Page 35 of Roulette Rodeo
For a Saturday night with high-rollers in attendance, it was pathetic.
She came off stage with her head high but her hands shaking. The other girls avoided eye contact, each lost in their own pre-performance anxiety.
Madison went next, then Amber, then three girls whose names I'd never bothered to learn. Each one tried something different—props, costumes, special moves they'd been saving. None of it mattered.
The new pack remained unmoved, stone sentinels in their VIP booth while Marnay probably sweated bullets in his office.
Finally, the speakers crackled to life, and Briar's voice filled the space.
But it wasn't her usual announcement tone.
This was lower, more intimate, like she was sharing a secret with each person individually.
"Gentlemen, what you're about to witness isn't just another performance. It's not another body going through the motions you've seen a thousand times before."
A pause.
I could feel the audience lean forward.
"Tonight, you'll see something rarer than virgin diamonds, more valuable than untouched gold. An omega who hasn't been broken by this world. Who hasn't learned to fake pleasure for your dollars. Or more importantly, hasn't been taught that submission means surrender."
My hands clenched into fists at my sides.
What in the heavens was Briar doing?
"She's defiant yet feminine. Bold yet beautiful. An omega who isn't afraid of showing you exactly what she's capable of, even if it's not what you expect. No…especiallyif it's not what you expect."
The lights dimmed to almost nothing.
"Gentlemen, I present to you the crown jewel of the Crimson Roulette. The only omega in Vegas who's never been touched, claimed, or conquered. Introducing….Red."
The spotlight readied for my entrance and I stepped onto the stage.
The first thing I saw wasn't the audience. It was what Briar had prepared for my performance.
This cunning bitch…
The way my heart swelled like a child waking up to a sea of presents on Christmas morning.
Only this was far more grand with a audience begging for uniqueness in this sea of bland sexiness.
A boxing bag hung from the ceiling, but not just any bag. This one was crimson leather, pristine and gleaming under the lights. On a stool beside it sat hand wraps in the same cherry red as my outfit, and boxing gloves that had been bedazzled with what looked like actual diamonds. They'd catch the light with every punch, sending sparkles across the audience like shattered stars.
I almost laughed.Almost cried.Trust Briar to know exactly what I needed.
I walked to the stool with deliberate slowness, letting the heels create a rhythm against the stage.Click-clack. Again and again.Each step made the crystals in my heels throw red light across the floor, like I was walking through fire.
The audience was silent. Completely, pin-drop silence that was nothing but music to my ringing ears.
My heart was beating with raw exhilaration, my mind swirling with intuitive creativity that was begging to be spilled onto this audience of men who were begging for a show. I sat on the stool, crossing one leg over the other in a way that made the pearl string shift between my cheeks.
Someone in the audience sucked in a breath.
Slowly, deliberately, I began wrapping my hands.
It was a ritual I'd performed hundreds of times, but never like this. In six-inch heels and lace that left nothing to imagination. No way would I have the boldness to do this with an audience of alphas watching my every mov; billions of dollars hanging in the balance.
First time for everything, right?
