Chapter 13
Cass
"You get that alert?" Red grumbles tiredly through my truck's speaker.
I sigh, exhausted, but flatten my palms on the steering wheel and pull a U-turn in the middle of the street. It’s three am, no one around to hassle, but the action fuckin' tires me.
"Yep. On my way back."
"Nothing on the cameras," he adds, though those only point at certain parts of the club, so that doesn't necessarily mean anything.
The new security system in Queenie’s started beeping fifteen minutes after I left for the night. I’m a block from our warehouse and tired as fuck, especially since I just spent the last hour talking Iggy down. Though she seemed fine, still a little sick, he thought he scared Imogen, then went off on a tangent about his alpha's infatuation with her, before taking off on his bike, claiming he wasn't safe to be around. When I went back to the club to close up, I was both relieved and disappointed Imogen had left for the night.
I circle back since the silent alarm on our phones is telling me there’s movement inside the club. Not that there’s much worth stealing, but we keep a tight ship, and just in case it’s some asshole with a grudge, we don’t want to risk someone busting shit up in the after-hours.
Red and I hang up, and I pull up in front of the club on the still, empty street fifteen minutes later. It’s quiet inside, no broken windows, so I unlock the door and stroll in, not expecting to find anything—probably a false alarm.
The club is silent, only the faint aroma of fruity perfume some girls wear and pheromones from bouncers and customers lingering in the air, highlighting the stark contrast to what I left half an hour ago when the place was still bustling.
Running my hands over my tired face, I glance behind the bar and around the booths, just in case someone is hiding, before I follow the hallway down the back of the club.
Greeted by more silence, I find nothing in the break room or any of the private dance rooms. Saving the office, the obvious choice for a burglar, for last, I brace myself and, without announcing my presence, swing open the door.
Flicking the switch, dousing the room in an obnoxious bright light, I’m ready to dismiss the alarm as false when a faint whimper cries out from behind the leather couch near the wall.
"Yo, someone in here?" There’s no answer, but I definitely heard something. I tiptoe around the empty office, moving slowly when suddenly, there’s Imogen, the blonde bombshell I haven’t been able to stop staring at in a sweaty, crying heap.
"Imogen?" I kneel down, tentatively reaching out to pull her up. These fucking scent blockers, they’re so strong, if it weren’t for her whimpering, I’d never have known she was back here.
Which is hella concerning, considering she looks like a fucking mess. "Imogen," I say more forcefully, gently shaking her shoulder. The second my fingers touch her skin, I nearly rip them away.
"Holy shit." Prepared now for the intense burning heat of her skin, I reach out again, attempting to pull her out from this little hidey-hole she’s dug for herself. Come to think of it, it looks suspiciously like a makeshift nest with a small piles of clothes, while she's wrapped in my missing hoodie and a pair of lacy black underwear.
Strands from her long blonde hair have fallen loose from her ponytail. I’ve never seen her face, always hidden by the black feathered angel mask, but as I pull her back and into my arms to help her up, her neck rolls, and it's like the earth drops away beneath my feet. Something inside me rights itself, realigns.
She’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life. Her wide blue eyes, watery with unshed tears, pert nose and perfect mouth, soft round cheeks make her look—no surprise—angelic.
Sweaty strands of hair stick to her cheeks, pupils nearly blown and dilated, lips stained red from the lipstick she wore earlier tonight, and still, this goddess in my arms is fucking extra.
Swallowing, my throat dry and desperate for a taste of her, I have to shake out the desire to rut and remember she looked sick all night, and only now do I put the puzzle pieces together: she's in fucking heat.
"Imogen," I try again, my voice a raspy plea. I free her body loose and take stock of the tiny little nest she’s built—Red's leather jacket, Iggy's motorcycle gloves, huge on her tiny hands, in addition to my large gray hoodie, which swamps her body.
There's a voice in the back of my head, my alpha nudging me, trying to point out the obvious.
"Cass," she whines, her lyrical voice penetrating through the fog, threatening to bury us both. "Cass, please, I need you," she begs, turning in my arms and attempting to climb into my lap.
Fuck. I look around, praying the answer to this predicament lies nearby.
She’s in heat. And I’m beyond attracted to her, haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. My alpha bounds in his cage in my mind, telling me to strip her down and mount her.
Her begging isn’t helping.
I clear my throat. "We need to get you to a clinic."
"No!" she snaps, pushing her way back out of my arms, scrambling and quaking in fear. "No, no heat clinic," she begs, terrified at the suggestion.
I hold my hand up placatingly. "I know a safe clinic. You don’t need to be afraid." My alpha screams inside of me, telling me to shut the fuck up, but I’ve got a lot of practice working beside omegas who sometimes fall into heat unexpectedly, including that one time an omega in heat threw herself at me and my brothers. It’s in our nature, instinctual, to help ease their pain—biologically, to pump them full of seed. It was hard turning Emily away, but as soon as her scent was gone, I was so fucking thankful, because I honestly did not want her.
But she wasn't Imogen.
Never has the urge been so strong, to just give in. To take her. Rut, knot, seed. It bounds beneath my skin, my muscles contracting, begging me to hold her closer, tighter.
"No," she says firmly. "No heat clinic. I can't…" Her pupils are still dilated, but her voice doesn’t waver, apart from the slight whimper in her inflection.
I try to think of another solution that doesn’t involve me breaking every promise my pack and I have ever made together, but my resolve is breaking the more she shivers. Back in my lap, she buries her nose in my chest and takes a deep inhale, squirming her surprisingly powerful body over mine.
"Please, Cass, I can’t think straight. I need you, please touch me. I need it so bad," she whimpers, every syllable vibrating down my spine, straight to my cock.
This is a bad idea. I need to say no.
"I'm sorry, Cass. I'm so sorry. I know you don't want this," she cries, her small frame shaking in my arms, pulling away.
And that settles it, because no way in hell am I letting her think I don't want her. "I’m gonna make you feel better, just so we can talk, okay?"
Her chin wobbles, and she throws her body back over mine, straddling me. She's so fast, she nearly knocks me back, and without preamble, grinds her hips in my lap, rubbing herself over my belt buckle. My phone beeps in my pocket, but I'm so distracted by Imogen, I ignore what's probably Red checking in and instead, wrap my hands around her hips, encouraging her desperate writhing.
My cock is so fucking hard and each time she rolls her hips and slams down onto me, I nearly pop off. I feel like a fucking teenager, my hands shake, we're both needy for release, but I tamper my alpha instincts down, urging me to fuck her, knot her here and now.
What I need to do is get her off so she can think straight for a second and we can have a conversation. I just saw her an hour ago and, with the mask, I didn't notice how far off she was, but she was definitely standing upright and coherent, so she can't be too lost to her heat yet. All night I thought she looked like she was getting sick. I'm such an idiot.
My hands grip her hips, forcing her to slow, and with one hand, I wrap around her waist to hold her still in my lap while I slip the other between her legs. She's soaked. Fucking dripping. Thank fuck I can't scent her, because I can't imagine it's anything other than sweet perfection, and then we'd both really be fucked because I'd have her on all fours in seconds. Who cares if her scent ends up being floral. If it's Imogen, it's likely sublime.
I don't even bother taking off her underwear. Shoving the material to the side, I slip my fingers between her folds, meeting no resistance, just her wet, hot cunt, sucking me in.
"Oh god, yes Cass, that feels so good." Her knees squeeze tighter around my lap, and I make quick work, fucking her with my fingers. I've never been with an omega before, but the way her pussy clamps down on my fingers has me seeing fucking stars, and I'm not even the one getting off.
She lifts her hips slightly, canting toward the heel of my palm, so I give her what she wants, letting her press her clit against the pressure while I fuck her tight channel, adding a second finger. Faster, I pump and when her movements become shaky and less controlled, I slip them out and pinch her clit, rubbing faster and harder. Her teeth bite down on my shoulder, fingertips clawing at my back while she cries out her release.
When I slow, her breathing and body become heavy on top of me. Her head rests in the crook of my neck and she takes deep inhales, lungs-full, like she can't get enough oxygen. I let myself imagine, for a moment, that she's really mine. I wish I could smell her, taste her.
But she wears scent-blockers, and she's an omega who works for me, my employee. The harsh reminder has me pulling back. I can't ignore her silent protests entirely, especially since my alpha agrees with the way she clings to me, but, with effort, I right her underwear and push her further back on my lap.
Her cheeks flame against her golden skin. She has a just-fucked look about her, mascara running beneath her eyes, sweaty, matted blonde hair pressed against her scalp. Her lips are wide and thick, pouty, atop a pointed, square jawline. She's stunning.
"We don't have much time," she says with surprising coherence, reminding me again what we're doing. What's at stake.
"I can take you to a clinic," I remind her, though the words taste like bitter, acrid ash.
She bites her lip and turns away, shaking her head no. "No clinic. If… if you can't…"
Reaching out, I grip her chin and turn her head back to face me. Unshed tears fill her eyes, and I feel that shit in my soul. "Imogen…"
"Can you just bring me to Ophelia's apartment? C-Block?"
"You want to ride your heat out there?" I grit.
"I can't go to a clinic."
I should ask if she has someone else to call, another alpha. It's the right thing to do, but I cannot for the life of me bring myself to say the words.
"You have someone waiting for you? In the apartment?" I ask, holding my breath, waiting for the answer.
"No. There's no one there."
Relief cascades through me, but we still have a problem. "You want to go there and ride your heat out alone?" Even with scent-blockers, an omega in heat is desperate and she could do something she'd regret if left to her own devices, especially some place public like a large apartment building. That's why some omegas will have someone they trust take them to a safe-house or a cabin up in the mountains, so there's nowhere to run. Toys might get the job done, but it's still, supposedly, an extremely painful experience to go through a heat without an alpha. The idea of Imogen in any pain is unacceptable.
"Unless… unless you took me home? To your home? To be with you, and…" There's so much vulnerability in the ask, her sweet voice thin with worry.
The heat clinic, for whatever reason, is out. So she's alone or with me, my pack. At first, I think it's an impossible choice. But, in a brief moment of clarity, be it my alpha's urging or Imogen's frank admission that she wants me, I realize, there's really only no choice at all.
Red is going to be furious. Iggy even more so, especially after his display earlier tonight. He saw some guy's hand on Imogen's waist—which really isn't all that shocking or unheard of at a strip club; it's a general rule not to touch the employees, but sometimes they get hit on, and if the dancer says no or hands off, we step in. Iggy beat himself up for an hour for getting violent in front of Imogen.
"You want to come home with me? Share your heat with me and my pack?" I clarify.
Her pupils dilate, and she nods her head up and down enthusiastically. It's intoxicating. No fake, small smiles, no rigid posture. Just Imogen in need.
My slight acceptance was all she needed because she's climbing back into my lap, this time her hands go to my belt.
I capture them and hold her back, pulling us both up to a stand. She growls at me, and it's really fucking cute. Reaching down, she grabs Red's jacket and, still wearing Iggy's motorcycle gloves, she brings both to her face, closes her eyes and breathes in their scents.
I've seen lovers do something similar, but this, the way she can think more clearly, is seemingly more calm, pricks at an errant thought, my alpha urging me to pay attention.
But I dismiss it because my phone rings again. I ignore it, though it prompts me to ask her, one more time, "Are you absolutely sure, Imogen? I've never… we've never had an omega… And you work for us. You see what I'm saying? I don't want you to feel taken advantage of. If there's anywhere I can bring you, anywhere you'd rather be—"
"You don't want me?" She cries, pained by the question, looking up at me, several inches shorter now that she's not wearing those towering heels. She's a vision.
"I want you," my alpha and I growl together.
Her knees wobble, and I catch her by the waist. "Then take me home, alpha."
I groan, gripping her hand and pulling her out of the office with a sudden, furious sense of urgency. I can barely walk with the strain of my cock in my jeans. "You need anything?" I somehow ask. I've never been so close to rut before.
"My bag," she says, but I have to urge her forward because we're losing time and she keeps trying to stop us and climb me like a tree. I help her track down her things, try to pull a pair of pants on her, but she pushes against them, claiming she's too hot and the material isn't right, refusing to wear them. She doesn't want to put on her heels, either, and damn if I'd do anything for this woman, because I don't even think about it, I pick her up and carry her through the club, to the truck, her bare legs and feet dangling over my arms.
"How much time do we have?" I ask once we're secure and on the road.
"None. I need you to fuck me. So bad," she pleads, hands pawing at my belt buckle. She's taken off her seat belt so she could crawl onto me, and I have to pull over and put it back on.
"Imogen, I promise, we'll be there soon. I will take care of you. I'll make you feel so fucking good. Just hold on a little while longer for me, okay?"
"Please hurry," she begs, and while charged with sexual need, I can hear the edge of pain in her voice.
"I'll hurry. Just hang on." My swallow is audible when she slips her fingers inside her underwear, the jerky movement beneath the waistband unsatisfying for us both judging by the sounds she's making, but it's distracting her, so I step on it, getting us the fuck off the road as fast as humanly possible.
I debate calling Red back, but it'll just take more time, and he's in for a surprise in a few minutes, anyway. Grateful the streets are empty, I haul ass back to the warehouse, nearly as delirious as the begging omega in heat beside me. The cab feels like it's on fire, and again, I'm faced with the harsh realization that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. Aside from the club and Ophelia, I don't know any omegas. I've never been with one, definitely never ridden out a heat. The only one of us that might know what to do is Iggy, though the reason for that is the very reason he's going to be furious I show up with Imogen.
I turn on the A/C, cranking the air and pointing the vents toward her. It seems like the right choice since she settles a bit, her breathing slowing to less of a pant. I pull up to the warehouse a few minutes later and not a moment too soon.
Rushing out of the truck, I hurry to her side, take off her seat belt and pull her into my arms. She looks ridiculous with all our clothes on her, but I still want to kiss her for wearing them. I almost do, but then we'd never make it upstairs.
Wrapping her legs around my waist, I carry her upstairs through the garage, trying to ignore the way she grinds against me. She's pretty much gone, and there's no turning back. I don't feel any regret, even when I enter the kitchen and find a shocked Red staring at me at the table with a coffee cup in hand. Good. He's gonna need the caffeine.
His mouth drops open and I don't even respond, just haul ass to my bedroom, kicking off my shoes along the way. Imogen's nails, long and sharp, dig into my skin, and when I set her down, I don't have to worry about holding her up. It's amazing, she's completely gone to the outside world yet hyper focused on getting what she needs. Clothes come off in a frenzy, and just when I throw her onto the bed, I hear Red behind me.
"You have a lot of explaining to do."
I grip Imogen's legs and haul her ass closer to the edge of the bed. She whimpers and grabs one of my pillows as I drag her, shoving her face in the material, breathing in my scent.
I don't answer Red, but him being here is helpful. I'm worried I'm too on the edge, the build-up of the drive home, the wait, the tension, has me nearly as lost as her.
Gripping my cock, I line it up at her entrance, and when I push through her slit, her body is so hot, so warm, so tight, we both cry out. Filling her to the hilt, I pull back, then push in again.
"Do you even know what you're doing?" Red stands beside us. I can't look or answer, all I can think is fuck. Knot. Mate. Bite.
Shit. My alpha thinks she's ours. Really ours.
"Keep talking, distract me." I pant. "My alpha wants to bite her."
"Fuck! Don't do that!" He shouts, while she begs, "Yes, alpha! Bite me! Oh god, oh god, yes!"
I pound into her, her thighs gripping my hips with each heavy thrust. Red climbs onto the bed beside her. He can't tear his eyes off her, and I know he might be pissed, but I also know, given the same situation, he'd have done exactly what I did.
"Knot! I need your knot!" Her legs squeeze my lower back, heels digging into my ass, trying to force me deeper, but I can't go much further without fully knotting her. Red chuckles, but I widen my eyes in panic. I've never fucked an omega before, which means I've definitely never knotted one.
Imogen's writhing, lifting her hips, begging for more, not an ounce of distrust or worry, and it eases my panic. Imogen, this same beautiful woman I've been thinking about for weeks, watching her quiet strength and sadness while she dances and smiles at my club, trusts me to take care of her, to pleasure her, and I'm not taking it for granted.
Leaning over her torso, I grip her chin, forcing that dilated gaze to meet mine, capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. She's so soft, the heat of her tongue a blazing trail when she pulls away, licking and kissing my lips, scratching her teeth over my chin, like she wants to taste and devour me.
Each snap of my hips hits her clit just right, and she's nearly vibrating with pleasure, her pussy tightening and contracting around my cock with each thrust, and for a moment, it feels like we're in a cocoon and nothing else exists but us, our bodies working like a chorus, building something massive.
"Now, alpha," she demands, her pupils narrow slightly, the bright cornflower blue peeking around the black, and for a second, maybe for the last one in days, she's right here with me. Not begging, but almost like she's giving permission, like I needed her acceptance, that this was really happening, and that it was okay to want it. To take and to give.
Pushing her knees more open, I rock my hips back then buck forward, notching my swollen knot inside her impossibly tight pussy. We both cry out and her pupils are black again, eyes rolling back in ecstasy. Her walls contract around my cock and knot, and I nearly black out, coming so hard, while shaking and bucking, and she gushes around my cock, screaming my name. The longest orgasm of my life spills out of me, the pleasure zaps like electricity down my spine, through every nerve ending in my body, straight out of my cock.
I've never felt anything like it, the way she cradles me inside of her, it's somehow both blinding with pleasure and soothing, like I've found home between her thighs.
Eventually my knot releases, but I keep kissing her lips, trying and failing to taste her. I'm desperate to know her scent. I pull out and she moans, but the image of my come and her slick spilling out of her has my dick twitching and getting hard again.
She writhes, whimpering, hands slapping out on the bed beside us, and when she finds Red, she growls.
I'd laugh if the look on their respective faces wasn't so fucking intense. He's obviously on board, and when she begs Red for his knot, he strips down, and the moment he's naked, the overheated omega climbs on top of him.
His hands grip her hips, and she impales herself onto his protruding cock. Red grunts, but she doesn't hold back, bouncing on his lap while he guides her grinding into long circles, his large hands nearly covering her ass. She lifts her hips up and down, still rolling in circles, playing with the feel of each other, and she's scratching and clawing at his chest.
We've shared women before, not often, though it's common for packs. But this feels different. A part of me says to give them space, so they can share this together. The other—made even stronger when she whips her head toward me, eyes narrowing, reaching out to grab onto me—tells me I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
She wraps a hand around my neck, pulling me close so she can lick my skin. "You taste so good, Cass. So good," she pants. Then Red's fingers go to her clit and she forgets all about me, dropping her head to Red's neck and tasting him, while shaking and screaming on top of him. Her ass at this angle looks goddamn delectable as it bounces. I can see her muscles contract and squeeze around him. I just busted and I'm fucking hard as a rock all over again.
"We're going to need you," Red grunts, then Iggy's scent seeps into the room.
"What have you done?" He growls at us.
I turn toward him, pulled in two directions. He glares at me, then turns and leaves the room.
Imogen continues to fuck Red with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader, and he could care fuck-all about what's happening around him at this point. He's right though, we're going to need Iggy.
I follow him out, and he's pacing in the living room.
"What have you done?"
"Iggy, you need to calm down—"
"You shouldn't have brought her here."
"She was wearing your gloves. The ones that went missing?" He presses his lips together, processing that information. "And Red's leather jacket, and my hoodie. She's been nesting with our scents."
"Means nothing."
"We've all been… attracted to her," I hedge, given the understatement.
"We promised. You promised." He points a finger at me, enraged.
"I can't explain it. But we can talk about it later. She's here, now. She's in pain without us, and I'm not letting that slide. She needs us. She needs you."
He's angry, but I know Iggy, I see the vulnerability beneath the rage. He's worried. Scared, even.
"We won't let you hurt her."
His eyes, which had been staring holes into the floor, shoot up and glare at me, burying me in their inky depth. "That's not what I'm worried about." Then he spins on his heel and roars, palms hitting the flat wall in frustration. His anguish is fucking real. This is the Iggy no one sees but us.
"Don't suppose you'd punch me in the face and knock me out?"
I laugh, "Not a chance, brother. We need you. It's going to be okay, Iggy."
"You don't know that." Then he looks longingly toward my room where we can hear Red grunting and Imogen moaning, the sound of the bedframe hitting the wall in rhythmic beats.
He's right, I don't know if this is all going to be okay. But I don't regret a single moment of tonight, and neither should he. I squeeze his shoulder before turning and heading back to my room.