Page 11 of Roulette Rodeo
"You just said it's evening."
A ghost of her old smirk crossed her face.
"You can have breakfast any time of day, Cherry Bomb. One of the few freedoms we have left."
She left me alone in the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click. I sat there for a moment, staring at the cracked tile, trying to reconcile the Briar who'd just helped me—gentle, careful, protective—with whatever had happened in that suite last night.
The hot water helped.
It always did, washing away the fever sweats and the lingering echo of my father's laughter from the dream. I stood under the spray until my legs felt solid again, until I could think past the suppressant haze.
When I emerged, wrapped in our threadbare towel, Briar was sitting on the bottom bunk—her old bed—staring at something in her hands.
It was a photograph, edges worn from handling. I recognized it immediately—us, two years ago, dressed in civilian clothes we'd borrowed from housekeeping. We'd snuck out for exactly one hour, long enough to take this picture at a tourist photo booth on the Strip. In it, we're laughing at something, my head thrown back, her arm around my shoulders.
We looked young. Free. Stupid.
"I thought you took this with you," I said softly.
She looked up, her eyes glassy.
"I did. I brought it back."
The weight of those words settled between us. She'd brought it back because she'd come back.
Whatever freedom she'd found…a pack that had supposedly saved her…it hadn't been enough.
"Briar—"
"Get dressed," she interrupted, tucking the photo into her pocket. "And wear something with long sleeves. It's cold out, and we're walking."
I wanted to push, to demand answers about where she'd been, why she'd returned, what those alphas had done to her last night. But I recognized the look in her eyes—the same one I saw in the mirror every morning.
The look that said, if you make me talk about it, I'll shatter.
So I got dressed in silence, pulling on jeans and a sweater that had seen better days. My hands shook slightly as I applied the minimum makeup required, even on our days off—God forbid an omega be seen without her face on.
"Ready?" Briar asked, standing by the door.
I nodded, then paused.
"Briar? Last night—thank you. You didn't have to?—"
"Yes, I did." Her voice was fierce, the old fire flickering to life. "You're still innocent, Red. Still untouched. That means something in this world, even if it shouldn't. And I'll be damned if I let them take that from you the way they took everything from me."
The words hung between us, heavy with implication.
What may have happened during her two years away wasn't the fairy tale we'd all imagined.
She opened the door, gesturing for me to go first.
"Come on, Cherry Bomb. Let's get some fucking pancakes and pretend we're normal people for a few hours."
I followed her out, my legs steady now but my heart racing.
Three days off with Briar back in my life. Three days to get answers, to plan, to figure out if there really was no escape from this velvet cage or if we just hadn't found the right key yet.
The hallway was empty—most girls would be getting ready for the evening shift. Their scents lingered though; a bouquet of omega pheromones tinged with fear and resignation.
