Chapter 21
Cass
The energy at breakfast is next level. It's just Red and me; Iggy is still sleeping, which is a relief, since he hasn't slept for more than a week. Red and I can't seem to string two sentences together, weighed down by our situation. It's a lot of huffing and loaded sighs.
"We fucked up," I finally say, washing my bowl at the sink. We need to replace the dishwasher. Fucker is ancient. I mentally add it to the list of things we need to do before Imogen moves in. Because, despite how awkward shit was last night when she left, I'm not giving up.
"Yep."
"So. What do we do about it?"
Red's mug pauses at his mouth, mid-sip. He sets the coffee back down. "Hell if I know. She's not telling us something. A lot of things."
I nod. "And she doesn't trust us enough to tell us."
"Not like we gave her much reason to."
"I can't stop thinking about her. It's not just the match… I mean, her smell, it's incredible. But it's her. She's like a fucking nesting doll, you know? So many layers, and I have no idea what's between them all. I want to know. I want to find out."
Out of everyone, I was the most upset about her going on a date with Stevens, but I refuse to conform to the alpha stereotype, and I remind Red that it's this type of situation we always swore we were above. We needed to put her needs first, and we didn't.
"I can keep it quiet. Can you?" I ask.
Red sighs, "You mean a relationship?"
"Yes. I don't want to let her think we can't handle her problems or whatever it is. She doesn't trust us. Which means she needs to get to know us. And I sure as fuck want to get to know her. The only way she'll let us do that right now is if we… accept that she's publically engaged to that fucking pack."
He growls, "I agree. Fuck," he drops his head in his hands, running his fingers through his straight, inky black hair. "I gotta admit, man. I'm worried about her. She keeps shit so buttoned-up there's no way to tell what's going on. She's a vault." Though worried, he sounds proud of her, too, her strength.
"Alright. So, we'll try to get her to come around. Maybe invite her to dinner here at the house?"
We discuss it a little more, not bothering to text Iggy, since Red will see him later this afternoon when he wakes up. It's not enough, it's not a solution, and I still don't have her in my arms, but I feel hopeful while I get ready for work, head downstairs, climb into my truck, and head to the club. I pull out my phone and text Imogen, grateful I've finally got her number, having already sent her good night and good morning texts, and tell her I'm thinking of her. She'd responded this morning to both, and even though the texts were simple, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was really wrong.
Saying what's up to Jess, who's manning the door, I pat his shoulder before slipping inside, the light from outside immediately swallowed by the club's darkness. The music bumps and the room is alive with an excitement I don't feel.
It's still early, and I find a couple of the servers behind the bar. Zach must be running late. Roxy, harried, bounds around the bar from the hallway, still wearing the velour tracksuit she wears over her set costume.
These dancers are strong. I noticed Imogen's body, even in the short few weeks she was here, harden and shape, definition in her abs and biceps cut and curve the more she practiced her inversions, her legs, and ass getting thicker, stronger. So it's no joke when Roxy's taloned fingers grip my shoulders.
"Ouch, woman, ease up," I joke, but kinda serious.
She lets go but doesn't apologize. "Chandra, Kay, and Franky and, like, half the dancers have the fucking flu. They all ate something for lunch yesterday that's making them… Well, I won't get into details. But we're short-staffed, bad, tonight. Zach's getting ready, he said he'll do two sets."
"He cool with that?" I ask, surprised. Zach doesn't mind dancing; he even likes it occasionally, but he's more comfortable behind the scenes.
Zach may be an omega, but he's not really submissive. Kind of like Ophelia and Roxy; it may be in their nature to be nurturing, but they don't downcast their eyes when an alpha speaks, they don't yes, and? like the OFA teaches. Imogen does it, but she's got an inner strength that's growing the more time she spends here around these strong-ass omegas.
And so, when people find out, or even suspect, that Zach is an omega—since he's always doused in scent-blockers—they have certain expectations about him as a dancer. That it'll be soft, somehow. The male alphas, the straight ones, who aren't fluid or bi or cross swords in their pack, mine included, to be honest, are always surprised to find themselves entranced when Zach dances. It's rare, he only fills in when we're short-staffed or if he's in the mood. That's when I can usually tell his heat's coming, but I'd never tell him I've noticed.
"Yeah, he's fine, and besides, I haven't asked him in a while. Imogen being around helped. I'm glad there aren't a ton of omegas in need of a job, but we might have to hire more betas soon." More than half the dancers are betas, but still, having even just a half-dozen omegas on payroll at any given time is more than some people see in one place outside of an OFA event in their lifetime.
Just hearing Imogen's name has me stuttering like an idiot, but I school my expression. I almost suggest Roxy call her to fill in, even though she quit, but I'm not sure how I feel about her being on stage now that I know she's my mate. I'm not sure how my alpha will handle it, considering how tenuous our connection is at this point.
Roxy runs off to prep the setlist. If she takes over more of the club, I'm gonna have to teach her to learn how to chill. Glad to be relieved of admin work for the night, I duck behind the bar to take over for Zach for the next couple hours.
It's busy, the place growing in bodies and noise, the further into the night we get, and I'm relieved of my worries while I focus on the tasks at hand, filling drinks, taking tickets from servers.
It doesn't matter how many pheromones are in here, how strong our air-descenters are, the moment she walks in, my attention narrows to just her, and I look up, everything else fading away. She could have a spotlight on her, the way she moves toward me. Fuck, she's so beautiful.
Her painted-red lips press together in that small smile she makes, and I hate that it's tentative, that she greets me like she wouldn't be welcome. It's fucking bullshit, and I'm such an asshole for making her think I wouldn't want everything, no matter what she was willing to give. I'd take it all, the good and the bad. I set down the drink I'm making to greet her properly, but Roxy comes out of nowhere, still screeching, thanking Imogen for coming in at the last minute.
Imogen nods seriously, swept up in Roxy's drama. I guess I should have expected to see her after Roxy telling me we were so short on dancers. I'm nervous, not sure how to act around her, worried I'll overreact when she gets on stage later, ashamed that I even have to debate with my alpha to find a reason not to let her up there. But I love that she takes our club, our work seriously and doesn't look down on this place just 'cause it's a strip club.
The place is packed, busier than it's been in a while. I text my brothers, telling them we could use the help. They don't respond right away, so I add, "Imogen's dancing" and they both reply instantly that they're on their way.
It's a fucking madhouse, and when the mouthwatering scent of cherries hits me, again, no matter how busy I am, everything else fades away. I look up before she greets me.
"Oh my goodness! I forgot about the blockers. I'm so sorry, I have some in my bag."
"Don't apologize, Im. You smell amazing. I don't love that every guy in here is going to be looking at and scenting you, but… goddamn." I lean in and drag my nose over her neck, letting my teeth scrape her skin, her scent blooming between us, stronger, laced with arousal.
It felt so natural to pull her close, that I'd forgotten all about our impasse last night.
She nudges my shoulder. "Okay, none of that. I have to actually dance tonight." She giggles.
She didn't pull away, although she has her angel mask on. Maybe that's why she wears it here, so she has one place where she can be herself, however hidden.
I growl, dropping my head back, looking up at the ceiling. "You smell too fucking good, sweetness. And you look…" I bite my fist, and she laughs. At least she's wearing a bra, and with her mask—minus the wings, for the moment—she's a vision, but also a secret one. Maybe this won't be so hard after all.
The music changes, slows down nice and deep, echoing like a siren's song through the club. Zach's signature. No one else dances to it, and if you're a regular, you know what that beat means. I take advantage of the distraction, everyone's attention momentarily drawn to the stage—those who know what's coming are readying in anticipation, those who don't are wondering what all the fuss is about.
I catch up on drink tickets, happy to have Imogen back here beside me. She offers to help but admits she doesn't know how, and I tell her it's fine and to just chill.
But she keeps trying to help me, and I catch a look of determination in her eye, and I suspect she'll be working with Zach back here before I know it, teaching herself how to bartend.
She's pack now, a part of us, and this club is a part of us too. Which means it's hers. And Imogen takes care of her own. At least, she will, when we put all these nameless obstacles behind us and we can finally be together.
She wipes up after some spills, and I keep mixing, but after a few minutes, I notice she hasn't offered help in a few. I look over and see she's drawn to the stage, mouth gaped open.
"Should I be jealous?" I joke.
She snaps her jaw shut, and even in the dark, almost purple glow of the lights, I can see her blush. She shakes her head, but I cut off any apology, "Don't worry, he has that effect on everyone."
She looks back at Zach. Nearly his entire set, he's actually fully clothed. But he's just taken off his shirt, his baggy skater pants will come off last. He didn't change, he wears the same clothes behind the bar. Like he's telling everyone watching, it's his way or nothing. I'm straight, but even I can admit… damn. He's a good-lookin' guy.
I watch Imogen, whose mouth is open again, a faint scent of arousal in the air. It's not strong, and I'm not jealous. I like that she's turned on.
Zach's hand trails down his bare chest, pausing at his belt, thrusting his hips in time with the music, dipping low to the ground with his knees open. As soon as his fingers work the belt in an almost animalistic way, Imogen clears her throat and turns away. I can't help it, all the tension between us, the unknown, the distance we allowed the night before, for a moment, it disappears while I laugh at her, and she falls into my arms, burying her face in my chest in embarrassment.
"He's very pretty, but you're prettier," she mumbles into my t-shirt.
"I appreciate the lie," I muse.
Holding her close, I breathe her in, smelling the top of her hair. We let go, and I cup her cheeks and lean down, pressing my lips to hers in a quick kiss, my alpha howling that she let me.
She plays with one of my braids, giving it a gentle tug. "Who does your hair?"
I smirk, "I do, who else?"
"I don't know, but I enjoy picturing Red or Iggy helping you with it. It's maybe the messiest mini-braid I've ever seen, but with all your hair sort of knotted around it, there's something so primal about it..." She trails off, shivering, turned on by the lazy way I do my hair. The braids stay put, that's why I like 'em, but if they turn on my omega, I'll do it like this every day. "Anyway, don't ever let me braid your hair."
I laugh, "Why not?"
"Because it will be too perfect. I like it like this. Messy. Wild."
She smiles sadly, and I suspect we're talking about more than my hair. She winks, then ducks behind the bar, back to work.
We almost make it through the evening without incident. After Red and Iggy arrive, they have a hard time keeping their attention off of Imogen while she struts around the club in nothing more than a bikini and her mask and wings, and I have to keep reminding them not to hide her away in the office, it would upset her.
Zach works behind the bar between his sets, so I take advantage of the free time and seek out my pack mates, finding them out front hanging with Jess. I suspect they're doing the same as me, attempting to act chill when we feel anything but. At least I don't look so unhinged; Red looks confused, stuck somewhere between our conversation this morning, worrying about her, last night, upset with her, and right now, wanting to storm back into the club and pull her off stage.
Iggy's somewhat the same, though I can tell his penchant for violence is keyed up; not because of Imogen, but because of all this unspent energy and stress at the situation. It's out of his hands, he can't solve any problems with fighting or… well, maybe fucking. We'll see how our apology tour goes. Certainly not well if they go in there and don't let her dance, though.
"What are you laughing at?" Jess asks when I join him and my brothers.
"Nothin' man," I chuckle, leaning against the brick wall beside Red, with Iggy pacing beside Jess, who looks cool as a fuckin' cucumber. "Hey man, lemme ask you something."
"'Sup?"
"I know we've talked about it before, but… how does your alpha handle seeing Roxy on stage?"
Jess's gaze darts between the three of us. It takes a second before he busts out laughing. "Lemme guess. Imogen? I guess that heat went well, huh?"
Iggy growls, and Jess puts his hands up in defense. "I mean no disrespect. I'm playin' man. I love Im, she's a doll. Glad she's got some good guys watching her back."
Red leans a little closer and lifts his chin, "How do you do it? I can't believe I'm saying this, acting like every other meathead fucking alpha I swore I'd never be, but… fuck, I'm fighting with myself, here, man. I want to go inside and stop her from dancing in front of other people. But I also wanna watch her… fuck, man, I don't know… shine. I want to watch her shine. How do you watch Roxy take her clothes off in front of all those people and not lose your shit?"
"You kiddin' me? Roxy's a ten. More importantly, she's my pack's ten. We love it. I love it."
"You don't get jealous?"
He tuts, "Nah, who the fuck am I getting jealous of? Those fuckers who watch her dance and wish she was theirs? She takes her clothes off to dance, she loves her job, but I'm the lucky asshole she goes home with. What kind of man would I be if I took that from her?"
Iggy's the first to respond, in usual Iggy fashion, by plowing between the three of us and whipping open the door to the club, storming inside.
We haven't exactly made up with Imogen, we're no closer to finding a solution to why she won't be with us publicly, why she's still technically engaged to another pack, but none of that means anything when the reality of our situation settles, and we realize, collectively, that what she needs matters most. We may not understand it yet, but if we're meant to be her partners, her pack, then we need to show up.