Chapter 14
HANNAH
I’m standing inside the Winterscape Bar, pressed against the exposed brick wall where the lighting is dim enough that no one in the bachelorette party crowd notices me, and I’m buzzing with excitement.
Tonight is going to be perfect.
The venue looks incredible. Ruby really came through for me, transforming her industrial-chic bar into something special.
The usual tables and chairs have been cleared away, replaced by rows of seating facing a makeshift stage she built at the far end near the back wall.
String lights crisscross the exposed-beam ceiling, casting warm amber glows that compete with the rotating colored spotlights she installed just for tonight.
Silver and pink balloons cluster in corners, tied with matching ribbons.
There’s a glittery banner across the back wall that reads SARAH’S LAST NIGHT OF FREEDOM in huge letters, and smaller decorations of champagne bottles and wedding rings scattered throughout.
The bar itself is closed during this event. The brick walls are decorated with more balloons and streamers, and there are high-top tables scattered around the perimeter for women who want drinks but still want to see the stage.
I owe Ruby big-time for this. She let me hire out her entire venue, and she gave me a fair price while helping set up everything.
Fifty women are packed into the rows of chairs facing the stage, already rowdy and excited. Bachelorette sashes, tiaras, and veils are scattered throughout the crowd. They’re drinking, laughing, the energy already high before the show even begins.
This is exactly what I wanted. What I planned for.
The music starts, a strong beat pumping through the speakers Ruby’s team positioned on either side of the stage. The lights dim except for the spotlights focusing on the stage.
Three male dancers emerge from the back, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
They’re dressed as construction workers, complete with plastic hard hats, reflective vests, and tool belts. The lead dancer takes center stage while the other two flank him from behind, holding fake stop signs.
I watch as they start moving to the music.
The lead guy is gyrating his hips, turning, flexing. His movements are fine. Serviceable. He’s hitting the beats, doing the basic moves you’d expect, but it’s not anything incredible.
Ruby sidles up next to me, and I’m grateful for the company.
She’s stunning as always, about my height at five four, but built curvier. Her reddish-blonde hair frames her face, and she’s wearing leather pants with a chunky cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder, and combat boots.
“They’re okay,” Ruby says, watching the dancers.
“Yeah,” I agree, but I’m studying them more critically now.
The lead dancer spins, and it’s a bit clumsy. Not terrible, but not smooth either. His movements are mechanical, like he’s going through motions he’s memorized rather than feeling the music.
“Actually,” Ruby leans closer, lowering her voice. “Is it me, or are they lacking something?”
I’ve been thinking the same thing. “It’s not just you. They’re fine, but they’re not great, you know? Like they know the moves but they’re not really selling it.”
“Right?” Ruby is fidgeting with her snowflake pendant. “And they’re not exactly hugely built either. I mean, they’re fit, but I’ve seen strippers before. These guys are just sort of average.”
She’s right. The dancers are in decent shape, but they’re not the chiseled specimens their website photos promised. More like guys who go to the gym occasionally rather than live there.
“Maybe I’m being too critical,” I whisper. “The crowd seems into it.”
We watch as the dancers strip off their reflective vests with no buildup or tease. Just pull them off and toss them aside.
“Eh, the women are drunk and happy,” Ruby says diplomatically. “But yeah, these guys aren’t exactly setting the stage on fire.”
“I’m paying them a lot,” I admit quietly. “Like, a lot. They came highly recommended. Their website had all these professional photos and glowing reviews.”
“Well, they might have oversold themselves a bit.” Ruby grimaces sympathetically. “But hey, the bride seems happy.”
I search the front row for Sarah, the bride-to-be. She’s wearing a white veil with pink netting and a sash that says Bride in rhinestones, and she’s laughing and clapping along with her friends.
Okay. Maybe it’s fine. Maybe I’m overthinking this because I want everything to be perfect.
The dancers finish their number to decent applause, and they exit backstage. The music keeps playing between sets, and women are chatting, getting refills at the bar.
“They’re fine,” I tell Ruby, trying to convince myself. “Not amazing, but fine.”
“Sure,” Ruby agrees, but she doesn’t sound convinced either.
The second song starts, and the dancers emerge in different costumes now. Old-school prisoner outfits with black-and-white horizontal stripes, fake ball-and-chain accessories.
This should be better, right? Fresh energy, new look.
They’re shuffling around the stage, doing the same basic moves as before. One of them is stripping off his striped shirt.
“Okay, these guys definitely oversold themselves,” Ruby mutters.
“Yeah.” My stomach is sinking slightly. Not a disaster, but definitely not the high-energy, professional show I was promised. “I’m definitely asking for some money back after this.”
Heavy boots thunder across the stage from the back entrance, and I stare at the side of the stage, wondering what’s going on.
Three massive figures burst onto the stage, dressed head to toe in black tactical gear. They move fast, coordinated, charging straight for the dancers with purpose.
The music is still blaring, and for a few seconds, no one processes what’s happening. I am clueless.
The dancers freeze, confusion crossing their faces.
Then one of the figures grabs the lead dancer, spinning him around and wrenching his arms behind his back.
The dancer yelps, trying to twist away. “What the fuck? Get off me!”
The second and third figures move on the other two dancers simultaneously. One dancer tries to run, but he’s tackled from behind, hitting the stage floor hard. The third dancer swings wildly, trying to fight back, but he’s outmatched.
My heart stops as the stage lights illuminate their faces.
Noel. Chris. Kane.
Oh my God.
Noel has the lead dancer in a submission hold, zip-tying his wrists together while reciting something to him. The dancer is struggling, kicking, trying to break free.
Chris has the runner pinned facedown on the stage, one knee in his back, while he secures the zip ties.
Kane is grappling with the one who tried to fight, and the dancer is not going quietly.
He’s throwing elbows, trying to headbutt Kane, but Kane’s too strong.
He gets the guy’s arms behind his back and clicks the zip tie into place.
The crowd is dead silent, staring.
Then someone in the third row starts clapping.
Others join in.
Suddenly, the entire venue erupts in wild cheering and applause, women jumping to their feet.
“Take it off! Take it off! Take it off!” they start chanting, clearly thinking this is part of the show.
I’m rooted in place, dread pooling in my stomach like ice water. This is not part of the show. “Oh, fuck,” I breathe.
Ruby turns to me, eyes wide. “Is this the act? Because holy shit, those three are gorgeous. Where did you find them? I would watch them strip any day of the week.”
“No,” I manage. “I need to deal with this. Can you stall the audience?”
“For sure.”
I’m already moving, pushing through the side door that leads backstage.
The room is cramped with the six men now crowding it. My three Alphas are hauling the still-struggling dancers toward the rear exit that leads to the alley.
“You can’t just arrest us! We have rights!” one of the dancers growls.
“You lost those rights when you skipped your court date,” Chris says calmly, grip firm on his guy’s arm.
“This is bullshit!” the lead dancer spits. “Let us go and we’ll finish the show. We won’t even charge the lady. Just let us go!”
“Not happening,” Noel says.
“Hey!” I shout, and all of them turn.
Kane does a double take, his hazel eyes going wide. “Hannah? What are you doing here?”
“This is my event!” I’m trying not to yell, but it’s close. “What are you doing here?”
“Your event! Oh, shit!” Chris’s eyebrows rise. “You didn’t mention it was a bachelorette party with strippers.”
“Horrible timing,” Noel adds, but his voice is matter of fact like this is just mildly inconvenient. “But these guys are our targets for the night.”
The dancers are still struggling against the zip ties, grumbling. “We did nothing wrong!” one shouts.
“Yeah, we’re innocent!” another adds.
“Shut up,” I snap at them, and they actually go quiet. My head is spinning. This is my event, my paid entertainers. And my Alphas just arrested them in front of fifty drunk women who think it’s performance art.
“This will ruin everything,” I say, starting to pace because I need to move or I’ll scream. “Why does this crazy stuff keep happening to me?”
“We can’t release them,” Chris mentions gently, and his moss-green eyes are sympathetic. “You know that, gorgeous. They’re wanted criminals. We have a legal obligation to bring them in.”
“Yeah, how do I keep hiring wanted men?” I throw my hands up. “What are the actual odds? This is just my spectacular luck.”
The dancers are struggling. “Please,” one of them whines. “This is all a misunderstanding.”
“Do I need to gag you?” Kane grunts. “Because I will.”
They shut up.
I’m staring at my three Alphas now, really studying them in their tactical gear. Black cargo pants, fitted black shirts that showcase every muscle, boots, utility belts. They’re huge, intimidating, exactly what you’d picture dangerous bounty hunters to look like.
The crowd went absolutely wild when they appeared onstage. And an insane idea forms in my head.
“Maybe you guys can take their spots,” I say.
Silence.