Chapter 20
Shock and Awe
Getting into Shock and Awe is a lot easier than I thought it would be. But then, I’m in the smallest dress I could find in Ren’s closet, the tallest heels, and I smell like an omega. So I guess they’re sort of expecting me… Or at least someone that looks like me.
The guy who pulls open the door is a beta, but an enormous one. One that looks like he could actually be an alpha, if I couldn’t smell the faint rain drenched mint coming from him. A beta scent through and through.
He only gives me a quick once over, then growls in the imitation of an alpha, “employees use the back entrance.”
My heart thunders in my chest with nerves, but my face is an unconcerned mask with just a hint of embarrassment. “Sorry about that. First day. I’ll be sure to come in the back from now on.”
He grunts and holds out his hands. “I’ll take your purse and jacket.”
Fuck. I really don’t want to give them up. But I can’t exactly cling to them like a lifeline if I’m supposed to be an employee here. So I shrug out of my winter coat and pass it and my purse over, watching as he hands them to a coat check girl behind a long counter who winks and gives me a wave.
“My name’s Bryce,” the bouncer says, drawing my attention back to him. “Belinda should be in the back. You got a key?”
“Holly,” I say back without missing a beat.
“Belinda should be in the back. You got a key?”
“I do have a key, yes.” I’m hoping like hell that’s what the black card is, though if it isn’t, I suspect Bryce will be all too happy to get me one. Still, just in case, I trail my fingers over his folded forearms. “I’ll see you around.” He grunts again, but it sounds friendlier than the ones before.
I stride past him like I belong there and no one stops me. Not the burly guards, not the smiling waitresses—all of them omegas, I note with some surprise—not the bartenders or any of the patrons, who are dressed in everything from dress clothes to chains and leather. Some of them are wearing leashes and collars, others are wearing lingerie and tight briefs.
It’s at this point I realize why I couldn’t find anything specific when I searched for this club online.
It’s a sex club and probably not legal.
Or maybe it is.
I don’t honestly know what the legality of a club where you can watch people have sex is, only that sex work is illegal in our state.
Still, it must have some kind of shady dealings, because I couldn’t find anything about it. Anywhere. Maybe it’s just exclusive enough that people only find out about it by word of mouth.
Doesn’t matter. What matters is figuring out what my father and the Calloway pack were doing here. Hopefully, it’s something else besides the obvious.
I push thoughts of this place’s existence aside and focus on the here and now, on the key card tucked inside my bra. I glance around and pull it out, finger biting into the plastic, as I scan the main area. There’s a door in the back left corner with a gold and black sign that reads ‘Employees Only.’ To the left there is a set of open double doors that looks like it leads to an event space with a stage. And a third door with a bouncer in front of it, that probably leads to some private playrooms.
I’m sure there are cameras everywhere. Maybe not in the rooms where the kinky stuff happens, but in the lounge and the employee areas, definitely. Or maybe I’ll get lucky and that won’t be the case.
My fingers tighten on the key card in my hand, and I keep my smile in place, the one that says, ‘I’m supposed to be here.’ My heart thunders in my chest as I head to the door in the back, the employee door, the only one with a key card swiper.
I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be here. It’s my first day. And I’m supposed to be here.
I keep chanting that in my head as I wind through the tables, bypass a few curious waitresses and smile at the bartender, who eyes me with speculation.
I keep my head forward and confidently swipe the card, only for the little light to turn red. Fuck.
I try swiping again. Red.
“Come on,” I mutter to myself, swiping a third time, and blowing out a relieved breath when it goes green and I can turn the handle.
I slip into the hall and close the door behind me. Ignoring my instinct to sag in relief and take a moment, I move down the hall, peaking into open doors and trying any that are closed. I find a door with another card swipe and something tells me that is where I need to go.
Confidence. I belong here.
I move right up to it, heels clicking on the tile floor and swipe it. This time it turns green immediately.
I blow out a breath and yank open the door, peering up a set of stairs. Finally, I hesitate.
What’s that thing they say about horror movies? The female protagonist runs up the stairs when she should be running out the front door. I have that feeling now. Like if I go up these stairs, I’ll be trapped, caught, killed. Skewered by a knife. Stuck to the wall with blood dripping out of my mouth.
I suppress a shudder and glance over my shoulder before straightening my spine and marching up the stairs.
I’m here to get answers.
There must be a reason Hale had this club name and this keycard in his office. It may just be that they’re members here, that they spend time here with other omegas. I skitter away from the thought of them coming here for hookups.
But that’s the only thing that makes sense, right? Why else would they be members of a sex club if not to, you know, have sex ? And with the number of omegas serving drinks in the lounge, I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t have the slightest difficulty in convincing one of them to join them in one of the private playrooms.
A hot, burning ball of anger takes root in my chest at the idea of that. Of them being with another omega, while they’ve been proclaiming that they only want me.
Answers. I need answers. When the last time was that they came here? What did they do while they were here? There has to be some kind of record, right? Of the patrons who check in for the night and what they do? Maybe not their full on kink list or anything, but whether they booked a private room and with who?
At the top of the stairs, I find three doors. One it clearly marked security and I avoid that one, instead turning toward an open office door. There’s a desk inside with a computer on it. I slip inside and carefully shut the door. I don’t turn on the lights, choosing to shuffle over to the desk carefully and wiggle the mouse. The screen lights up, making me squint against the sudden brightness.
The computer is password protected. Of course it is. I don’t know why I would have thought it wouldn’t be. Or maybe I was just hoping. My hands hover over the keyboard. What had Jude said were the most common passwords? He had an entire conversation with me about password safety when he found out mine for my computer was ‘Hav3nDrak3.’ He’d been super disappointed in me, even after I pointed out how rude it is to watch someone type in their password.
I close my eyes and try to remember. I think he said one of the most common is Password123. Or qwerty. Or just 123456.
Hmm, most computers don’t lock you out if you try too many times. So I take a deep breath and type in my first guess.
It works.
Whoever’s computer this is needs a lesson in password security. But I’m not going to tell them that. I wince when I see the background image on the screen, a very lude picture of a young girl being fucked by an enormous cock. Gross.
Forcing myself not to focus on it, I instead look at the desktop icons. It’s surprisingly neat, everything labeled, though I am a little concerned that if I click on the file labeled ‘Contracts’, I might actually find someone’s porn stash.
I click on it anyway. And find a list of first and last names followed by a date. The thumbnails don’t look like porn, so I take a chance and open the first one. I hoping it’ll be a contract for the patrons. I imagine they have to sign some kind of agreement and pay a membership fee to be allowed in.
But what I find is worse… so much worse.
It’s a contract all right, but it’s a contact for… not employment. It’s clear whoever Alicia Moncriff is, she didn’t agree to work here of her own volition. No, it looks like a contract where she agreed to work off a debt for her mother.
I close out of it and open another. It’s the same. Contract after contract for men and women who don’t get paid, but instead everything they earn goes to paying off debt already accrued. Mostly by someone else.
And all of them, every single one, have the designation of ‘omega’.
My brain flickers back to all the omega servers in the lounge and I know without a doubt they are these people. For all intents and purposes, they are indentured servants. Working toward freedom.
My stomach rolls and I have to swallow a few times to keep from vomiting.
Surely, surely, the Calloway pack doesn’t know about this. Surely they wouldn’t be members of a club that would do this to people, turn them into sex slaves for those wealthy enough to afford it.
But then why did Hale have that stupid key card?
I close out of the contracts tab, and then open the entire filing system, setting it to search the whole computer. Hands shaking, I search for Calloway.
And get over a hundred hits.
I grit my teeth around the urge to vomit and click on the most recent entry for them: Calloway-10.29.24.
Hale, Jude, Atticus and Creed Calloway in attendance. Requested private room 6. Requested 5 omegas. Joined by Frederick Bell.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
I push back from the desk so quickly that I topple over the chair. It makes a loud clatter as it tumbles to the ground and I freeze for a minute. Cursing myself.
Someone had to have heard that, right? It was so loud.
I reach with a trembling hand to close the window. Only vaguely noting that there’s a list of charges under the note before I shut it down entirely.
I right the chair and make my way over to the door, pressing my ear against it while holding my breath. I don’t let myself linger on the realization that the Calloway pack has a membership here. That they’ve undoubtedly had sex with the omegas bound to this place through no fault of their own. I definitely don’t think about my father doing the same fucking thing. With them in the same room. No, I can’t think of that right now, because if I do, I’ll undoubtedly stink up the place with my distressed omega scent.
And that, for sure, someone is bound to notice.
When I hear nothing in the hall for long minutes, I slowly open the door and then slip out, trying to pull my unconcerned, confident, ‘I’m meant to be here’ persona back on, but I can feel it crumbling. Can feel it cracking and breaking.
I need to get out. Need to get to the safety of Ren’s car and then I can fall apart.
Then I can examine why along with the anger and the disgust I have the faintest thread of jealousy twisting through my veins, like I want to rip apart those poor omegas who were forced into having sex with the Calloway pack due to circumstances outside of their control.
I shake my head at myself as I stumble down the stairs, pausing at the bottom to once again try to pull myself together. A few deep breaths and I feel moderately more in control. Enough so that I think I can make it back out the way I came.
Though maybe I should just leave my coat and purse and find a back exit.
No, my phone’s in there and although Jude gave it to me and undoubtedly has enough security on it to stop most hackers from getting in, a place like this will probably have someone capable.
I do not need anyone who runs this place to track it back to me. To them.
Another deep breath and I slip back into the hall of the main employee area, turning to catch the door and help it close softly.
“There you are!” a smooth female voice calls down the hall to my back. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. New girls aren’t supposed to be back here.” Heels click on the floor toward me, and it feels like my demise is inching closer, like this will be the end of me. But it’s not, it won’t be. I just have to play the part of a new employee for a bit longer, make an excuse and slip away.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say, forcing a smile and turning to face the woman. Tall, brunette, elegant up do, slinky sheath dress, sky high heels, diamonds at her neck and on her ears. Whoever she is, it’s obvious she’s well off, high up in the club hierarchy. “I’m Holly. It’s my first day. I was just looking for the restroom. I’d like to use it before I get started.” If I’m lucky, she’ll just show me where it is and I can slip out and back to Ren’s car.
Only she’s staring at me like she’s seen a ghost. Her red lips move but no sound comes out, until I hear faintly, “Elise?” And I understand the shock and awe on her face, the ‘I’ve just seen a ghost’ look, seeing as she just called me by my mother’s name.
She blinks and seems to come back to herself, straightening those statuesque shoulders of hers, straightening her spine. “No, you must be Haven,” she says, reaching for me.
I’m so astounded that she knows who I am, knows who my mother is, that I let her curl a hand around my upper arm, her fingers biting a little too hard into my flesh. “What are you doing here? It isn’t safe.”
I frown up at her as she drags me down the hall away from the office where I found evidence. Not against my father, against the Calloway pack. Evidence that I’m not sure I can ignore, even if part of me wants to.
No, I need to talk to them, ask them about it. See how truthful they are and if they even think of lying to me about what they did here, I’m gone. Leaving them for good.
Because I definitely still want to do that.
Yes. Definitely.
“Excuse me?”
She glares down at me, those red lips of hers pinched in a tight line. “If your mother knew you’d willingly walked into this place, that you applied for a job here.” She tsks and shakes her head. “Not on my watch, missy. No fucking way. You’ll have to find employment elsewhere. She would never forgive me if I let you stay here.”
I dig in my heels at that and pull back against her forward momentum. “You know my mother?” That doesn’t make any sense. My mother left fifteen years ago. And before that, she spent every moment she could with me. She didn’t leave me alone at night, she didn’t have any friends. She told me I was her entire world until I wasn’t.
“I knew your mother,” she corrects. “About ten years ago.” Disbelief slams into me at her words, at the callous way she delivers them, with little to no regard for me or my emotional state.
The woman takes advantage of my shock and begins dragging me forward again. “I don’t have time to tell you the whole sordid story, but I will. I can. Just not right now. Right now, we need to get you out of here before anyone sees you.” She peers down at me sharply. “No one saw you, right?”
I swallow and answer dazedly. “I came in through the front door so everyone saw me.”
She swears, her free hand coming up to press her fingers to her forehead. “When did you get here?” I blink up at her, not understanding the question. She gives me a little shake when I don’t answer fast enough. “When did you get here, girl?”
“I don’t know, maybe twenty minutes ago?”
She gives a tight nod. “Okay, not much time then. The loss of the security footage could be just a glitch,” she mutters to herself, like she’s already forgotten I’m with her. Though how that could be, I have no idea. Her nails are all but digging into my skin.
“Here we are,” she trills, pushing open a door and tossing me out of it. I stumble into the snowy night, arms wrapping around my chest to ward off the chill. She eyes me for a moment. “Did you check your coat, your purse when you came in?”
I nod and her lips tighten even further. “Wait here.”
Before I can say anything else, she’s gone. The door slamming shut and I’m left out in the cold, literally.
I should have worn more clothes. At least the dress has long sleeves, but its plunging back and short skirt are doing absolutely nothing to keep me from catching hypothermia. I stand there shivering, looking around the alley the intimidating woman abandoned me in. How long should I stand here? If she doesn’t come back, should I just call my belongings lost or should I head inside and try to collect them from the coat check myself?
My fingers have nearly gone numb by the time the door creaks open again. My coat is draped over the woman’s arm, my purse clutched in one hand, my phone in her other. She thrusts the phone at me first. “Unlock that.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, totally dumbfounded by the demand.
She huffs and holds the cell out to me again. “Unlock this so I can give you my phone number. I can’t talk now, but I think you and I should have a conversation about your parents.”
My first instinct is to deny her, but I want to know more about my mother, the woman who supposedly left me fifteen years ago and died ten years ago. So I take my phone with numb fingers and unlock it with my thumbprint.
She rattles off the number to me so quickly I miss it. When I ask her to repeat it she huffs again, apparently at the end of her patience—if she had any to begin with—she thrusts my coat at me and snags my phone, typing away at it as I gratefully yank on the heavy wool. It’s not enough to get my temperature up, it’s not even enough to keep me from getting colder, seeing as my bare legs are exposed to the elements. But it’s better than nothing.
She hands the device back to me and looks at me again. This time, her face goes a little softer. She shakes her head. “You look so much like your mother.”
I open my mouth again to ask how she knew her, but I’m cut off by the thundering of booted feet and by a very pissed off alpha shouting my name.