Heaven's Ballroom

by Aiden Bates

  “Looks like you’re enjoying yourself well enough tonight,” I pointed out as he reached for the champagne bottle, his glass already due for a refill.

  “I’m allowed! This is the most fun I’ve had since that creep tracked down my old apartment. Besides…” Anders glanced at my own glass, still shockingly full. “Looks like I’m drinking for both of us tonight. Shouldn’t you be celebrating a little harder? Never took you for the type to abstain after such a massive victory.”

  I swirled the champagne in my glass, feeling my stomach turn at the thought of tasting it—which admittedly was pretty strange for me. Anders was right—abstention had never really been my style, and usually I loved the taste of champagne.

  “Yeah, I must be coming down with something,” I agreed, handing the glass off to Anders. “Not feeling it tonight. Besides—Ace is coming around in a bit for a ‘date’. Suppose I’ll have to keep my wits about me.”

  “With an Alpha like him around, I can’t imagine how you’ve got any wits left,” Anders sighed. “Sure, he’s working for the enemy—but god, he looks dreamy doing it.”

  “You’re just sex starved, you poor thing.” I patted him on the shoulder sympathetically—with the stalker around and no idea who the guy even was, Anders had been forced to drop most of his usual retinue of Alpha lovers. I could practically see the desperation in his eyes.

  “It’s not fair,” Anders pouted. “Feels like anyone I wind up taking to bed might be him, you know? You’re twice as lucky in that regard—at least you know exactly who Ace is.”

  “Not entirely true,” I reminded him. “The man’s such a fucking mystery in so many ways still. Claims he’s a Wall Street fuckboy, but his scars and tattoos say otherwise.”

  “Yeah…and there’s his bad boy criminal past…”

  “Not that it matters.” I ducked behind the bar to grab a glass of ice water. “He’s only sniffing around me because he thinks he’ll get intel out of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if he doesn’t even bother showing up tonight. The Barnyard Bacchanal idea he fed Harmon for us went so deliciously sideways, Harmon might have fired him completely.”

  “Please.” Anders rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fly out of his sockets. “I’ve seen the way that man looks at you, Noah. He’s nearly too cockstruck to function.” A smile spread across Anders’ lips as his eyes fell on something just over my shoulder. “And also—he’s already here.”

  I turned to see Ace lurking in the doorway, all shoulders and stubble and bedroom eyes. Anders wasn’t wrong—it didn’t matter what Ace was doing, he always looked so damn good doing it. Even when it was leaning against the wall next to the Ballroom’s entrance, his arms crossed over his chest and a surprising lack of a smirk on his lips for once.

  “That’s my cue, then.” I waved goodbye to Anders and the other dancers, leaving them to their champagne while I went to face the man whose weekend I’d probably ruined.

  “Good luck!” Anders yelled after me, raising his glass in a salute.

  Ace’s cologne caught me before his arms did. That deliciously dark, sensual smell, all spicy and woodsy all at once, drew me in just as much as the darkness of his eyes.

  “Celebrating something?” he asked, his voice even gruffer than usual.

  I wound my arms around his neck, closing my eyes in delight as his hands settled on my hips. “Just a bit of good luck. How’re you?”

  His gaze caught mine, sharp and searching for clues in my expression. I had to hand it to Harmon—if I hadn’t been such a good match for Ace, the Backdoor couldn’t have hired a better man for the job.

  “Not feeling quite so lucky,” Ace finally admitted. “Surprised, though. No goats here today.”

  I smiled, unable to fight back how fucking smug I was feeling. “No goats. I don’t know if you’ve heard—some other club got to the barnyard idea before we did. Sounds like maybe it wasn’t all that good of an idea at all.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Mm. Yeah, I don’t know where Foster got the idea from, but it sounds like it wasn’t as good of a theme as we thought.”

  Ace arched an eyebrow. “That does sound lucky. Must be a lot of bad intel going around these days.”

  I mirrored his expression, daring him to question me further. Admittedly, I was dying to know if he suspected what we’d done to him—probably almost as much as he was dying to know if he’d been fed bad information, or if it was all just happenstance.

  “Didn’t know you took so much interest in the scene,” I teased. “You don’t strike me as much of a connoisseur for Almega strip clubs.”

  “I’m not,” Ace admitted, finally cracking the ghost of a smile. His fingertips traced the lines of my jeans, dancing against the muscles of my lower back and drawing my body a little closer to his. “But now that I’m dating a dancer, well…”

  Both of my eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise. “Oh? Are we dating now, Ace?”

  “Going on a date, aren’t we?” Even in the face of defeat, Ace was still so effortlessly cool. “Or should I just take you back to my place and bend you over the mattress again?”

  “As much as I’d like that…” I sank my teeth into my lower lip, looking up at him with the kind of gaze I knew turned Alpha hearts into puddles and Alpha cocks hard as steel. “I’m a little too eager to find out what you’ve got planned for me today. You said on the phone that you’ve got some kind of surprise set up…”

  His grin widened. “And you said you don’t like surprises.”

  “I don’t. Hate them, in fact.”

  “That’s a shame.” His lips dipped toward mine and I found myself breathing in his breath. God—he smelled especially delicious today for some reason. “I figured you were the kind of man who enjoyed a good secret.”

  “Oh, secrets are fine,” I agreed. “Secrets, you can always unwind one way or another. Surprises, though—you never know when someone’s going to spring one on you.”

  “Think of it as a secret, then. I won’t spring anything on you—at least, not until I get you back to my place tonight.”

  “The way your cock springs up when I tear off your boxers isn’t much of a secret, Ace.”

  “Mm. But maybe you’ve forgotten how big and thick and hard it gets for you—you sure as hell looked surprised when you saw it the other night.”

  We were so fucking close, it made my molars ache. All this talk of secrets and surprises made me more certain than ever that there was something going unsaid between us. He was onto me—he had to have been. But with his arms wrapped around my waist the way they were, every inch of his broad, muscular body tight and cut and just begging to be unleashed on me…Christ, did I even care whether he knew that I knew that he knew? And with his lips just half an inch away from mine, teasing me with the promise of a kiss I found myself all too willing to claim…

  “Get a room, you two!” Anders hollered from the bar, leading to a chorus of laughter from our other dancers.

  I glanced back and realized we’d been putting on quite the show of our own—no goats, chickens or hoedown music required. Every Omega in the Ballroom had been watching us, completely on the edges of their seats to see how our little romance would play out. Maybe because they wanted to see if Ace had figured out what we’d done to his little operation with the Backdoor—or maybe because the sexual tension between Ace and I was so palpable, even a bunch of oversexed Omega dancers couldn’t help but be captivated by it.

  Either way, I didn’t mind. I’d always been a show-off, and Ace was the kind of man who was excessively fun to show off with. My lips raised to Ace’s, giving him a chaste little peck before I drew back with a grin.

  “Looks like our audience is getting a little antsy,” I said, relishing the way his fingers pressed greedily into either side of my spine.

  For Ace, a chaste little peck was never enough.

  “Suppose that’s our cue, then,” Ace grunted, cocking his head toward the door. But even as he did it, I could
see it in his eyes—he was one bad decision away from dragging me off to the bathroom and having his wicked way with me, and I was one good decision away from letting him. “Ready to uncover the secret?”

  “Mm. I think I’ll have all your secrets uncovered before the night is over, handsome.” I peeled his hand away from my back and slipped my fingers into the places between his.

  He gave my hand a little squeeze, dark eyes lighting up with a little mischief as he led me out onto the street. “If you say so, darlin’—but I should warn you, you ought to be careful with me.”

  “Because if I’m not, you’ll throw me over your shoulder and haul me back to your cave before I find out what mysterious thing you have planned for me?”

  “Maybe.” Outside, he tugged me toward him and claimed my lips with another kiss—the proper kind. His tongue pressed hungrily between my lips, flicking out to tangle with my own tongue. It was a hard kiss, all-consuming and so heady it made my knees weak. When he finally drew away again, he looked like he’d just had a victory of his own. “Or maybe, I uncover all your secrets right back.”

  9

  Ace

  As the stage lights flickered up across the crowd, catching Noah’s bright eyes and chiseled jaw in a flutter of reds and blues, I was kicking myself for not realizing it sooner.

  Noah Layton was more clever than I’d given him credit for. I’d mistaken him for a charming, naive party boy—and while he was still undeniably charming, naive he was not.

  “Burlesque, huh?” Noah raised his eyebrows as a leggy brunette danced her way across the stage, two massive feather fans held to shield her body from the views of the crowd. “I’ve never been to a burlesque show before.”

  “Does it make you uncomfortable?” I asked, waving another waiter away as he approached us to take our drink orders. Noah had already told the first tuxedoed waiter who’d come to our table that he wasn’t drinking for the evening—and so of course, neither was I.

  “What? Half-naked women shaking their stuff up on stage?” Noah laughed, leaning back in his chair and letting his fingertips tease at the shoulder of my t-shirt. “Please, Ace. I’m a dancer too—albeit, this is a little classier than lap dances and golden G-strings.”

  “You’re enjoying yourself, then?”

  “Of course. Who doesn’t like watching beautiful people do beautiful things?” He turned his gaze back to the female performer, staring like he was taking notes. “Not sure why you’ve brought me here, I’ll admit, but yeah—it’s very much my kind of thing.”

  “Thought it might give you some ideas for your act,” I said—which was about half-true.

  “Mm. Well then, you thought right.”

  Admittedly, the other half of the truth was a little more sinister—or, at the very least, a little more selfish for sure. I’d wanted to bring Noah to somewhere that had a similar vibe to this world we were both operating in now: music, dancing, performative sexuality and high-rolling clientele. If Foster Collins trusted Noah to run interference on me—and I was highly suspicious that he had—then Noah was obviously a cut above your average Omega stripper. The realization that the fucking barnyard animal thing had probably been a set-up hadn’t set me back so much as it had forced me to change my game. Now that I knew I might be dealing with someone who knew exactly what kind of work I was doing for Wesley Harmon, I knew that I’d have to be more clever than I had on any gig I’d taken before.

  It was exciting, in a way. I never backed down when presented with an adequately interesting challenge, and if Noah was as good as I thought he might’ve been, winning out over him would’ve been my greatest challenge yet.

  There was another reason I’d brought him to a club with female dancers, though—that was the selfish part. If I was being honest with myself, I didn’t want him staring at any other men while I worked my magic on him.

  As far as Noah was concerned, I didn’t want him to have eyes for anyone but me tonight.

  “So these strippers…” he began.

  “Not strippers.” I was quick to correct him—it was important that he made the distinction. “You said it yourself—they don’t give lap dances. I don’t think you could pay any of these women enough to take off their panties and spin half-naked around a pole.”

  “Very classy,” Noah agreed. “Reminds me of the Ballroom a little bit. Swap out the women for some handsome Omegas, strap on some angel wings and you’d think we’d turned the Ballroom into a franchise.”

  “Shame there aren’t any Omega clubs like this in the city, really. No handsy men to deal with, no fist fights over dancers to break up.”

  I dropped the hint casually, like ice in a glass. I could see it in his eyes the moment it caught—all I could hope was that as the idea took root, he’d think it had been his original thought all along.

  “Interesting,” he admitted, stroking his jaw before turning his gaze back to me. “Really interesting.”

  I fought back a smile as I watched the thought set in. I’d had a hell of a time pitching it to Harmon, but in the end he’d finally agreed with me. If the Ballroom was onto us, any interference on my end wasn’t going to play out in our favor. Foster Collins was too cunning and his dancers were too smart. If Harmon wanted to take the Ballroom down now, he wouldn’t be able to do it by stealing their theme night ideas or swiping their dancers.

  We could still play dirty, sure. But in the wake of the barnyard fiasco, crippling the Ballroom had become personal for Harmon—and what better way to take down a strip club than completely alienating their entire client base? Alphas didn’t go to places like the Ballroom to be teased and sent home wanting—they went there to have hot Omegas like Noah grinding against them in the Champagne Room. Cut that away, and the whole thing would cave in.

  And now, it would look like it was Noah’s original idea all along.

  Maybe I should have felt bad then, but I didn’t. It’d been a blow to my ego, the knowledge that Noah had probably slept with me just to figure out what my game was, but I never took hits like that lying down.

  At the end of the day, Noah Layton was playing just as dirty as I was. The difference between us was that playing dirty was my specialty. Whatever happened with us between the sheets in the meantime—well, that was just icing on the fucking cake.

  “Good surprise, then?” I asked.

  He grinned. “Great surprise. I’ll have to figure out some way to top it, I guess.”

  “Guess you’ll have to.”

  “Guess I will.”

  The look in his eyes was fucking magnetic. I loved him like this—cocky, competitive, ready to try and topple me over the first chance he got.

  Don’t trust Omegas. My father’s words echoed in my mind all over again as Noah leaned forward and reached toward me, tracing along the scar on my cheek.

  “It’s funny. You never served,” he pointed out, putting a little pressure on the scar. It didn’t hurt—not anymore—but it was a firm reminder of what happened when I let men like Noah get the upper hand. “But you’ve got all these scars on your body.”

  “You’re wondering where I got them,” I guessed.

  “Every scar has a story,” he said, reminding me of all the puckers and raised white lines that peppered his own perfect chest.

  “You’d rather hear me spin yarns than watch the dancers?”

  “I like watching beautiful people,” he said again, “but, come on. You already know you’re the most captivating person in this entire room.”

  I laughed, leaning back so his fingers fell away from my skin. “Ex-boyfriend back when I was about twenty. Had a bad temper. You Omegas aren’t always the soft, sweet, delicate things everyone always assumes you are.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that.” Noah pushed up his sleeve, revealing a ragged scar of his own just above an eagle tattoo on his bicep. The words inked into his skin there—Semper fidelis—were as much of a reminder of his service as the scar was. “Roadside bomb just outside of Baghdad. Huge piece o
f metal came flying towards our MRAP. My dumb ass had the door open, leaning out the side. Would’ve taken my arm off if I’d been just another inch or two to the right.”

  I nodded, imagining the pain that must have caused him. “Yeah. I’ve got one on my chest just here—” I pulled down the collar of my shirt so he could see the tattoo on my pec, a revolver on a bed of roses.

  “Another ex-boyfriend?”

  I laughed. “Actually, yeah. Even worse temper. Probably would’ve killed me if I’d let him.”

  “Seems to be a running theme with you,” Noah teased. “What are you doing to all the men you’ve loved that makes them want to kill you so bad?”

  I rolled my eyes. That was bait if I’d ever heard it—he was so obviously onto me. Or, at the very least, he thought he was.

  “I grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. Generations of people who’ve never seen a healthy relationship in their entire lives—it never ends well. You’ve gotta have some kind of good role model, else you end up just as fucked up as your parents were.”

  “Your dad was army. You said it fucked him up pretty bad,” Noah mentioned.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I’m surprised you remembered that.”

  He smiled. “I’m a good listener. What about your mom? Or your Omega dad?”

  “Omega dad,” I confirmed. “He left not long after I was born. My Alpha dad was a real bastard, so I can’t really blame anyone for leaving him. Made my childhood rough. Made me a little rough in return, I guess.”

  “No good role models in your life either then?”

  I smiled, working my wallet out of my pocket and drawing a picture from it. “Wouldn’t say that.”

  Noah took the picture from me, looking down at the faces of an elderly couple. I’d taken it of them last year at Christmas in front of the tree I’d bought for them, stockings strung up on the mantle just to their left.