Page 50 of Rut Bar

He taps his nose and shrugs. “Beta, remember?” He turns to the omega next to me and tilts his head. “What do you want, doll?”

“I’ll have whatever you’ll gimme, handsome,” the drunk omega slurs. “And a drink too.” Her attempt to be provocative falls flat when she moves to pose herself better and stumbles against the bar.

Anthony sets a glass of water down in front of her and ignores her pouting. “Go on,” he tells me. “Jamie’s set is next.”

I take the hint and my drink and get lost in the crowd and make my way toward the stage. I can’t bear to wade into the throng of horny, perfuming omegas. I have no idea how the other alphas in the room stand it. This place is insane. It’s unlike any rut bar I’ve been to before.

The omegas are eight deep around the stage. The alphas who brought some of them here, and the others who came to bring some of them home, all line the walls like a living fence of testosterone.

I join the other alphas and ignore their snickering as I drink my girly pink drink. It’s delicious, and I don’t care what color it is. The air is easier to breathe here, and when I look up, I see there are extra vents in the ceiling. I understand why the alphas hang out along the rim where it’s safe from the jumble of competing pheromones.

I wonder if this is by design. I wouldn’t put it past her. Veronica seems whip smart. I’ll bet if I showed the floor plans to an HVAC guy, he’d tell me she angled the vents on purpose so that the alphas would flock to the sidelines, leaving the stage area clear of them. The omegas don’t seem to mind packing up in the center, even though their scents make a nauseating blend. I feel bad for the alpha dancers on that stage. That’s got to be a miserable job.

The fallen angel leaves the stage in nothing but his wings and a spike studded black thong stuffed with money. The MC comes out and talks fast into the microphone. The lighting changes and there’s another burst of announcements, and then the omegas scream.

Jamie bursts through the split black curtain and starts his set. He’s dressed in a Scottish kilt, complete with knee-high socks and boots and the leather belt pouch positioned right over his groin. He seems to have forgotten his shirt, though, because the extra swath of plaid tossed over his shoulder is the only thing covering his muscular, oiled chest. With his long hair and sun kissed skin, he looks like he stepped off the cover of a Highlander romance novel.

The omegas lose it.

He dances for a bit, each pose getting more and more suggestive, and then he unwinds his plaid. I’m surprised the costume is real instead of something sewn together and quick to take off, but this is Veronica we’re talking about. I’ve never met someone so driven, so fierce, before. Of course she’d put one of her exotic dancers in an authentic, traditional kilt.

All I can think of is how long it must take him to get into this costume, only to take it all off a few minutes later. It seems like a lot of work for me, but from the reaction of the omegas at his feet, they appreciate it. There’s a lot of money flying toward the stage.

When his song finishes and he’s down to only the leather waist purse and a nude-colored thong, he makes his way around the stage and lets them shove their money into his underwear. They’re rabid, tiny things as they stroke his purse, his legs, his abs. When one tries to sneak a hand under his purse to grope his cock, he turns away and moves further down the stage. The spurned omegas whine at the loss of him.

Huh.So much for the idea omegas are the submissive, meek dynamic. This group of omegas would likely storm the stage and carry him off if they thought they could get away with it.

Is this what makes Rut so special? I thought it was because of her secret omega rescue business, but this bar is more than a carefully constructed front. It’s an omega oasis. I’m ashamed of my alpha brethren that none of us ever thought to make alpha strip clubs a thing, but I’m also glad we didn’t. We probably would have found a way to ruin it.

Jamie steps off the stage, but a man with dark hair meets him at the curtains before he can go through it. He shifts and I see him in profile. It’s Anthony. They bend their heads together, and then they both turn in unison. Jamie finds me in the crowd and smiles, and I almost drop my drink. They’re both so handsome it hurts. The practically nude alpha gives me a tiny wave, then listens to something Anthony says and finally he disappears behind the curtain.

While Anthony stalks across the club, I drain my drink and eat the cherries off their stems.

“Come on,” Anthony says.

He walks past me without waiting for my answer. I set my empty glass down on a table and follow him. “Where are we going?” I have to ask twice to be heard over the MC’s announcement and the screams that follow. There’s a lot of bawdy jokes about firemen and their hoses and then something about bringing the heat followed by making it rain.

“You’ll see,” Anthony says. We pause at the bar long enough for him to bend under the counter and grab a pitcher of something light blue and a stack of red plastic cups. A few people shout their drink orders, but Anthony ignores them and gives a signal to the two other bartenders working.

We walk to the back and climb the stairs to the office. Veronica looks up from her paperwork. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

“Everything’s fine,” Anthony says, “except for one thing. You haven’t had a night off in months. Come on, baby. Let’s take a break.”

She sighs and runs her hands through her hair. “I have to get the next order sheet together. You know, it would help if you made your drink specials in advance. I could plan when to order these special liquors and have one big monthly order instead of these weekly ones. I don’t know what half of this stuff is. I spend so much time deciphering your chicken scratch writing and googling things to make sure I order the right shit. I mean, what the fuck is rose water? How do they get water out of a rose? And why would anyone drink it?” Her nose scrunches as she rants and waves her arms around with jerky, angry movements.

Anthony hands me the drink pitcher and cups and walks behind her desk. He grabs the back of her chair and physically drags her away from her computer.

“Hey!” she shouts.

He rolls her into the center of the room and then slaps his hands down on her armrests and leans into her personal space. “I’ll do the ordering tomorrow. Since I know exactly what I want and how much to buy, it won’t take me that long. There. Now your evening is free. And we,” he motions between us, “are going to play a game.”

Veronica leans back until her chair creaks. “What sort of game?” Her voice is full of suspicion.

Anthony grins and stands up, then grabs the pitcher and all but one of the red cups from me. “The best kind. Truth or dare.”

ChapterFourteen

BRENDAN

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