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Rubbing the back of my neck, I scratch behind my ear, "Yeah, it's weird. Cass and Iggy are usually dicks about pulling extra hours, but they've been here all month. Not that I'm complaining, it's been nice to get some other shit done. But Iggy crashed, Cass had some other shit to do. Anyway, here I am. What's new?"
Jess smirks, "Not much, man. It's been busy, but quiet, ya know? No trouble. Status quo. I'm pretty sure—oh, hey Imogen. How you doin', girl?"
Jess stands, pulling the door open. I assume it's one of the dancers. In my peripheral, she's got on sweatpants and a hoodie, the general uniform for the girls coming to and from work. But when I turn and take her in full on, my mouth drops open.
She looks up at me, surprised, like she wasn't expecting me to be standing here. As dumbstruck as I am, her steps falter, and I watch as her nostrils flare, and she breathes me in. I try to do the same, but I can't scent her. Not even that weird plastic filter the over-the-counter scent-blockers create. No, this is that industrial strength shit.
Suddenly, I want to bury my face in her, to search out the base of her, the core, the essence. Cornflower blue eyes, honey blonde hair, golden skin, she looks like a fucking goddess. Her red lips part, and with it, my world splits open.
Jess clears his throat, and I could give fuck-all, but Imogen, whoever she is, is the first to break our bubble and she turns, smiling at him. I don't want her to smile at him, I want all her smiles. I want her lips making all kinds of shapes for me. Open, swallowing. Pursed in sexual tension and pain. Parted in pleasure.
"Yo, you must be the new girl. Imogen," I say, trying to sound chill. I can't tell if I sounded chill or not though, I'm kind of having a moment.
Her eyes widen in panic but she doesn't seem scared. I hate that she might be just because I'm an alpha. She downcasts her gaze and nods, "Yes. Red, correct? It's very nice to meet you."
Then she glances up, looking at me through her thick lashes, and we're both caught in some inexplicable web.
I think I stopped breathing for a second, but eventually, she turns away again.
"Good evening, Jess. I'm so sorry, I'm just going to—" She points to the door he's been holding open for her.
I attempt to follow her in when Jess's arm shoots out across my chest, stopping me, the door slamming shut in my face.
Still stupefied, it takes me a second to process my surroundings. Where am I? What the hell were we talking about?
"She's an omega," Jess narrows his eyes pointedly.
Obviously. Internally I scoff because, of course, she is. "What? I'm not tryin' to date the girl," I say, only half-joking. But then that realization cascades in layers, in understanding. She's an omega.
My alpha stands here like an idiot, rewriting everything in my head, Jess watching in silent amusement.
My brothers and I swore we'd never take an omega, for a lot of reasons. But we were young when we made that promise. Growing up, watching Ophelia, and even Alma, we were uncomfortable with the dynamic we saw time and time again with packs, watching the way omegas struggled in our world when everything catered to alphas in control and omegas in subservience. Even the most honorable of alphas I've seen treat their omega like nothing more than a sex doll by the time their heat rolls around.
And besides, we never knew any omegas that didn't work for us, and we sure as fuck aren't going to date an omega who works here. Another layer of realization hits. She works here, at Queenie's. The safest place for any omega in all of Arrow Cove. She's here because she needs us.
So even if our pact as young alphas that we would never court an omega was buried in early, youthful pride and good intentions, we still would never take advantage of one who worked for us.
No matter how beautiful she was or how much she made my heart try to slip from its cage at first impression.
On top of all of that, Iggy has deeper hang-ups about omegas, a not-so-irrational fear of being with them, and he's my brother.
I'm annoyed by my loyalty 'cause that girl was bangin'.
"Right," I mutter to Jess, my brain rebooting. "I'm just gonna head to the office," I tell him, and rather go through the club and chance seeing her on stage—oh fuck me, she's a dancer, which means she's probably dancing around half-naked in my club—I head through the alleyway out back, hoping the scent of stale beer and hot dogs from the street carts helps as I trudge through the back of the club and sneak into the office.
I get in without running into Imogen or anyone else. I drape my leather jacket over the back of my chair and collapse into the seat. Behind the desk, it takes me a minute, but I finally remember what in the hell my job is. I catch up on some paperwork, per Cass, and work on the computer for a few hours.
A nervous energy vibrates in my fingertips, but I don't let myself leave until I've got it under control. My phone buzzing is a good distraction.
Enzo: This camera is inappropriately placed. If the point is to catch intruders, it should angle seven degrees left.
Fucking Enzo.
Red: Bro, did you hack into our system again? Stop doing that shit. I'm sure Phe doesn't appreciate you looking at cameras in a strip club, either.
He has a point, though, so I log back into the computer and our new security system and make the adjustments. The camera is supposed to cover the exit, but this one just isn't set right.
I log into the security app on my phone and update the notifications, so I'm alerted with all after-hours activity like I meant to do over a month ago when Enzo installed it. Luckily, this stuff is new and fancy, so we can move the cameras right from our computers and our phones, and we get alerts if anything goes down. We've not had a break-in in a while, usually just some young fucks stealing liquor, but some employees are in hiding, so we do our best to secure Queenie's from all angles.
