Page 59 of Sawyer

“I was already going to search the woods anyway,” Bryn says.

That leaves me. “I go where you go, Sawyer.” It’s the easiest promise I’ve ever made.

I decide then that if there is an omega for our pack, I choose Sawyer.

Sawyer will always be the one that I choose.

Sawyer

Bliss.

Unlike Haven, Bliss sits in the northern end of Central City, where the rich get richer. There are no slums here, so no one below the upper class would dare enter this place.

The fact that Tomi owned Bliss and ran two clubs in one city doesn’t sit right with me. Not that being a business owner is a lousy endeavor, but I knew Tomi. He was a slimy bastard who would never mix with this crowd.

Tomi had videos of these girls, and they probably didn’t know. My goal is twofold tonight—find out who is missing, and find his camera room and destroy it.

When we pull up, however, fear hums in my belly. “This can’t be right.”

“It is.” Rumor pulls up to the valet under the car park. Neon purple lights spill out onto the SUV and illuminate the asphalt. “It’s high class.”

Bryn breaks his thoughtful silence. “Tomi set up clubs in two parts of the city. One in the south, and one in the north, pandering to two very different clientele.”

I didn’t know.

“We didn’t dress for this scene,” Sin mutters, opening the car door and getting out first. A beta in a tux steps up to Rumor’s SUV to park it.

“Do you have reservations?” I hear him ask as his eyes roll over the four of us. We really are underdressed.

“We’re meeting with Stefani. We are a little late.” Rumor climbs out, leaving his keys in the car. I almost feel uncomfortable about it until he pulls another set from his pocket and jangles them at me. At least if we need a quick getaway, we won’t have to worry about hunting down the valet.

“Yes, well, we mustn’t keep the mistress waiting,” the valet says. “Go on. They’ll take your coats and lead you to her booth.”

Feeling uneasy, I climb out and look around. The club sits on a strip of high-end businesses as though it belongs there. The area is one I’ve always heard about but never experienced in my life, filled with designer shops, boutiques, and restaurants that cost a small fortune to even get a reservation.

Sin places his palm on the small of my back. Of all of us, he’s still somehow dressed without a single mud stain, but that’s probably because he’s the only one who changed in the car this time. He really needs a haircut, but he still looks as though he belongs here.

The rest of us? Not so much.

The calves of my jeans are splattered with mud, and the long-sleeved shirt I threw on has a few brambles stuck to it. I quickly pull the ratty strands of my hair up into a bun. As I glance up and down the street, cold air slaps my face and dries my contacts out even further. I blink several times, hoping to rehydrate them before I have to break out my glasses.

Though our lives were thrown together under strange circumstances, the four of us move together and enter the club. Make no mistake, it is a gentleman’s club, not a strip joint like Haven.

Upon entering, an old-world ticket booth greets us. It reminds me of movie theaters from years ago.

Behind the glass barrier, a man with a bushy black mustache smiles at us. “Good evening,” he greets us. “Rumor, is it?”

“And pack.” Rumor steps up to the counter, laying one forearm along the ledge. His bright blue eyes scan the entryway before he turns back to the man.

“If I could just have your wrists and designations, please.” He waves at Rumor’s wrist, which he sticks through. “Ah yes, a delta. I see your tattoo.” He places a black wristband on his wrist, and Rumor yanks his hand out as soon as it’s on.

Once upon a time, the council insisted on tattooing every delta, labeling them in a way they could identify them—usually with numbers. That practice ended years ago, but it still surprises me when I encounter a delta with a tattoo, and I never even noticed Rumor has one.

Bryn steps up next, putting his wrist through and stating, “Alpha,” as though he’s just ordering dinner.

The man, who I assume is in another beta, places a red band on his wrist with a black line down the center. He then repeats the process with Sin before saying what they are for. “The red with a black band represents you are pack affiliated. Next.” His eyes fall on me, and the man smiles.

He looks like the kind of guy living on the wrong side of the law who cleaned up to impress his girlfriend’s strict parents. He’s handsome in a boyish way, with a smile full of white teeth.

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