
Malrik doesn't answer, his jaw tightening as he looks away.
"Where is she?" I demand again, trying to push against his hold. My muscles respond sluggishly, but I manage to get partly upright.
He still won't answer, won't meet my eyes. Instead, he looks forward, past me, and something in his expression makes my blood turn to ice colder than whatever they injected me with.
I follow his gaze, and the world stops.
The farmhouse—or what's left of it—is an inferno. Flames reach toward the night sky like desperate fingers, orange and red and white-hot at the center. The structure has completely collapsed, just burning wreckage and memories turning to ash. Firefighters are working to contain it, their hoses creating great arcs of water that seem to do nothing against the hungry flames.
But that's not what makes my heart stop.
It's the fact that Red isn't here. Isn't with us. Isn't anywhere I can see.
