Page 35 of Rut Bar

Thank God they live close. I stand up and wiggle my feet back into my heels, then run my fingers through my hair until it’s more sleek than frizz. I unbutton my blouse and shrug out of it until I’m down to my lace trimmed camisole and tight skirt.

“Is everything okay?” Brendan asks as he watches me primp and fuss so I look more like one of my customers than the owner. This is why I wear skirts and heels every day. If I dressed comfortably, I wouldn’t be able to blend with the crowd.

“Everything’s fine,” I tell him. “But I have to go handle something.”

“Are you sure? You sound… Is there anything I can help with?”

I ignore him and pull the bottom drawer of my desk open and dig out the bottle of bright blue mixture we keep ready. I unscrew the cap and pour its contents into a tumbler, then head for the stairs.

Anthony’s eyes snap to mine, and then he looks at a tiny blonde omega in a bright pink dress. It’s tight and short and her hair is curled and big. I thread through the crowd and make sure I don’t lose track of her as people cut across my path and bump into me.

There’s an alpha standing behind her at their spot at the bar. He’s tall and broad as all of them are, with light brown hair and dark eyes and tanned white skin. His clothes are designer and sleek. Expensive. A silver-colored watch peeks out from the edge of his black button up. I’m sure that whatever brand it is, it’s real and expensive.

He leans down to say something to her, his hand on her hip, and as she turns, I see the amount of makeup she’s wearing. It’s thick, especially around her eyes. Her concealer can’t quite hide the dark shadowing underneath. It’s easy to spot the particular sort of eye makeup that covers a black eye when you know what to watch for. The blonde nods at something he says in her ear.

The alpha barks for Anthony to hurry while my bartender makes a show of looking through a big cardboard box full of extra mixers and syrups. The crowd jostles me, and I use the energy to fall into the omega and shower her with my tumbler of watery blue dye.

She gasps and her alpha barks something, his words lost in the noise but the tone of his command loud enough to make the omegas around us flinch. “Gawd, I’m ssosorry!” I slur, pretending to be drunk. I grab a napkin from the bar counter and make a show of patting her stained dress and wiping her arm dry.

“Look at what you did, you stupid bitch. This is silk,” her dickhead alpha says. He plucks at his shirt and scowls at me.

“We sshould go tah the bathroom!” I yell over the music. I clutch her by her forearm and teeter on my heels.

“Go!” her alpha barks at her. “Get cleaned up. You’re embarrassing me!” He holds his arm up to inspect the droplets splashed all over his silk shirt.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she says.

“This way. It’s back here.” The omega lets me pull her through the club toward the back, but we don’t stop into the main bathroom that the customers use. I glance at the bar and, satisfied that her alpha is busy yelling at Anthony and isn’t looking, I lead her to the black curtain that separates the front of the club from the back.

“Come on,” I say, dropping the drunk act once the curtain closes behind us.

“Where are we going?” she asks. Her steps slow as she looks around the dressing room.

A few of my dancers are in various states of undress as they change outfits. All of them watch us pass as we head to the back of the club. I peek out the back door, but there’s no van yet. Good. It gives us a few minutes to talk.

“Do you have any children?” I ask her.

She shakes her head and looks at the black curtain, lines of worry etching furrows into her face.

“He won’t follow us,” I tell her. “And if he does, he’ll regret it. Can one of you go tell Nate to stall? The rest of you watch the curtain. He’s tall and white with tan skin, brown hair, and dark eyes and he’s wearing a gray silk shirt. If you see him coming back here, lay him out cold.”

Margot nods and motions for two of the other alphas to follow her. I rummage through the cubby screwed onto the wall and fish out one of the white envelopes we keep there. It doesn’t have much in it. Only some business cards and pamphlets about domestic violence and advocacy groups for victims of violence.

The police officers we work with will help her get her stuff from her alpha’s house. The shelter will take care of the rest. They’ll help her get somewhere new to live. Out of the city or out of the state, if that’s what it takes. If her family is somewhere else, they’ll get her there. She’ll be safe now.

“Do you have a claiming bite?” I ask her. “It’s okay if you do. But it changes how we approach things.”

“No. He said I had to earn it first.”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “That’s good. It makes things easier. An older beta couple is going to come and drive you somewhere safe. I trust them, and I need you to trust me right now. We have doctors who can look at you if you need one, and an officer we trust who can help you?—”

“The cops can’t help me,” she interrupts me.

Well, shit. That means one of two things. Either he’s in some sort of organized crime, or he’s law enforcement. I scan what I can see of her, but I don’t see the usual tattoos and markings of a trafficked victim, although sometimes they’re hidden. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry… He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to… I should go back before he gets angrier.” She looks near tears.

“I’m not worried about being hurt. Do youwantto go back?” It kills me to ask, but not everyone who asks for an angel shot is actually ready to leave once the idea of leaving becomes real.

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