Page 65 of Knot All That Glitters: Part 2

He grunts and holds out his hands. “I’ll take your purse and jacket.”

Fuck. I really don’t want to give them up. But I can’t exactly cling to them like a lifeline if I’m supposed to be an employee here. So I shrug out of my winter coat and pass it and my purse over, watching as he hands them to a coat check girl behind a long counter who winks and gives me a wave.

“My name’s Bryce,” the bouncer says, drawing my attention back to him. “Belinda should be in the back. You got a key?”

“Holly,” I say back without missing a beat.

“Belinda should be in the back. You got a key?”

“I do have a key, yes.” I’m hoping like hell that’s what the black card is, though if it isn’t, I suspect Bryce will be all too happy to get me one. Still, just in case, I trail my fingers over his folded forearms. “I’ll see you around.” He grunts again, but it sounds friendlier than the ones before.

I stride past him like I belong there and no one stops me. Not the burly guards, not the smiling waitresses—all of them omegas, I note with some surprise—not the bartenders or any of the patrons, who are dressed in everything from dress clothes to chains and leather. Some of them are wearing leashes and collars, others are wearing lingerie and tight briefs.

It’s at this point I realize why I couldn’t find anything specific when I searched for this club online.

It’s a sex club and probably not legal.

Or maybe it is.

I don’t honestly know what the legality of a club where you can watch people have sex is, only that sex work is illegal in our state.

Still, it must have some kind of shady dealings, because I couldn’t find anything about it. Anywhere. Maybe it’s just exclusive enough that people only find out about it by word of mouth.

Doesn’t matter. What matters is figuring out what my father and the Calloway pack were doing here. Hopefully, it’s something else besides the obvious.

I push thoughts of this place’s existence aside and focus on the here and now, on the key card tucked inside my bra. I glance around and pull it out, finger biting into the plastic, as I scan the main area. There’s a door in the back left corner with a gold and black sign that reads ‘Employees Only.’ To the left there is a set of open double doors that looks like it leads to an event space with a stage. And a third door with a bouncer in front of it, that probably leads to some private playrooms.

I’m sure there are cameras everywhere. Maybe not in the rooms where the kinky stuff happens, but in the lounge and the employee areas, definitely. Or maybe I’ll get lucky and that won’t be the case.

My fingers tighten on the key card in my hand, and I keep my smile in place, the one that says, ‘I’m supposed to be here.’ My heart thunders in my chest as I head to the door in the back, the employee door, the only one with a key card swiper.

I’m supposed to be here. I’m supposed to be here. It’s my first day. And I’m supposed to be here.

I keep chanting that in my head as I wind through the tables, bypass a few curious waitresses and smile at the bartender, who eyes me with speculation.

I keep my head forward and confidently swipe the card, only for the little light to turn red. Fuck.

I try swiping again. Red.

“Come on,” I mutter to myself, swiping a third time, and blowing out a relieved breath when it goes green and I can turn the handle.

I slip into the hall and close the door behind me. Ignoring my instinct to sag in relief and take a moment, I move down the hall, peaking into open doors and trying any that are closed. I find a door with another card swipe and something tells me that is where I need to go.

Confidence. I belong here.

I move right up to it, heels clicking on the tile floor and swipe it. This time it turns green immediately.

I blow out a breath and yank open the door, peering up a set of stairs. Finally, I hesitate.

What’s that thing they say about horror movies? The female protagonist runs up the stairs when she should be running out the front door. I have that feeling now. Like if I go up these stairs, I’ll be trapped, caught, killed. Skewered by a knife. Stuck to the wall with blood dripping out of my mouth.

I suppress a shudder and glance over my shoulder before straightening my spine and marching up the stairs.

I’m here to get answers.

There must be a reason Hale had this club name and this keycard in his office. It may just be that they’re members here, that they spend time here with other omegas. I skitter away from the thought of them coming here for hookups.

But that’s the only thing that makes sense, right? Why else would they be members of a sex club if not to, you know,have sex? And with the number of omegas serving drinks in the lounge, I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t have the slightest difficulty in convincing one of them to join them in one of the private playrooms.

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