3. Dash

3

DASH

The thumping bass of the club's music pulses through my veins, each beat syncing with my heartbeat. Neon lights flash in a dizzying array of colors, painting the sweaty dancers in electric hues. The air is thick with the scent of spilled drinks and designer perfumes. A wide grin stretches across my face as I lose myself in the sensory overload. Friday nights are my sanctuary. I take a swig from my bottle, the fizzy sweetness tickling my throat and amplifying the electric buzz in the air. There's nothing like losing yourself in the chaos to forget the week's troubles.

Life is good…mostly .

The unmistakable scent of alcohol lingers in the air, mixed with sweat and perfume, but underneath it all, there's a hint of something familiar, something that reminds me of rotten, threadbare sheets and rats racing across the floor. The memory hits me like a punch to the gut, a reminder of where I came from.

Growing up, Quinn and I had it rough. Well, even that's describing our childhood in a positive light. It was shit. I take another swig of my drink, the burn of alcohol a bitter difference to the sweet cocktails around me. Our parents weren't exactly the nurturing type, and home was more like a battleground than a safe haven. The pulsing lights of the club fade as memories flood back. Dad was always supposedly working late, and Mom had a thing for the bottle. I learned early on that if you didn't look out for yourself, no one else would. A dancer bumps into me, jolting me back to the present. I shake off the ghosts of the past and dive back into the crowd.

I still don't know how two betas created two alphas.

Quinn, being older by a couple of years, tried to shield me from the worst of it. He was the responsible one, the one who made sure I had food to eat and did my homework, but even he couldn't protect me from everything. I remember one night, when I was about ten, Mom had been on a bender and Dad was nowhere to be found. She stumbled into the living room, slurring her words and yelling about something I couldn't understand. Quinn stepped between us, taking the brunt of her anger. I watched helplessly as she threw a vase that shattered against the wall next to his head.

That night, after she passed out, Quinn packed us a bag and we ran away. We spent the night at a friend's house, and for the first time in a long while, I felt safe. It was a brief respite though. We were back home by morning, with Dad promising things would change.

They didn't.

They never fucking changed.

Maybe I should stop drinking.

High school was my escape. I joined the track team and found peace in the rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement. Running was my freedom, my way to outrun the chaos at home. I wasn't the best student, but I got by, more interested in the next party than the next test. Quinn was always on my case about it, but I shrugged him off. I didn't want to think about the future when the present was so uncertain.

I thought I might as well embrace my youth and revel in the chaos.

After graduation, I drifted for a bit, taking odd jobs and crashing on friends' couches. Quinn went to college on a scholarship, and I envied him for having a plan. He tried to get me to join him, but academia wasn't my thing. I wanted to live in the moment and soak up every bit of fun I could find.

It wasn't until I hit rock bottom that I realized I needed to change. I'd been partying hard, and one night, it all caught up to me. I woke up in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm and Quinn sitting beside me, his face a mask of worry. "You can't keep doing this, Dash," he said, his voice breaking. "You're going to kill yourself."

Seeing the fear in his eyes was a wake-up call. I didn't want to be the cause of his pain, so I cleaned up my act and got a job as a bartender, a role that let me stay close to the party scene without being consumed by it. It was a compromise, but it worked for me.

Unfortunately, I fell right back into old habits, and I'm a disappointment again.

Now, I balance my nights between the bar and Malachi's Puritan detail. I'm still the life of the party, but I know my limits. I've learned that fun doesn't have to come at the expense of my health or my relationships. Quinn and I are closer than ever, and I owe him my life for pulling me back from the edge.

I pushed myself to the edge and then lit a match, watching as my limits went up in flames. Another sip of my drink helps me ignore the adrenaline coursing through my veins.

The night is young, and so am I. There's a whole world out there waiting to be explored, and I'm just getting started.

I'm in the club to drown my sorrows, allowing myself to enjoy the alcohol as I think back to what Zane said.

"I'm pulling our name from Scent Synergy," Zane rumbled when he stomped into our home and threw the paperwork on the table. "Five years, and not a single match."

Of course there were arguments. I'm the baby of the group, with Malachi and Zane being the oldest. Technically, Malachi is in charge, but no one dares to tell Zane that. We've been registered with Scent Synergy for five years now. It's a non-profit where alphas and omegas sign up to find scent matches.

As alphas, all we get to do is smile for a camera and milk some of our scent onto a little two-inch square card. The omegas have the hard work of smelling the cards and deciding if they like our scent. If they do, then they can look at our profile and request a meet and greet.

Not once have we gotten a call. I know I'm young, and some alphas wait their whole lives to find a match. All I ever wanted was an omega to live for, love, cherish, and spoil rotten.

Sadness tries to wash over me, knowing we will never have an omega—I mean, unless we get that call. We also don't fuck each other, like some packs. Quinn is my bona fide brother. I do not want to touch his dick.

I chug my drink to chase away my sadness, the cool liquid sliding down my throat and momentarily numbing the ache in my chest.

I glance around the crowded dance floor, spotting my latest dance partner—a girl with wild curls and a smile that could light up the entire room. We lock eyes, and she waves me over. I saunter back to her, my steps light and carefree, the beat guiding my movements.

"You having fun?" I shout over the music, leaning in close. The scent of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and something floral, envelops me, drawing me closer to her, like a moth to a flame.

She laughs, nodding enthusiastically. "You could say that!"

"Good, because the night's just getting started!" I twirl her around, and she giggles, her laughter mingling with the infectious energy of the club. Her touch is electric, sending sparks of excitement through me.

A sharp tap on my shoulder interrupts our dance. I turn to see a guy glaring at me, his jaw clenched and fists balled. Uh-oh. Looks like someone's not too happy with my presence.

He looks like an MMA fighter, and a part of me wants to push all his buttons just to see what he'd do.

Probably hurt me.

"Hey, buddy, what's the problem?" I ask, keeping my tone light and nonchalant. The scents of aggression and alcohol waft off him, prickling my senses. I inhale slowly, surprised to find he's an alpha.

"She's with me," he snarls, stepping closer, his breath reeking of alcohol.

"Whoa, easy there." I raise my hands in mock surrender. "Didn't know she was taken. No harm, no foul, right?"

Before he can respond, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, seeing Quinn's name flashing on the screen. Perfect timing, big bro.

"Excuse me for a sec," I say to the angry guy, stepping away to answer the call, which only pisses him off even more. "Q! What's up?"

"Dash, are you drunk?" Quinn's voice is laced with frustration, and I can almost picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. The background noise on his end suggests he's in a much quieter place, maybe at home or the library.

"Define drunk," I reply, dodging the angry guy's glare as I move toward a corner to hear him better. "I'm just enjoying the night, man."

"Where are you?"

"At the usual spot," I say, taking another sip from my bottle. "Why, are you going to join the party?"

"Damn you, Dash. A friend just called in a favor. I have to run out," he says, the annoyance in his voice evident. "And try not to start any fights, okay?"

"No promises!" I laugh, hanging up. I turn back to the girl, my pulse hammering in my ears. I wish my blood would rush to my cock, but instead, it's as flaccid as a noodle.

She pouts playfully. "Leaving so soon?"

"Oh no, baby, I'm all yours." I wink, earning another giggle from her. The guy disappeared, so I guess we are good to go.

The girl presses closer, her body moving in sync with mine as we lose ourselves in the pulsing rhythm. Her hands roam over my chest, and I let my own hands slide down to her waist, pulling her flush against me. The heat between us builds, and I lean in, brushing my lips against her ear. The scent of her hair, like coconut and sunshine, fills my senses.

"What do you say we get out of here?" I murmur, my voice low and husky.

She pulls back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Lead the way."

We weave through the crowd, my hand clasped tightly around hers as I try to navigate us out of the club. The music thumps in the background, a constant reminder of the night's energy.

"I said she's with me," a voice rumbles in my ear.

The angry guy from earlier blocks our path, his face contorted with rage. I sigh, realizing this night might not end as pleasantly as I hoped.

"Look, man, we were just dancing. No need to get all territorial," I say, trying to defuse the situation. The crowd around us senses the tension, creating a bubble of space.

He's not having it. He shoves me hard, sending me stumbling back into the crowd. The girl gasps, her eyes wide with fear and excitement.

I regain my balance, my own anger rising. I'm not one to back down from a fight, but I know Quinn will have my head if I get into trouble again. Unfortunately, the taste of blood in my mouth from a split lip adds to my need to fight.

"Let's just go," I say to the girl, reaching for her hand, but the guy isn't done. He swings at me, his fist connecting with my jaw. Pain explodes through my face, and I taste more blood.

The club erupts into chaos. People shout and push, trying to get away from the fight. I dodge another punch, my reflexes kicking in. Years of scrapping on the streets have made me quick on my feet. Adrenaline heightens my senses, every movement around me magnified.

Oh shit, Quinn is going to be furious with me. The thought of his disappointment stings more than the punch, but right now, I need to focus on getting out of this mess.

Just as the guy winds up for another swing, a voice cuts through the chaos. "Break it up!"

A man steps between us, his presence commanding attention. He's tall, with a sharp suit and an air of authority that makes everyone around him pause. "That's enough," he states firmly, placing a hand on the guy's chest and pushing him back.

The angry guy hesitates, then steps back, muttering under his breath. The man turns to me, his gaze assessing. "You okay?"

I nod, wiping the blood from my lip. "Yeah, thanks."

"Name's Logan," he says, extending a hand. "I saw what happened. You handled yourself well."

I shake his hand, appreciating the firm grip. "Dash. Thanks for stepping in."

"No problem," Logan replies, glancing at the girl beside me. "You should get her out of here. Things might get heated again."

I nod, turning to the girl. "Come on, let's go."

We weave through the crowd, Logan following close behind to ensure we make it out safely. It's crowded, and everyone and their mother is way too curious.

"Thanks again, Logan," I say, taking a deep breath as we reach the coat room.

He nods, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Just doing my part. Be careful out there, Dash."

With that, he turns and walks back into the club, disappearing into the throng of people. I can't shake the feeling that there's more to Logan than what meets the eye, but I push the thought aside for now.

"Are you okay?" the girl asks, her eyes filled with concern.

"I'm fine," I assure her, managing a smile, although that hit sobered me up enough to make me think a little clearer. "Listen, I have to go." I glance around the bar, something nagging at me.

"What?" She pouts, looking upset.

I'm going to regret this. "Sorry, baby." I smack a kiss on her face as I weave through the bar. At least when I call Quinn, he won't be too upset with me—that is until I get outside and run right into the guy who decked me.

At least I had the intent to leave. That has to count for something, right?

Fuck.