Page 129 of Roulette Rodeo
~TALON~
Poppy plants herself in front of our table like she owns the entire diner, one hand extended toward Red with nails painted the exact shade of her lipstick.
"Poppy O’Donald Sinclair," she announces with the confidence of someone who's never met a room she couldn't command. "Obviously the favorite omega around town. Ask anyone."
Duke's laughter booms from behind her as he approaches with a tray of desserts.
"Favorite troublemaker, more like." But there's fondness in it as he sets down the lemon pies—one for each of us, plus an extra. "Figured Poppy would invite herself to the party, so might as well give her a treat. On the house."
Poppy squeals, actually squeals like a teenager getting concert tickets, and throws her arms around Duke's substantial frame.
"You're clearly one of the Universe's favorites! That's why you're always in the best health!"
Duke chuckles, his weathered face crinkling with genuine affection as he produces a chair from a nearby table.
"Sure, sweetheart. Nothing to do with you terrorizing me into eating vegetables."
Rafe groans as Poppy pulls the chair right up to our booth, wedging herself between the table edge and creating chaos with her mere presence.
"No one invited you."
"Obviously," she says, flipping her platinum-and-teal hair over her shoulder. "I invited myself. With the news of the universal omega changes, I have to be one with the outdoors and investigate how people feel." She pauses dramatically, hand over her heart. "As a journalist, real estate agent, and blog writer influencer, it only makes sense."
Rafe's eye twitches—a sure sign he's about to say something that'll start a war.
"Real estate my ass. Your blog barely gets views, and I thought the news office that hired you fired you the same day."
"That was discrimination, obviously!" Poppy's voice rises to a pitch that makes dogs three blocks away perk up their ears. "If I was an omega with a pack, they would have had no choice but to accept my enthusiasm for delivering the best gossip, I mean, news, this city could ever dream of!"
She jabs her fork in Rafe's direction, a cherry from the pie balanced precariously on the tines.
"They're lucky I'm on vacation here in Jackknife Ridge or else I'd be ruining their whole organization from the ground up. Scammers, the lot of them."
I glance at Red, catching the excitement twinkling in her garnet eyes as she watches this force of nature that is Poppy Sinclair. And fuck, I can already tell—they're going to be friends. Best friends, probably.
The kind that get into trouble together and drag everyone else along for the ride.
The thought sends a chill down my spine because this is exactly what happened with Sophia. She'd found a friend, another omega who understood her, and it had made her realize how much she didn't fit with us. How much we were failing her. That friendship had been the beginning of the end, the catalyst that?—
No. This is different. Red is different.
I force myself to focus on the present, where Shiloh's casually draping his arm along Red's shoulders. She relaxes into him unconsciously, but her attention is already captured by the dessert in front of her. The way her eyes light up at the sight of the lemon pie, pupils actually dilating like she's looking at porn instead of pastry, tells me we're about to lose her to food coma number two.
"So what's the buzz about these omega law changes?" Shiloh asks, his thumb rubbing absent circles on Red's shoulder.
Red's already diving into her pie with the same single-minded focus she'd had with the sandwich. Fork precisely cutting through the meringue, getting the perfect ratio of filling to crust to topping in each bite. She makes a small sound of pleasure that has me shifting in my seat.
Poppy straightens, clearly delighted to have an audience for her gossip—sorry, news.
"A mandatory law went into effect yesterday. All packs now have to have an omega associated with them or they're cut off. Completely. No government services, no tax benefits, no legal recognition as a pack."
The words land like a bomb.
We all exchange glances—this is what had Rafe running to town, what he'd been trying to tell us about before Red distracted everyone with her sandwich worship.
"Thirty days," Poppy continues, cutting into her own pie with precise movements that match her manicured appearance."That's all the time packs have to initiate the bond legally. File the paperwork, prove cohabitation, demonstrate genuine pack dynamics."
My mind races through the implications.
