Page 54 of Roulette Rodeo
Three of the most dangerous men I know, reduced to mother hens by an unconscious omega who might not even survive the night.
"Heart rate's dropping again," Corwin says urgently. "She needs another dose."
He's already prepping another injector, this one pulled from the medical kit Duke always keeps stocked. The needle goes into her thigh, and we all wait, holding our breath like her next one matters.
It shouldn't matter.
She's just an omega.
A purchase.
A complication we don't need.
But I find myself watching for the rise of her chest, for the flutter of her eyelids, for any sign that she's fighting.
Stop it, I tell myself.Stop caring.
"There," Corwin breathes as her breathing deepens slightly. "That's better."
"Five minutes," Duke calls back.
Five minutes until we're on our jet, heading home to Jackknife Ridge, where this becomes real instead of some fever dream in a city built on illusions.
"She's going to need round-the-clock care," Corwin is saying, already in planning mode. "I can set up a medical suite, monitor her vitals, make sure there's no lasting damage from whatever Marnay gave her."
"I'll handle security," Talon adds. "Make sure that fucker doesn't try anything else. Maybe pay him a visit once she's stable."
"No," Shiloh says, and there's something dark in his voice. "Marnay's mine."
They're already planning her integration into our lives like it's a foregone conclusion. As if we're keeping her. Like she's going to wake up and somehow fit into our broken dynamic and make everything better.
She won't.
She can't.
That’s not how any of this is going to work…
Because the last omega who tried ended up dead, and I'll be damned if I watch history repeat itself.
The airfield comes into view—private, secure, the kind of place that doesn't ask questions about unconscious passengers.
Our Gulfstream is waiting, engines already warming up. The transfer is smooth, practiced. We've moved sensitive cargo before, though usually it was weapons or cash, not women who smell like home and heartbreak.
She's settled into the medical chair we had installed for emergencies, IVs and monitors attached with Corwin's efficient expertise. She looks small surrounded by all the medical equipment, fragile in a way that her stage performance suggested she wasn't.
Smoke and mirrors, I remind myself.Everything in Vegas is smoke and mirrors.
"Thirty minutes to Jackknife Ridge," our pilot announces.
Thirty minutes to figure out what the fuck we're going to do. Enough time to find a way to convince my pack that this is a mistake.
At least before this omega becomes a permanent problem instead of a temporary complication.
I take my usual seat—the one that lets me see all exits and everyone in them.
Strategic positioning, even here among my brothers.
Especially here, where I can watch them fawn over an unconscious woman who's already causing fractures in our foundation.
