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No...he's not even a player.
He's just a piece on my board.
The world falls away as he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. We're a tangle of limbs and longing, pressed against the cold wall of my dressing room. Each kiss is a promise, each caress a claim.
"Tell me what you want," he demands, lips trailing down my neck, marking me with his presence.
"Freedom," I gasp out, clinging to him. "With you."
He pauses, his eyes searching mine. Then slowly, he nods, his resolve setting like concrete. "I'll get you out of Dreamland. Gunnar, he can't offer you what I can. Trust me."
"I do." It's the truth, a sliver amidst the web of lies I've spun. And for a moment, as we stand on the precipice of surrender, I let myself believe in the possibility of escape, of a future where chains don't hold me down.
"Then wait for me," he says, his voice rough with the effort of restraint.
We both know the danger of going further, of losing ourselves completely. Security guards aren't supposed to touch the merchandise--let alone fuck us, claim us. Oberon is a powerful alpha, and I'm sure he would love nothing more than to claim me for his pack...
...but that isn't in the cards.
"Don't make me wait long," I murmur. "Things get worse every damn second. After Lark..."
"I know," he says. "But we have to move slow. Be cautious."
"I don't know if I can do that," I whisper.
"Trust me," he says. "I'll save you."
And I'm not sure if he means it--but even if he doesn't, he's at least a viable alternative to Gunnar.
Chapter eight
Gunnar
The bass vibrates throughmy bones as I step into Exotique, the kind of place where shadows cling to the walls like a second skin. Nero Rossi's joint is always teeming with bodies, a writhing mass of heat and sin that knows how to keep secrets and sell lies.
And I'm harboring a secret that not even Luka and Rook are aware of.
A secret that could lead to all-out war between the Angels and the Eclipse.
"Easy, Gunnar," Luka says, his voice barely cresting the waves of music. "We're just here for a good time."
"Good time my ass," I mutter, scanning the crowd.
Rook sidles up beside us, hazel eyes tracking the room with a chemist's precision. "Just blend in," he suggests, but there's a tension in his shoulders that gives him away. We can all feel things ramping up between the Angels and the Eclipse, even if we're not planning on springing certain dancers from an Eclipse establishment.
"Like we ever just blend in," I shoot back with a smirk. "If it wasn't for the wings on our necks, it would be Luka's height or your big mouth that get us into trouble.
It's only half a joke; trouble has a way of sniffing us out, like bloodhounds to a scent.
We make our way through the throng of writhing bodies, toward the bar. We're here, as usual, the hustle product for the Angels and Vance Solace--but I have a feeling something else is going to happen tonight. As if on cue, I see a face I recognize down the bar, and my heart starts to pound.
"You good, newbie?" Rook asks.
"Not really," I mutter. "That guy over there...he gave me some shit at Dreamland when we were there last time."
It's a lie, but hopefully one they won't catch onto.
Because Oberon is sitting down the bar.
