Chapter 3
Chapter three
At last, a beautiful partnership was born.
Karma
I pull up to the back of the club, parking my car in my usual spot.
I stare over at the back door and see Gunner standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, a vicious scowl painting his face.
He is one of my favorite bouncers and one of the few Alphas I can stand to be around.
He has never tried to hit on me or touch me without permission.
Whether that’s because he knows what I did to the last guy who tried or the rumors whispered about me, I will never know.
Gunner treats me and the rest of the Omega and Beta girls here with respect, and that’s all that matters to me.
When I first started working here under the guise of a little lost Beta on the run, undercover on one of my “hobby” jobs, I never foresaw myself staying long-term.
I suppose when the boss finds you standing over a body covered in blood, holding a knife behind his club, he has some questions.
I tried to lie at first, saying I was attacked me and that it was self-defense, but Mr. X saw right through me.
He laughed straight in my face and told me the guy deserved it.
That I actually did him a favor. Apparently, the asshole I killed was trying to move in on Mr. X’s territory and had threatened him earlier in a business meeting.
X actually said he was getting ready to kill him himself, but I saved him from getting dirty.
At last, a beautiful partnership was born.
X allows me to work in the club to dance off the stress I might have and to make extra cash on the side.
In return when they have a dirtbag that messes with one of the girls, he gets sent to me.
X knows that the Omegas and Betas that work here might feel more comfortable talking to another woman about what happens to them as well.
So, when he hires a new girl, he has me there to help them ease into this life or help get them set up with something better.
Everyone in this city knows X protects all the females that work in his clubs.
Whether you’re an Omega in hiding or a Beta, the moment you set foot in this club, you are under protection.
So many girls flock to him for the chance to have the protection X and his men provide.
He even helps Omegas escape bad situations or helps them get their hands on black market suppressants.
Which really helps us Omegas trying to stay off people’s radars.
It’s also how my secret got found out. X is the only other Alpha besides Dean that knows what I really am and what it means for me to keep my secret under lock and key.
So to the rest of the world, I’m just a plain ol’ boring Beta.
I’ve worked for X for around two years now, and rumors spread like wildfire that if any man harms a woman in his “care,” that the “karma” would be twice as bad.
It was an inside joke because no one knows me as Karma here but him.
X helps me make sure I stay a ghost in exchange for my unique skill set.
Here at the club I’m known as Grim. Yah, yah, I know Grim as in Grim Reaper, another inside joke, but my set is still smoking hot, and I make a shit ton of money since I auction a chance of being my prop on stage when I come in.
Men go crazy for the chance to “play” with me.
Honestly, it’s the only time I can get a break from “work.”
Getting out of my car, I head over to Gunner as he nods in greeting.
Nodding back, I don’t bother speaking; Gunner is the quiet type.
The moment he opens the door, the smell of cigarettes and the scent of heavy floral perfume reach my nose.
I crinkle my face at the assault but then relax as the smells and sounds start to soothe something in me.
It’s weird because, at any other time, I would be annoyed with the overload to my senses, but this place feels like another home after two years.
The sound of bass filters through the wall, causing my body to tremble with excitement.
I haven’t done a stage show like tonight in a while, and my time last night with James wasn’t enough to ease the burning fire in my soul.
I already have a new target on my mind and started my research this morning, but the next guy is going to be a challenge.
That’s okay, I’m all for the hunt.
I head straight to the locker rooms to get ready, greeting the different dancers I see on my way.
The girls that work here all come from nothing and nowhere.
These types of girls wouldn’t be missed if something ever happened to them, and we all know it, but I make sure they know if they have any issue with anyone that they come and see me or X directly.
A few of the girls here know what happens to the men that they pass on to me, but they think I know the person that does the dirty work, not that I do the deed myself.
At the end of the day the girls’ safety is all that matters to me, and they are the only reason I stay here.
I might not have been saved, but I’ll be damned letting anyone else have the same fate.
I push through the locker room door and the noise hits me first, not the music like out front, but the living kind of sound. Laughter, groans, heels clacking against concrete, and the hiss of hairspray. The air is heavy with perfume and sweat. It smells like nerves and confidence all mixed in one.
The room is chaos in motion. Girls everywhere, half-dressed and fully unbothered.
Someone’s tugging fishnets up her legs like she’s suiting up for battle.
Another is bent over a mirror, perfecting eyeliner sharp enough to cut, lips pursed in concentration.
Glitter dust floats through the fluorescent light like it’s alive, clinging to skin, to lashes, to the floor, and in places that will never get out. I should know.
I step carefully inside, weaving around discarded heels and open makeup bags.
Feathers brush my arm. Sequins catch the light as a girl stretches against the wall, rolling her shoulders, her body moving on instinct, already counting the beat in her head.
Another laughs as she fixes a strap while discussing the guy who just paid her for a dance.
Mirrors line the walls, and everywhere I look I see reflections.
Women becoming something else, layering armor over skin, preparing for unspoken battles.
Smiles practiced. Hips loose. Eyes sharp.
Beneath it all, there’s a hum of anticipation, a charged moment before they walk out and the lights come up, the world shifts, and all eyes fall to them.
You would think it was unnerving for some of us.
Putting ourselves on display for Alphas and Betas to stare at and drool over, but it’s not.
Most of us are running from something or someone.
Often the girls that end up here are afraid of their own shadows for a while.
But I know they feel what I feel when I step on stage.
I see it in them the moment they step into the light.
Their shoulders straighten. Their spines lengthen. Whatever fear they carry slides off the second the music begins. They become something untouchable in the way only women who know their worth can be.
Some of them smile like it’s a secret they’re keeping just for themselves.
Others go cold and regal, eyes half-lidded, daring anyone to mistake access for ownership.
I watch how the stage gives them permission to take up space, to be loud with their bodies, to exist without apology.
On stage, they aren’t asking for permission to breathe.
They demand the room give them their air.
We all know the power isn’t in the skin we show; it’s in the control we hold.
Desire bends toward them, not the other way around.
The girls become more than just their Omega and Beta designation; they become queens of a small, glowing kingdom where nothing can touch them unless they allow it.
That brief, intoxicating invincibility. That moment where the world looks up at us, and we look back down, unafraid.
That’s what this place gives these girls.
As I enter the room, I head for my mirrored tabletop in the corner that no one ever touches.
I’m sure it’s because the girls respect me as a woman just trying to survive like them, but I know they also fear me.
It’s not a secret that I have a connection with Karma.
But they all know Karma’s targets are usually Alphas, nine times out of ten.
But that doesn’t mean a woman can’t take a hint when a guy is not interested either.
It actually happens more often than you think, but I typically only go after targets that have come through my site.
I set up a site that Omegas and even Betas can report crimes to.
They think it’s an anonymous reporting site.
One that allows you to vent about a traumatic incident but are too afraid to go to the actual police.
It’s not like they take the reports seriously.
They take one look at an Omega and think they were asking for it.
That the women shouldn’t have dressed a certain way to provoke the unsavory kind.
The worst is when they think the girl is just crying wolf for a little attention or just upset at her boyfriend.
Pigs, all of them.
Why the hell should a woman have to dress like a fucking nun, just to let guys she’s not interested or that she is reporting a rape, just to get a little attention?
That she fucking asked for it but didn’t realize it would be that rough.
No means no in every language. A woman shouldn’t have to change for a man to take a freaking hint that she is not interested.
Alphas are the worst. They think the world should bend to them. That any Omega would beg to have their knot and that Beta women are even luckier if an Alpha looks their way. They should beg if an Alpha decides to bed them, wanted or not.
I gave my site information to a shelter once.
I was walking home from a shift at the local diner and was crossing the alley behind the woman’s shelter when I heard a muffled scream.
I didn’t hesitate to check what the sound was, pulling out my blade that I carried everywhere.
When I got midway through, I saw a young Omega girl around my age struggling against an Alpha who was attempting to unzip his pants.
Telling her she should be lucky to take his knot.
Her pants were already pulled down to her feet, pale blue shirt ripped, and her cheek red, probably from a smack to her face.
I also noticed a garbage bag next to the door, like she was attacked while taking out the trash.
I wasted no time throwing myself at the guy, knife raised and aimed for his chest. He heard me approach and looked up right as my blade was swinging.
I hit my mark. The Alpha-douche stumbled back while I placed myself in between him and her.
It took a minute for him to register that a knife was deep inside his chest, but when he did, he sneered at me before yanking it out.
Bad idea because the wound was fatal, and after a second his eyes widened as he fell to the trash-filled ground with a loud thump.
Knowing he was no longer a threat, I turned to the small frightened Omega who was sobbing, hiding next to the trash can.
I found out her name was Ella, and she helped run the shelter.
After I got rid of the asshole’s body, she thanked me a million times over and told me she wouldn’t tell a soul.
So, of course, we became instant friends.
That was three years ago. Now she hands out my information when she thinks I might be needed.
I shake my head at the memory and start to get ready, applying my makeup and straightening my hair.
This is the only place I don’t wear a wig because, let’s be honest, who would believe that a stripper or any female could take down a fully grown Alpha male?
Especially since some of my targets are not small men or even low profile.
I don’t care if you’re a mayor or a dirty cop; if your name gets sent to me, your death certificate has been signed.
Finishing up my dark, smokey eye, I tie up my lacy mask to cover around my eyes and forehead.
I stand, strip out of my street clothes of ripped blue jeans and a t-shirt, and grab my stage outfit out of my bag.
It’s a black leather piece that wraps around my body snugly and only covers my private bits, but I add another layer of leather over the center of my chest to cover my ugly scar.
I have a dagger tattoo that covers it fully, but up close you can see the raised, jagged skin that runs between my breasts, and no one thinks that’s sexy up close.
The last pieces I add are the thigh holsters that hold a few blades each.
It’s all for the show, of course, but it makes me feel safer knowing I have a weapon close if needed.
I bend down and place my feet in my black spiked heels, strapping the buckle, and stand up to stretch a little.
Looking around the room to see the other girls all in an array of undress with smiles as they gossip about some big spenders in the club tonight, I smile.
“Well, ladies, time to go shake my ass and make that money.” I do a little booty shake and wink over my shoulder as they all giggle and wish me “good luck”. I walk out the door, heading for the stage to get my night started, feeling excited for the chance to play a little with my blades.
Who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and get laid too.