Page 37 of Roulette Rodeo
I was looking at the VIP section, where four shadows had finally moved. Leaning forward.Interested.
I couldn't see their faces clearly in the dim light, but I could feel their attention like a physical weight. Four alphas, their combined presence making the air thick and electric.
One of them stood, and even from the stage, I could see he was tall. Broad shoulders, controlled movement, something about his posture that screamed military.
My heart stopped.
It couldn't be.
But then the lights shifted slightly, and I caught a glimpse of eyes.
Forest green.
I reached up and slowly pulled off one glove, then the other, never breaking eye contact with that shadow. The diamonds scattered light as I dropped them, the sound echoing in the silent casino.
Then I began unwrapping my hands, the same slow ritual in reverse. The fabric unwinding, revealing skin reddened from impact, knuckles that would bruise by morning. Battle damage on a body meant for pleasure.
When the last wrap fell to the stage, I stood there in my ruined lingerie and sweat-smeared makeup, looking like I'd been thoroughly fucked or thoroughly fought, or both.
The alpha in the VIP section raised something to his face. Even in the darkness, I could see the motion, see him inhale deeply.
My panties. He still had them. And he was scenting them while watching me.
The realization hit me like a punch to the solar plexus. He'd figured it out.He found me.He'd come for me with enough money to play Marnay's games and win.
But more than that—he'd brought his pack.
Three other shadows stood with him, and even from here, I could feel their energy.
Different from the usual alphas who came here.
These ones felt...dangerous. Controlled. Like they were used to winning but not through luck.
Through strategy.
I knew right then I had to do something more before things came to an end.
Defiance. Unpredictable. Mesmerizing.
Marnay's voice crackles through the intercom, that velvet-wrapped authority that usually makes my skin crawl. "And now, for our next?—"
I don't let him finish.
My body moves before my brain catches up, heels clicking against the stage floor as I strut toward the edge. The spotlight follows, confused but obedient, as I descend the stairs into the audience. Every eye in the casino tracks my movement, but I only care about four.
"Red, what are you—" Marnay's voice cuts off mid-sentence, and I can practically taste his shock through the speakers.
Good…let him choke on his words and watch me take my power back.
The click-clack of my heels echoes through the sudden silence, each step deliberate, predatory. My destroyed lingerie clings to my sweat-slicked skin, the red lace barely containing what needs containing. The shimmering body oil catches the light with every movement, turning me into something otherworldly, untouchable, yet desperately wanted.
I pass the Moretti pack first. Their table reeks of cologne and barely contained violence, old-school mob money that thinks it can buy anything. The eldest Moretti—salt-and-pepper hair, dead eyes—licks his lips as I pass. His tongue is obscene, wet, promising things that would make me vomit if I thought about them too long.
"Madonna Mia," one of them whispers, reaching out.
I don't even acknowledge the grabbing hand, letting it swipe through empty air as I continue my march. Their whistles follow me, sharp and hungry.
The Castellano table is next. Tommy's there, pupils still blown from whatever he's been snorting, practically salivating. "There's our little fighter," he slurs, loud enough for the whole casino to hear. "Come here, baby. Let daddy show you what those hands are really for."
