Page 25 of Roulette Rodeo
This one screamed exclusive, the kind of gaudy that only Vegas could make look expensive. Red shimmer caught the light, pink hearts floated in the resin like they were suspended in blood, and the whole thing probably cost more to make than most people's monthly rent.
"Here!" He thrust it at me like a talisman against evil. "This is a special playing chip. For that exclusive enterprise—uh, the Crimson Roulette or whatever!"
The Crimson Roulette.
I'd heard whispers about it. The kind of place where money wasn't enough to get you in, where connections mattered more than cash, where the house always won because they were playing different games than the ones on the tables.
"They have a two-year wait list and shit," he continued, words tumbling over each other in his desperation to live. "Only the wealthy can get in. I got it by chance—no, no, I stole it! But you can have it. It really is one of a kind, I'm not lying."
I frowned, though internally, my interest was piqued.
We hadn't come to Vegas for the gambling, but Rafe had been wound tighter than piano wire lately. Maybe a night at an exclusive casino would help him unwind, remember what it felt like to win instead of just survive.
I crouched down in front of the alpha, a predator's squat that made him press harder against the wall. His eyes went wide as dinner plates, and the smell of piss intensified.
"Fine," I said, plucking the chip from his trembling fingers. "I'll let you off the hook."
"Thank you, thank you—" He pressed his forehead to the floor, right into his own puddle, then scrambled to his feet and ran. His footsteps echoed down the hallway, getting fainter until they disappeared entirely.
I stood slowly, examining the chip in better light.
'Crimson Roulette' was embossed in fancy script, the red shimmer catching light like fresh blood. The pink hearts floating inside looked almost alive, pulsing with each turn of the chip.
I flipped it over.
"I'm so lucky" was inscribed on the back in the same elaborate font.
Lucky.
My mind immediately went to the omega in the closet. Her scent still clung to my clothes, to my skin, like she'd marked me without trying. Cherry and spice, honey and smoke, and that underlying sweetness that came from?—
A virgin.
In Vegas.
At twenty-four.
The statistical improbability of it made my tactical brain itch. This city ate innocence for breakfast and shat out broken dreams by lunch. Yet somehow, this omega had survived with her virginity intact.
Either she was incredibly lucky, protected, or incredibly strong.
With your perky attitude, she could be all three.
I pocketed the chip and headed back down the hallway, keeping to the shadows out of habit more than necessity.
The gym was nearly empty now—the alphas I'd dealt with had been the last of the early morning rush crowd, and gymjunkies wouldn't start rolling in for their self reflection weight training bullshit for another hour.
The closer I got to the storage closet, the more my pace quickened. Not quite running—I didn't run unless someone was shooting at me—but what Talon called my 'murder walk.'
Fast, purposeful, designed to cover ground while maintaining tactical awareness.
Her scent hit me before I reached the door. Faint now, fading like morning mist, but still potent enough to make my cock twitch with interest.
She wouldn't be there.
I knew it before I opened the door. An omega that fierce and defiant, wouldn't wait for a stranger who'd given her orders. Especially not after I'd taken her first kiss like a conquering army taking territory.
But knowing and accepting were different things.
