Page 72 of Roulette Rodeo
She’s truly the holy grail of Omegas, a pack in our circumstance would dream of, because the reality was packs like us never got second chances. Getting another golden opportunity to meet an Omega that could light up our flame and leave us in utter chaos. That didn’t happen in Vegas. It most certainly could never unfold in Jack Ridge.
Yet, that was exactly what was unfolding, piece by piece, and fuck. I simply can’t let her be the one that got away…
Duke suddenly barks, the sharp alert that means someone's approaching. My hand goes automatically to the knife on my belt—old habits—before I catch her scent on the wind and relax.
Speak of the devil, and she appears.
She's standing at the edge of the clearing like something out of a dream. Or maybe a fever dream, because what she's wearing shouldn't be legal.
Deep red silk pajamas that cling to every curve, the shorts barely covering anything, the top held together by tiny pearlbuttons that look one deep breath away from giving up. Her hair is loose, messy from sleep, catching the filtered sunlight like copper fire. And on her feet?—
I have to bite back a laugh.
She's wearing my boots. The ones I'd left by the door, size twelve cowboy boots that she's having to shuffle in rather than walk, looking like a child playing dress-up except for the way those silk shorts ride up with each awkward step.
Duke's already racing toward her, and I watch, curious how she'll react. Most omegas are afraid of him—ninety pounds of German Shepherd mix with scars from his own military service visible in his coat. He's trained to kill on command, to protect what's ours with prejudice.
But Red drops to her knees the moment she sees him, her gasp one of pure delight.
"A puppy!"
The joy in her voice is so genuine, so unexpected, that I actually stop mid-swing to watch.
She's cooing at him, that high, sweet voice all omegas seem to have for animals and babies, but there's something different about hers. Something real beneath the performance.
"Hi, baby. Oh, you're beautiful, aren't you? Such a pretty puppy."
Duke approaches cautiously—he's well-trained enough to be suspicious of strangers—but she stays perfectly still, hand offered for inspection.
"It's okay. I'm nice, I promise. I smell weird, I know. Like medicine and new places and probably fear-sweat, but I'm nice. I've never gotten to pet a real dog before. Just the mean ones they used for security, and they weren't for petting."
The casual mention of her captivity makes my jaw clench, but I force myself to stay still, to watch this play out.
Duke sniffs her hand thoroughly, then huffs his approval and starts racing around her in circles, tail wagging hard enough to create a breeze.
Her giggle—fuck, that giggle—is pure sunshine.
The sound of someone who hasn't had much reason to laugh, genuinely finding joy in something simple.
"You want to play? Is that it? Oh, you're just a baby, aren't you?"
Duke takes this as permission and launches himself at her. She squeals—not in fear but delight—as he knocks her backward and starts licking her face with enthusiasm.
"Oh my God, puppy kisses! You're perfect, you know that? The most perfect puppy in the whole world."
She's baby-talking to him now, all dignity abandoned, and when he flips onto his back for belly rubs, she complies immediately.
"Are you a boy or a girl? Not that it matters. You're gorgeous either way. And so friendly! Yes, you are, yes you are!"
The scene is so pure, so unexpectedly innocent from a woman who'd performed in a sex club for three years, that my chest aches watching it.
"I'm keeping you," she declares to Duke, and I’m moving before I grasp it. "You're mine now. We'll be best friends. I'll sneak you treats and let you sleep in my bed and?—"
"Kidnapping my dog is technically illegal."
She looks up at me, and the impact of those garnet eyes has my heart skipping like I’m doing Double Dutch drills like in my teen years, hoping to impress all the older girls. Even from here, I can see the gold flecks in the depths of those stunning eyes, the way they catch light like treasure.
"And Duke's picky about who he likes," I add, trying for casual and probably failing.
