Chapter 3 #2
Behind me, another voice rises above the music. “If you don’t want the rich guy, I’ll happily take him off your hands.”
I spin to find the Beta who mans the coat check on his way to the breakroom.
He smirks at me. “I’m willing to put out for an Alpha if they’ve got expensive gifts.”
My vision turns red, and I move before reason catches up.
My hand lands on his shoulder, fingers digging into the soft tissue above his collarbone. “Watch your mouth.”
His grin vanishes, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I was joking.”
I increase the pressure, feeling the give of muscle beneath my palm. “Wasn’t funny.”
His breath hitches in pain. “Okay. Okay, man. I got it. I won’t go near him.”
I hold him there for three more heartbeats, long enough that the message sinks deep. Then I release him, stepping back to a professional distance.
He sags, rubbing his shoulder with his opposite hand.
As I look back toward the dance floor, I freeze. Gabriel had followed me, and he now stands at the end of the hallway, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.
My chest heaves as I storm back to him and get into his face. “I don’t want your little presents, rich boy. You’re not going to buy me.”
“Okay,” he says, not looking the least bit intimidated by me. “I hear you.”
I stab a finger against his chest, and he doesn’t flinch. “And I don’t want you asking me personal questions while I’m on the clock.”
“Understood.” He glances down at my finger, still digging into his sternum, then his gaze moves back up to peer at me through his lashes. “I’m sorry, Saint.”
The apology takes me aback, and I snatch my hand away as if burned. Most Alphas would push back, argue, or demand an explanation. And once again, my stomach twists with unease when Gabriel fails to meet my expectations.
I turn away before he can say anything else, returning to my post by the entrance. My hands tremble as I resume my stance, arms crossed, scanning the crowd.
The bartender has cut off the drunk Beta, and the aggressive Alpha pair near the dance floor have separated. Crisis averted without intervention.
Two hours into my shift, the crowd swells past capacity, bodies packed so tightly that movement becomes a collective effort. I’ve caught five people trying to sneak past the guy at the entrance, broken up two arguments before they escalated, and cut off three patrons who couldn’t walk straight.
Gabriel is still here.
I track his position, noting when he moves from the bar to the dance floor, from the dance floor to a booth near the VIP section. He nurses what appears to be the same whiskey for an hour. He talks to strangers with easy confidence, his body language open and relaxed.
He doesn’t approach me again. Doesn’t try to catch my eye. But his presence presses on my awareness like a thumb on a bruise.
Marcus returns from checking the bathrooms, irritation rolling off him.
“Found two Omegas getting it on in the last stall, throwing off pheromones everywhere.” He shakes his head. “Told them to take it outside.”
“They leave?” I ask, still watching the crowd.
“Yeah. Embarrassed as hell.” He chuckles. “Any issues on your end?”
“Quiet so far.”
The words leave my mouth just as a commotion erupts near the VIP section. A large Alpha in a polo shirt shoves another patron, and the surrounding crowd pulls back, leaving a circle of empty space.
I push off the wall, already moving. Marcus follows, his hand going to the radio clipped to his belt. We weave through the crowd, the sea of bodies parting for us.
The drunk Alpha points an accusing finger at a Beta who holds up both hands in surrender.
“You spilled your drink on me!” The Alpha’s words slur together, his face red. “You did that on purpose!”
“It was an accident, man.” The Beta backs up. “I’m sorry.”
The Alpha lunges forward, grabbing the Beta’s shirt, and his fist cocks back, ready to swing.
I’m three steps away when Gabriel appears between them.
One hand settles on the drunk Alpha’s elbow, gentle but firm, redirecting the punch before it can land. With his other hand, he gestures for the Beta to step back. “Hey, let’s take a breath here.”
The drunk Alpha spins toward him, redirecting his aggression to this new target. His chest puffs up, shoulders squaring, and spittle flies from his lips. “Who the fuck are you?”
“Nobody important.” Gabriel releases the Alpha’s elbow, both hands visible now, palms out. “But maybe you should cool down before security throws you out.”
I stop two feet away, watching. Marcus positions himself to the drunk’s left, ready to intervene.
The Alpha sways on his feet, his fist still clenched. He sizes Gabriel up, noting the expensive clothes, the confident stance, and the lack of fear. “You telling me what to do?”
He takes a step closer, invading Gabriel’s space.
Gabriel doesn’t retreat, immovable but not aggressive, his head cocked.
“I’m suggesting you’ve got two options. You can leave now under your own power, grab some food, and sober up.
Or you can take a swing at me, security will tackle you, and you’ll get banned from every club in a three-block radius. ”
The drunk’s jaw works, teeth grinding. His shoulders hitch up, his mass shifting forward.
Then Gabriel leans in, his next words for the Alpha alone.
Whatever he says, it works.
The Alpha’s shoulders sag, tension draining out of his frame. His fist loosens, fingers uncurling as he shakes his head.
Gabriel claps him on the shoulder, steering him toward the front exit. The man follows, slurring agreements as Gabriel speaks, his earlier rage transformed into sheepish amusement.
Gabriel catches my eye for a split second before he continues guiding the man toward the door.
Marcus exhales beside me.
“Well, that was new.” He crosses his arms over his chest, watching Gabriel’s retreating back. “I expected it to take three of us to handle a guy that size.”
I don’t respond as my chest tightens and my pulse quickens. I track Gabriel’s movement as he steers the Alpha out of the club, exchanges a few more words, then turns back inside.
Gabriel moves through the crowd with the same easy confidence as before, angling back toward his spot near the VIP section. He orders another drink and settles into conversation with a group of Betas, who break into laughter at one of his dry remarks.
Marcus heads back to patrol the bathrooms, but I stay rooted in place, trying to process what I just witnessed.
Gabriel didn’t use force or leverage his Alpha status to dominate the situation. He defused aggression with calm reason as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
He doesn’t register as dangerous in any familiar way, and that leaves me unsettled.
Why doesn’t he give up?
I reject his gifts, dodge his questions, and keep my walls high enough to turn away anyone with sense. Most people would have written me off as too difficult to be worth the effort and moved on by now.
But Gabriel keeps coming back. Tonight proved he has options. The way the Betas respond to him, and the ease with which he handled the drunk Alpha, make it clear he could find a willing partner without trying.
If Gabriel demanded, I could refuse. If he pushed, I could push back.
Violence, aggression, and dominance are threats I know how to counter.
But his gentle approach bypasses my training, slips past my armor, and reaches toward parts of me I thought I’d buried deep enough that no one would find them.
As I return to my post, arms crossed, my attention keeps drifting back to Gabriel, tracking his movements, trying to understand what he wants.
My nails dig into my side through my shirt. He aggravates me on every level.
As if he senses my glare, his head turns toward me, and the rich asshole has the audacity to wink.
I pull out my phone to check the time.
After tonight, the violent release of Rowan’s job can’t come soon enough.