Chapter 3

My face throbs and my stomach aches with hunger when I trudge into the Velvet Oasis that night. The spoonful of peanut butter I choked down before heading out to work did nothing to appease the ache of too little food.

The smell of the club makes my gritty eyes burn worse than usual with a combination of body oil, smoke, booze, and pheromones. Without a suppressant, today will be rough.

"Damn," hisses one of the new hires as I shove my coat into my locker. "What happened to your face?"

He goes by Phoenix Storm on stage, but I don't know his real name. Most of the dancers are like that.

I close the door with more force than necessary. "I fell."

"Sure you did." His eyes sweep over my face. "And I'm a natural blond."

The dark roots at his hairline say otherwise, but I just grunt.

"The mask won't cover that." Phoenix grabs my hand and tugs me over to one of the vanities against the wall on the other side of the employee room. "Sit."

With no energy to resist, I collapse onto the chair.

He rummages around in an open makeup bag on the counter, muttering about my lack of a tan.

Finally, he pulls out a compact and clicks it open. "The light's shitty on the floor, so this should be good enough."

I wince as he taps a sponge over my temple and under my eye, where a bruise had slowly blossomed during the day.

Phoenix's gaze catches mine. "You should dump him."

My brow creases with confusion. "What?"

"The reason you fell." He snaps the compact closed. "Once they start swinging, they don't stop. So get out now."

If only it were that easy. I lean toward the mirror to peer at his handiwork.

Under the bright lights of the vanity bulbs, the makeup over the left side of my face turns my skin sallow yellow, but it's better than the black and blue hue that I walked in with. Maybe I should ask him to do something about the shadows under my brown eyes, too.

"Thanks." I bite my lip and glance at him through the mirror.

Servers and entertainers don't interact much, but Phoenix seems nice enough.

I turn to face him. "Hey, do you have a suppressant to spare? I can pay you for it when I get tipped out tonight."

He freezes, eyes darting toward the door. Without looking at me, he selects an eyeliner and leans toward the mirror. His voice drops to barely above a whisper. "You should have called in sick if you didn't have any."

"I can't afford to miss work." Nausea roils through me as I stand. "I thought I had more doses than I did."

He skillfully outlines his right eye. "You keep them in your locker?"

A sour ball forms in my stomach, and the lock on the metal door no longer feels so secure. "Yeah."

"Don't do that." He tosses his eyeliner into the makeup bag, glances toward the door, then pulls out a lipstick tube.

When he opens it, though, instead of lipstick, he taps out two blue and red pills.

He quickly hands them to me. "They're only good for six hours. Stash yours better next time."

"Thank you." I toss them into my mouth and swallow them dry. "I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it." He tosses the lipstick tube back into his bag. "Just make sure you're quick to refill the drinks of the guys next to the stage when I'm up there."

"Deal." An awkward silence follows, and I take the hint, shuffling out of the room.

At the server station, I collect my apron and single mask for the night. As soon as I slip the elastic bands over my ears, the stench of the club fades, though it doesn't completely vanish.

Maybe I should have waited a few hours for when my mask loses effectiveness before I took the suppressants. But it's too late now.

My gaze sweeps over the club as I tie on my apron, and my stomach sinks at all the bare tables. I need tips tonight if I have any hope of buying more suppressants. I don't even want to think of what I'll do for rent.

Straightening my spine, I kick my mind into customer service mode and head for the first table, ready to chat up our clients for all I'm worth.

The club fills as the evening wears on, customers packing into the tables near the stage.

My feet ache from running orders all night, and the lack of food leaves me lightheaded. The headache that started this morning now pounds at my temples, making it harder to focus.

Then the door opens, and my heart stutters as Nolan steps inside.

His piercing green eyes take in the floor, and concern pushes back the misery of my day for the moment.

While his suit looks impeccable as always, his steps drag as he strides for the table reserved for him off to the right of the stage. When I first started here, he hadn't come into Velvet Oasis every night, but lately, he's always here, watching the floor or meeting with Tony.

That much constant work has to be exhausting even for a strong Alpha like him.

I head for the bar. "Double whiskey on the rocks. The good stuff. And a cup of coffee from the fresh pot."

The bartender nods and turns toward the back wall, where the liquor bottles sit on a display shelf.

As I wait, Rich swaggers through the entrance, scanning the room until his gaze lands on me.

I will the bartender to hurry, but he doesn't move fast enough for me to make an escape.

A predatory grin spreads across Rich's face as he swaggers up to me. "There's my favorite little Omega."

"Good evening, Rich." I force politeness into my tone. "If you want to find a seat, I'll be right over to take your order."

He wraps an arm around my waist. "Why so formal?"

I stiffen at his touch, bile rising in my throat. "Please take your hands off me."

"Don't be like that, sugar." His fingers dig into my sides. "I'm going to buy you one of these days. A pretty little thing like you belongs on my arm."

If I cause a scene, Tony will be furious, but I can't stand Rich's hands on me for another second.

I wrench out of his grasp. "As I've said, I'm not for sale."

Anger flashes in Rich's eyes. "You'll change your tune soon enough. An Omega like you can't survive without an Alpha."

"I don't need your protection," I say, but his words hit too close to home. I'm barely surviving as it is, with no one else offering to help.

"You think you're too good for me, bitch?" Rich snarls.

"Here's your order, Leo." The bartender slides a double whiskey and mug of coffee onto the bar in front of me, and I move them to my tray before making my escape.

My heart pounds as I put distance between us while narrowing the gap between me and Nolan.

God, I'm stupid, but I just can't help the draw of attraction toward the Alpha. If he were the one offering to buy me, I'm not sure I'd be strong enough to say no.

I slide the drinks onto Nolan's table and clutch the empty tray to my chest. "Would you like any snacks, sir?"

Heat rises in my cheeks, and I wonder if he knows the effect his presence has on me. If my Omega pheromones give me away. We've barely spoken a dozen words to each other, but I crave his attention. Need it more than my pride.

"Not right now." He reaches for the whiskey, then pauses when he sees the steaming cup of coffee beside it. "What's this?"

"You looked like you needed a little something extra tonight."

He hesitates before reaching for the mug. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

"You're here all the time, lately," I venture, wanting to draw out the moment. "Don't you take days off?"

"Not when I have a business to run." His eyes flick up to me and away in dismissal.

I swallow my disappointment, though I don't know what I had hoped for.

Then his eyes snap back to my face and narrow. "Who did that?"

I clutch the tray tighter. "Sir?"

"Your face." His nostrils flare. "Who hit you?"

My hand flutters toward my eye without touching it, afraid to smudge the makeup. "It's nothing, sir. I just fell."

"Bullshit." I flinch at his sharp tone. "Was it Dick? Did he hurt you?"

Confused, I follow his gaze to the table where Rich has taken up residence.

Worried he'll think I'm causing trouble for his business, I turn back to Nolan. "No, sir. It happened outside of work. I'll do better?—"

"Who?" His hand tightens around his glass until his knuckles turn white. "Do you have a man at home?"

"N-no, sir." Flustered by his attention, I take a step back and spot Tony watching us from the back. "I have other tables to serve. Please enjoy your drink."

Turning on my heel, I hurry to a table with empty glasses and clear them. Heat suffuses my body, and hunger and exhaustion make my body heavy.

As I walk toward the bar to fetch their refills, my feet tangle together, and I trip. The empty glasses spill off my tray and crash to the ground, shattering.

Horrified, I stare at the broken glass, and anxiety twists through me.

Tony's hand wraps around my bicep and yanks me to my feet. "That's coming out of your tips."

"I need my tips tonight." The blood drains from my face, and I sway within his hold. "Can I just come in an hour earlier tomorrow to work it off?"

"No." His hold tightens painfully. "If you want extra money, you can work in the back."

My breaths quicken with panic, the pheromones in the club invading my lungs. "Please, Tony…"

He releases me. "Cash out and go home."

The panic increases. "But I still have two hours."

"You're done for tonight." He waves at the bartender. "Count out Leo's tips. He's leaving."

The man's brows lift, but he pops open the register and pulls out a handful of cash.

Tony takes them and flips through them before handing me a five-dollar bill.

I stare at it, my hand trembling. I busted my ass and got some good tips tonight. The glasses couldn't have cost that much. I've seen the same ones at the Dollar Store.

But when I look back up at Tony, I know there's no use arguing.

Tony tucks the rest of my tips into his pocket. "Have a good night, Leo. I hope you come to work tomorrow with a clearer head."

Defeated, I pull off my apron and check it back in before heading to the employee room to grab my coat from my locker and toss my soggy mask into the trash next to the exit.

The heavy door resists as I shove my shoulder against it before opening with a groan, and I step out into the chilly night.

Police sirens scream in the distance, and only one functioning streetlight illuminates the back parking lot.

I stuff my hand into my pocket for my pepper spray, but come up empty.

Steps slowing, I search my other pockets. I know I put it back in there after Gino emptied my jacket this morning. Great. Apparently, someone from the club stole that as well as my suppressants. I don't go anywhere without it in this neighborhood.

Footsteps scuff behind me, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise as familiar pheromones tickle my nose.

Rich.

He must have followed me out of the club.

Before I can bolt, hard hands land on my shoulders. "Finally, we're alone."