Chapter 5 Remi
What the fuck am I doing?
I stand outside the gates, looking at the enormous estate ahead of me. From here it looks respectable, normal, not like it hides a place for omegas and alphas to get what they need.
I adjust the red mask for the third time in as many minutes. The ribbons are tied tight at the back of my head, tucked beneath my hair so no one can yank them loose. The last thing I need is for this thing to come off and for someone to recognize me.
Olympic Figure Skater Found at Underground Sex Club.
Yeah, that headline would go over great with the US Olympic Committee.
The card sits in my other hand, the silver text glinting in the moonlight.
Where masks are worn and desires run free.
I should leave. Get back in the Uber that's probably still circling the block, trying to find its next paying customer. I should go home, have a bath, and take enough painkillers to deaden the pain.
But my feet won't move.
Because the truth is, I don't want to do what I'm told. I could've made it easy, picked the alpha, but unless it was Crew or Steele or both, I'd prefer to do this my own way.
And now that I'm here, I'm surprised because I want this.
Whatever this is.
I slip the card into my clutch and take a breath. My knee aches, but I ignore it. I've spent my entire life ignoring pain. What's one more night?
The estate from the front looks respectable enough. But I'm not going to the house; I have to find the entrance, which is tucked away at the side of the estate, down a set of stone steps that lead to a heavy wooden door.
I find it. Outside there is no sign. No bouncer. Just a small brass knocker shaped like a wolf's head.
I lift it and knock twice.
The door opens immediately.
A man in a black suit stands in the doorway, expression neutral, a simple domino mask across his eyes. His gaze flicks over me, assessing.
"Number," he says.
"Oh, yeah." I shove my hand into my purse, find the card, open the flashlight on my phone, and read out the number.
He looks me over, takes the card, examines it, nods, and steps aside. "Welcome."
I step through the door and into another world.
The basement is nothing like I expected.
Not dingy or cramped. Instead it is opulent with dark wood paneling, velvet curtains, and chandeliers dripping with crystals that cast a warm golden light over everything. The scent in the air is expensive cologne, wine, and something primal and heady that makes my omega sit up and take notice.
Alphas.
They're everywhere.
Some standing in clusters, talking low. Others seated on plush couches, drinks in hand, gazes tracking the omegas who move through the room.
And the omegas are masked, some wearing skimpy dresses and high heels, like me.
Others in lingerie, or less. A few completely bare, leaning into the alphas touching them, marking them, claiming them.
My pulse spikes.
I should leave. Right now.
But my feet carry me deeper instead.
I pass a couple grinding against a wall, the omega's head thrown back as the alpha's hand disappears beneath her skirt. Another pair on a couch, the omega straddling the alpha's lap, his hands gripping her hips as she rocks against him.
No one pays attention to me. No one cares.
I stop in front of a large screen mounted on the far wall. It shows a live feed of a hedge maze on the grounds of the estate. A girl is running through it, her breath coming in short gasps. Naked except for a mask, her body pale and exposed in the dim light.
Behind her, an alpha is closing in.
He's not running. He's hunting. I don't see him. I hear his ragged breathing.
The girl stumbles, catching herself against a hedge wall.
She tries to get up, but the alpha lunges, grabbing her by the waist and slamming her against his chest. She screams, but it's not in fear, it's in something darker. Something hungry.
His hands are rough and possessive. She arches into him, begging for more.
My thighs clench as slick pools between my legs, hot and sudden and mortifying.
I tear my gaze away from the screen, my breath coming too fast.
This is what I want. Not gentle hands. Not someone asking for permission.
I want to be hunted. I want to run and be caught and have my choices ripped away from me. I want to stop being the girl who has to be perfect and controlled and good all the fucking time.
I want to feel.
And I hate myself for it.
Because I know what my parents would have wanted. Two good people who loved me, who wanted me to find a nice alpha. One who was kind and steady, and safe. And since my parents died, my uncle Beck has spent years trying to give me that life.
So why does a safe alpha also feel like suffocation?
"Can I get you a drink?"
I turn, startled.
A man wearing a silver mask stands beside me, holding two champagne flutes. And there's a hint of a smile. Mid-twenties, maybe. Handsome in a clean-cut, boy-next-door kind of way.
"I—" My voice catches. "Sure. Thank you."
He hands me a glass, his fingers brushing mine. "First time?"
I nod.
"It can be overwhelming," he says, his tone gentle. "But you're safe here. Everyone respects boundaries. If you want to leave, you can leave."
Safe.
Boundaries.
Respect.
All the things I'm supposed to want. But I didn't come here for that.
He's too polite. Too predictable. Too young. I need someone who'll break me. Not someone who'll handle me like I'm made of glass.
"I need to go," I blurt out, shoving the champagne flute back into his hand.
He blinks. "Are you sure? I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't. It's not you," I say quickly. "I just... I need to leave."
I turn and head for the exit, weaving through the bodies and the heat.
I push through the doors, cold air hits me like a wall, and the night sky opens up above me. I step forward, my heels sink into damp grass.
This is the same ground the night-vision feed was broadcasting. The hedges stretch up on both sides, dark and dense and at least eight feet tall. The path ahead forks left and right. The door behind me has already swung shut.
I turn around and try the handle.
Locked.
"Fuck," I breathe.
The river is louder out here, its sound rising through the grounds as if the estate is built on top of it, vibrating through the wet grass and up through the soles of my feet.
The air smells of damp limestone and night-blooming jasmine, and underneath all of it, something warm and dark and alpha that makes my omega go very still.
I hear a crack as if a branch has been snapped.
"Fuck!" I whimper.
I slip off my heels in the same way I strip off skate guards before a performance: automatic, muscle memory. My bare feet press into the cold grass. My knee protests immediately but I ignore it because somewhere in the dark, footsteps are moving.
Not one set.
Two.
The realization lands somewhere just below my sternum.
I stop thinking and go.
I spin and run left.
Hedge walls flash past on either side, close enough to brush my bare arms. The path curves and forks, and I take the right branch because it's darker, and darker means cover, even though cover is not really the point anymore.
My knee is screaming, but I manage it the way Nikki taught me: the pain is information, not a command. And like my training, I push through the next corner, lungs burning.
Behind me, the footsteps quicken.
They're not running. That's what makes it worse, or better. Anyway, it's the steady, unhurried pace that says we know where this ends.
Oh God.
They know this maze.
I don't.
My body sings anyway, every nerve ending lit up in a way that has nothing to do with the ice and everything to do with two sets of footsteps and my perfume threading through the cold night air. I feel alive. Not muted. Not suppressed.
My omega needs to be here.
Not on the ice. Not anywhere else. Not with an alpha for one controlled night. I need this terrible, electric aliveness.
I hate that I'm right.
"Stop running, little omega."
The voice is low, and it lands in my spine like a struck match.
I won't stop.
I run faster, arms pumping, bare feet reading the ground for divots and roots and all the ways a dark maze will try to take you down.
I round a bend and the path dead-ends against a solid wall of dense hedge.
All eight feet of it, and now I have nowhere through.
I skid to a stop with my palms hitting the greenery and my breathing ragged and every part of me is certain of what happens next.
I turn.
Two figures come around the corner.
They walk the last few steps as if they have all the time in the world, which, given that I've just run headlong into a dead end, they do.
Obsidian wolf masks that catch no moonlight, giving nothing away.
One with black hair and broader through the shoulders, the other taller with dark blond hair flopping over the mask.
They stop with enough space between us that I could scream at them to come and get me.
I don't scream.
The hedge presses cold and wet against my back.
Slick runs down my inner thigh, which is exhilarating and mortifying in equal measure. It's also the best thing that's happened to my nervous system since my last clean triple axel.
My heart is thumping. My pulse is throbbing in my ears; I want more and turn away, looking for another place to run.
A hand clamps over my mouth before I've fully processed that his chest is solid against my back, his arm around my waist, pinning me there with calm, absolute certainty.
"Caught you," he growls against my ear.
"We certainly did," another voice says from directly in front of me.
God help me.