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"What do you think he's doing here?"
Luka shrugs. "Who knows? Although, if we know what's good for us...we won't bother trying to find out."
The door slides open and, all of a sudden, we're consumed by the sparkling lights of Dreamland. I squint in the glare of pink and blue neon, the pounding music overwhelming my senses, light glancing off shiny silver poles around the room. The furniture is white--though this place is seedy as fuck, so I'm not sure how they keep it so pristine--and the walls display floating clouds on LED screens.
We've been in before, and I find myself searching the stages for my favorite dancer. I've never had the courage to talk to her, but I find her every time I'm here, and I always make sure to tip. Luka tells me the girls don't get to keep it, that they're basically prisoners here in Dreamland, but I do what I can to help.
Which, to be fair, isn't much.
If we did anything to get these omegas out of here, it could trigger an all-out war between the Eclipse and the Angels. Our boss, Vance Solace, would have my head on a fucking platter.
I don't see her anywhere, and I try to hide my disappointment. Rook is already scanning the crowd for potential buyers, but Luka--ever observant--nudges me.
"She's not here, huh?"
"Who?"
He snorts. "That dancer you like. The one with the purple hair."
I feel my cheeks flush, and I can't help but glance around the club one more time just in case. "No, I guess not."
"Well, don't worry about her," Luka says. "We need to stay on task. Like...did you see the sketchy guys over by the back exit?"
He gestures toward them and I tense my jaw. "Bouncers?"
"Don't think so," he says. "Look for tattoos, newbie. In this city, that's rule number one."
"Okay..." I trail off, looking for the symbols I'm familiar with--a blacked out sun, or a set of angel wings. I only just got my own wings a few weeks ago, and clearly I still have a lot to learn.
"No tattoos," I say.
"Right," Luka confirms. "Which means they're not Eclipse or Angels. Probably just bottom feeders looking to score."
"Isn't that who we're looking for?"
Rook interrupts, reminding me he's always listening. "No, because we don't want them to know I'm carrying an ounce of Glitter in my pocket."
"So who's our target?" I ask.
Rook grins. "Rich people. Big spenders. Look for the tippers, newbie."
We nod, splitting up to scan the club for potential buyers. The music pounds through my body, making it hard to think, but I push through it. I'm not the best at this game, but I know how to spot someone with money to burn.
I make my way to the bar, scanning the patrons as I go. There are a few people sitting alone, nursing their drinks, but no one catches my eye.
That is, until I spot her.
The girl behind the bar.
The dancer with the purple hair.
I know I shouldn't get distracted, but she locks eyes with me and her cherry red lips part. She's got silver glitter painted on her eyes and cheeks, a sparkly white robe draped over her shoulders. I can see the barest hint of white lace underneath it, and my cock twitches at the mere thought of being with her.
Of claiming her, marking her,knotting her.
At the barest touch a few weeks ago, I knew she was an omega...but tonight, she smells especially delicious.
I slide to a seat at the bar, unable to resist the temptation, and she sidles over and leans her elbows on the bartop. "Hey, stranger."
