Page 18 of Claimed By the Psychos

So many lies wrapped in lies, tied up with deception. It makes me dizzy.

Or maybe that's the stuff coming from the vents.

"I'll be watching the whole time," he promises, his hand ghosting over my lower back. "Just get them to the room. I'll handle the rest."

I reach back and put my hand on his briefly before I slip through the curtains, winding through the crowd like the snake I am tonight. The music pounds against my skull, bass lines that feel like heartbeats in the dark. Patrons barely glance at me—just another omega in a sea of flesh for sale and there are women wearing much less on stage to ogle.

The four alphas are pretending to watch the show, but their attention keeps drifting to the exits, the other patrons, anything but the stage. Bad actors, all of them. Their discomfort ispalpable, rolling off them in waves that make the shadows dance with glee.

I stop beside the mountain of a man, letting my hand rest on his shoulder. He tenses immediately, muscles coiling under my palm like steel cables. When he looks up at me, I see the first flicker of interest in those hazel eyes—not sexual interest, but the sharp focus of a predator recognizing potential prey.

Or maybe another predator.

I force my lips into a smile that tastes like lies and strawberry suppressants. "Someone is waiting for you gentlemen in the VIP lounge." My voice comes out breathy, innocent, exactly what they'd expect from an omega working in a place like this. "Invitation?"

The big one's gaze flicks to the golden-haired devil, who reaches into his jacket with movements inhumanly fluid. The red envelope appears between his fingers like magic, and when he offers it to me, our skin brushes for just a moment.

The world tilts sideways.

His eyes aren't just blue—they're empty. Void-dark despite their color, like looking into the abyss and finding it looking back. The shadows around him writhe and shriek, tentacles of darkness that only I can see reaching out with grasping fingers. They're screaming warnings in languages I don't understand, but the message is clear:

Danger. Death. Run.

I freeze, paralyzed by the sight of something that shouldn't exist wearing a human face. The envelope trembles in my hand as reality fractures around the edges, showing me glimpses of what lies beneath his perfect mask.

"Something wrong, Miss?" His voice is silk over broken glass, his sharp British accent making even concern sound like a threat.

"No." The word comes out strangled, but I force myself to move, to breathe, to remember that I'm supposed to be acting. "No, everything's fine."

I open the envelope with fingers that shake only slightly, revealing the invitation that Felix forged with meticulous care. "This way."

They rise from their seats like synchronized swimmers, following me through the maze of tables and grinding bodies. I can feel their eyes on me, tracking my movements, cataloguing potential threats. They're good at this, these heroes. Professional. Deadly.

Too bad we're better.

We'realwaysbetter. Alphas have to be good in order to dominate, we have to be bad in order to survive.

At least, that's what I tell myself. That's how it's always been.

The backstage corridors wind like intestines through the building's belly, past dressing rooms where omegas prepare to sell pieces of their souls. The air here is thicker with suppressants, making my head swim despite the antidote. How do they stand it?

How didIstand it for so long?

The answer that immediately becomes apparent to me is that I didn't have a choice.

But what about now?

"Miss." The voice stops me cold, along with a hand on my shoulder.

My head whips around and then I freeze, looking down at his hand. No one touches me except Felix. And when they do, it makes me sick. My skin burns, my spine crawls, long after their lifeless bodies hit the ground.

Why doesn't his touch make me sick?

I must stare a little too long, because he quickly lets me go and raises his hand like he's trying to soothe a frightened rabbit.The one with the light brown hair and gentle eyes, watching me with something that looks almost like concern. "I'm sorry. I didn't… You should probably clock out early. You don't want to be here."

He's trying to protect me? This alpha who came here to kill my Felix is trying to save me from what's coming. The irony makes me want to laugh until I cry, or maybe cry until I laugh. The lines blur sometimes, when the world gets too sharp around the edges.

I turn away, fighting the urge to tell him that I'm not the one who needs protecting. "Right through here."