Page 83 of Roulette Rodeo
But Red...
Red's dancing.
Actually fucking dancing in the rain like she's never felt it before. Which, I realize with a jolt, she probably hasn't. Not in three years locked in that desert casino where even the air was controlled and processed.
The silk pajamas are already soaked through, clinging to every curve, completely transparent. I can see everything—the full swell of her breasts, nipples hard from cold, the indent of herwaist, the curve of her hips. Water runs down her skin in rivulets that make my mouth go dry despite the whisky.
Duke's joined her now, barking and jumping, and she's playing with him like a child. They're both splashing in puddles that are forming rapidly, mud already streaking her legs.
And Shiloh...
I've known Shiloh for five years. I've seen him in combat, confined in a bed, in every emotional state from rage to grief. But I've never seen him like this.
He's watching her with an expression I can only describe as wonder. Like he's seeing something impossible, something that shouldn't exist but does. When she grabs Duke's paws to dance with him, Shiloh actually laughs.
Not his usual dark chuckle that means someone's about to get hurt. Real, genuine laughter that transforms his entire face.
She falls—of course she does in those ridiculous boots—landing flat on her ass in a puddle.
But instead of getting upset, she laughs harder, making fucking mud angels like a five-year-old.
"This is amazing!" she shouts, loud enough for the camera's audio to pick up. "I haven't felt rain in three years! Real rain!"
Something clenches in my chest at that.
Three years of recycled air and artificial light. Three years of performing for men who saw her as meat. Three years of saving tips in a broken compact, hoping for an escape that must have seemed impossible.
And her first response to freedom is to dance in a thunderstorm.
Shiloh's moving now, and I recognize his body language. This is Shiloh in hunt mode, Shiloh who's decided on a target. But it's playful, lighter than I've ever seen him. He's actually chasing her through the rain, both of them slipping in the mud, Duke barking circles around them.
When he catches her—because she can barely walk in those stupid big ass boots—he spins her around like they're in some fucking musical. She's shrieking with laughter, clinging to him not in fear but in joy, and when he sets her down, they both slip.
They go down hard, her landing on top of him, both now completely covered in mud.
And they're still laughing.
She props herself up on his chest, looking down at him with those garnet eyes that probably sparkle even more in the rain. Her hair is plastered to her head, makeup completely gone, mud streaking her face.
She's never looked more beautiful.
The realization pisses me off enough that I almost close the feed. But I can't look away from the way they're looking at each other. Like they're the only two people in the world. Like the storm around them is just background music for whatever's happening between them.
"Thank you," she says, and even through the camera, I can hear the sincerity in it.
Thank you for what?
For the chase? For catching her? For buying her freedom, even if it came with new chains?
Shiloh reaches up, pushing wet hair from her face with a gentleness that seems impossible from hands that have killed. They stay like that, her on top of him in the mud, rain still pouring, just looking at each other.
The intimacy of it makes me feel like a voyeur.
Makes me feel like an outsider in my own pack.
The reality that it makes me feel anything after I swore I'd never feel again ruins me.
I shut off the monitor with more force than necessary, the screen going black with a small protest beep.
