My vision turns red, and I move before reason catches up.
My hand lands on his shoulder, fingers digging into the soft tissue above his collarbone. “Watch your mouth.”
His grin vanishes, and his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “I was joking.”
I increase the pressure, feeling the give of muscle beneath my palm. “Wasn’t funny.”
His breath hitches in pain. “Okay. Okay, man. I got it. I won’t go near him.”
I hold him there for three more heartbeats, long enough that the message sinks deep. Then I release him, stepping back to a professional distance.
He sags, rubbing his shoulder with his opposite hand.
As I look back toward the dance floor, I freeze. Gabriel had followed me, and he now stands at the end of the hallway, watching the exchange with an unreadable expression.
My chest heaves as I storm back to him and get into his face. “I don’t want your little presents, rich boy. You’re not going to buy me.”
“Okay,” he says, not looking the least bit intimidated by me. “I hear you.”
I stab a finger against his chest, and he doesn’t flinch. “And I don’t want you asking me personal questions while I’m on the clock.”
“Understood.” He glances down at my finger, still digging into his sternum, then his gaze moves back up to peer at me through his lashes. “I’m sorry, Saint.”
The apology takes me aback, and I snatch my hand away as if burned. Most Alphas would push back, argue, or demand an explanation. And once again, my stomach twists with unease when Gabriel fails to meet my expectations.
I turn away before he can say anything else, returning to my post by the entrance. My hands tremble as I resume my stance, arms crossed, scanning the crowd.
The bartender has cut off the drunk Beta, and the aggressive Alpha pair near the dance floor have separated. Crisis averted without intervention.
Two hours into my shift, the crowd swells past capacity, bodies packed so tightly that movement becomes a collective effort. I’ve caught five peopletrying to sneak past the guy at the entrance, broken up two arguments before they escalated, and cut off three patrons who couldn’t walk straight.
Gabriel is still here.
I track his position, noting when he moves from the bar to the dance floor, from the dance floor to a booth near the VIP section. He nurses what appears to be the same whiskey for an hour. He talks to strangers with easy confidence, his body language open and relaxed.
He doesn’t approach me again. Doesn’t try to catch my eye. But his presence presses on my awareness like a thumb on a bruise.
Marcus returns from checking the bathrooms, irritation rolling off him.
“Found two Omegas getting it on in the last stall, throwing off pheromones everywhere.” He shakes his head. “Told them to take it outside.”
“They leave?” I ask, still watching the crowd.
“Yeah. Embarrassed as hell.” He chuckles. “Any issues on your end?”
“Quiet so far.”
The words leave my mouth just as a commotion erupts near the VIP section. A large Alpha in a polo shirt shoves another patron, and the surrounding crowd pulls back, leaving a circle of empty space.
I push off the wall, already moving. Marcus follows, his hand going to the radio clipped to his belt. We weave through the crowd, the sea of bodies parting for us.
The drunk Alpha points an accusing finger at a Beta who holds up both hands in surrender.
“You spilled your drink on me!” The Alpha’s words slur together, his face red. “You did that on purpose!”
“It was an accident, man.” The Beta backs up. “I’m sorry.”
The Alpha lunges forward, grabbing the Beta’s shirt, and his fist cocks back, ready to swing.
