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“Meaning?” Kyrian bows over her, and Roman pulls him back. “What the hell do you mean?”
“You’re not allowed to speak to me like that,” the woman hisses.
“That’s right, Ky, no more.” Roman steps in front of him. “But the question is valid. What do you mean?”
“What I mean, sweetheart,” the woman says, “is that mostly everyone working in a club like this, sooner or later, will strip and lap dance and do anything for a bit more of cash. People working here aren’t exactly swimming in money. They’re here because they need the cash. And the boss won’t let anyone remain just a pole dancer forever. Her time here is tick-tocking away fast, unless she says yes to the boss. She already started with the lap dancing, if I’m not mistaken.”
The growl coming out of Archer’s throat is pure animal, but I’m surprised to find a softer growl coming from me, as well. In fact, as I realize, all four of us are growling.
The woman rolls her eyes. “What is this, some pack routine? Or a dispute? Behave, or you’ll be kicked out of here before you can blink, is that clear? Now go before I call Blake back to do just that.”
She’s got balls of steel, this lady. I can’t imagine the sorts of people she has to deal with every night in this club, with all the bared flesh being paraded, the sexual tension, and the assholes who might think they own the place and everyone in it.
Swallowing the growl stuck in my throat, I tug on Archer’s sleeve. “Let’s go find her.” I glance back at the lady. “Is she here?”
“Baby Doll? She should. She was in late a couple of times and I covered for her, but do tell her that this can’t keep happening. She’s a sweet girl, but she’s an employee just like everyone else.”
“Got it.”
“Our girl, lap dancing?” Roman hisses, and now we’re all growling again, dammit.
I can’t deny that despite my doubts and my worries, despite my confusion at this point about what the other guys want, in my heart I’ve known it from the start:
I want her.
22
KYRIAN
What in the actual fuck is going on? I’m growling like a wolf, and I couldn’t even fucking tell you why. Brinlee is not my girl. She’s not pack. Hell, I barely know her. Haven’t had a proper conversation with her by this point.
But it seems the pack already knows things I don’t. They keep starting things without talking to me first.
Damned Roman.
This has to stop.
Unless… unless they’ve already decided I’m out. Out of the equation, out of the pack. Did they already figure it out—figure out how useless I am, how stupid, how unworthy?
It’s a knife to my chest.
But I ignore the pain with the ease of long practice. Won’t let it show on my face, or in my behavior. We’re here to find Brinlee, find out what the hell is going on. Why would our girl—no, not our girl, fuck—why she would be working in this place.
The answer is staring me in the face, of course. She needs money desperately. It’s practically what the ticket lady said. Desperate souls gathered in this fine establishment, stuck here, unable to leave, waiting for the customer tips and the next paycheck.
And I shouldn’t fucking care! None of my business. Not my family. Not my pack.
The pack is my only family.
She’s not a part of it.
Lost in thought and simmering anger—and worry—I stalk after the others as they step inside the club, moving under the low lights that litter the ceiling like stars. I’m moving, but suddenly it’s as if I’m swimming through dark water, slightly dizzy, the pain in my heart morphing into a steady pulse that shakes my body. I’m gliding through an unknown ocean, uncharted territories.
I thought I had found my place in life, but it had been under false pretenses. I have no other but myself to blame.
I lied to my pack. Lied by omission. Let them think I’m normal, no, more than that, that I’m an intelligent person, and not the idiot of the village.
Sooner or later, it was gonna come back and bite me in the ass.
