“Scale of one to ten?” Trinity tilts her head. “Amelia’s at about an eight. She lost her shirt somewhere around the third body shot, but we at least have her contained in the booth, and she’s easy to dress in her sleep. Isabelle is steadier on her feet, but she keeps talking about how easy it would be for her to take people in a fight. So, nine point five?”
Saren runs a hand through his hair. “Jesus Christ.”
“And Holly...” Trinity pauses, glancing at Josie. “You tell me.”
“Holly’s at a solid seven and convinced that all the dancers are personally rejecting her,” Josie finishes with another giggle. “She tried to tip one guy with the diamond earrings that her parents gave her as a high school graduation gift.”
I can’t help but grin. “Sounds like they’re having the time of their lives.”
Trinity shoots me a look that could melt steel. “This is not funny. I’m the maid of honor. I’m supposed to keep everyone together and get them home safely.”
“Which is exactly what you’re doing,” Lucas points out gently. “You called for backup when you needed it. So let’s get them out of there.”
The bouncer at the door recognizes Trinity and wavesus through without checking IDs, as if he wants us in there as quickly as possible. The moment we step inside, the chaos becomes immediately apparent.
The club thrums with energy—disco balls casting rainbow patterns across the walls, performers on stage in various stages of undress, and a crowd that’s significantly more intoxicated than when the night started. In the VIP section, I spot Amelia immediately. She’s standing on a table, arms raised in triumph, wearing only a lacy black bra and her designer pants while a very patient-looking performer named Thunder—according to his bedazzled thong—tries to convince her to put her shirt back on.
Nearby, Isabelle has indeed found someone willing to arm wrestle her—a petite beta woman with enough muscle that she looks like she could bench press a compact car. Holly sits in a chair beside them, mascara slightly smudged, clutching a martini glass and watching the dancers with the intensity of someone trying to solve a complex mathematical equation. Tiffany sits at the booth, still sipping on a drink with glazed eyes.
“Divide and conquer?” Cash suggests, already moving toward Holly while Lucas and Matheo trail behind him.
“Good plan,” Egret agrees, his authoritative alpha presence immediately commanding attention as he strides toward his sister on the table. “Amelia! Get down from there before you hurt yourself.”
“Eggie!” Amelia squeals, pointing at him with dramatic flair. “Look! I’m winning at a strip club!”
Josie grabs Saren’s hand and pulls him toward Isabelle. “Come on, we need to extract her before she challenges someone actually dangerous.”
When Brendin beelines to Tiffany, that leavesme with Trinity, watching the chaos unfold as our combined packs work to wrangle four very drunk women.
“You handled this perfectly,” I tell her, bumping her shoulder with mine. “Getting everyone here safely, making sure Josie stayed sober, calling for help when you needed it.”
Trinity blows out a breath. “I feel like I’m herding cats. Very expensive, very drunk cats.”
“The best kind,” I reply, earning a small smile from her.
Across the room, Egret has successfully coaxed Amelia down from the table and is helping her back into her shirt while she protests that the night is still young. Brendin and Saren are negotiating with Isabelle, who seems reluctant to abandon her arm-wrestling tournament. Tiffany is still slumped in the booth but isn’t putting up a fight. Josie watches from the sidelines, but I notice they don’t let her get more than an arm’s reach away.
“They actually seem to care,” Trinity observes, watching Egret gently guide his sister toward the exit.
“Shocking, right?” I say dryly. “Maybe they’re not complete assholes after all.”
Trinity glances at me. “Jury’s still out on that one.”
We approach where Holly sits on a chair near the stage. She sits hunched in a velvet chair, clutching her martini glass like a lifeline while tears streak down her cheeks. Her mascara has created dark rivulets that make her look like a sad raccoon.
But something stops me cold as I get closer. A spark of recognition that almost rocks me back on my heels.
Holly’s eyes widen when she sees me, and her grip tightens on her glass.
“Oh my god,” she breathes, her voice cutting through the club’s thumping bass. “I know you.”
I suppress a flash of panic.
Before Trinity, I’d spent about a year taking heat-breaking contracts. There was a string of omegas whose names and faces I’ve done my best to forget in the hopes I never see them again.
Trinity looks back and forth between us. “You guys know each other?”
Holly’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. Fresh tears spill down her cheeks as she shakes her head frantically. “I... I don’t know!”
