Rachel
Another round of whistles filled the room.
The object of their attention, a young woman with thick legs and a round waist, was slinking up the stairs to the sultry tunes of some classic music she didn’t entirely recognize. The beat was familiar though.
Bamp. Ba-damp. Ba-damp. Bamp.
It repeated itself several times over as she worked her way up to the stage, short gray pleated skirt swaying with her hips. The white button-up that she had on was held in place by a mere three buttons, each of which appeared strained to its breaking point by the contents concealed behind it. The bottom half was tied tightly just below the voluminous curves of her breasts, while the top had been peeled open to give the audience maximum viewing coverage of the ample amounts of skin she had to offer. Stockings pulled up just over her knees, black heels at least six inches high and a pair of ubiquitous pigtails completed the ensemble.
As she reached the stage the crowd went wild with delight, their whistles, cheers, and lusty cries reaching a new fervor. They hooted and hollered, banged on chairs, and some even tried to tell her to get off the stage and just come home with them. The performer was more than up to the task though, shaking off the catcalls and wagging her finger at those who suggested other things, a big bright smile plastered on her face the entire time. Then the music began to play, and she began to dance. The noise quieted for a moment, until she tossed her shirt into the face of a nearby male and with the palm of her hand pushed him back into his chair. The crowd loved it.
And Rachel shouted right along with them, the group of women she was with acting just as loud and obnoxious as some of the men, though without the undertones of seriousness behind them.
“Isn’t this so fun?!” Michelle asked, having to shout to be heard over the music.
Rachel looked over at her friend and smiled. She wouldn’t normally have come to an establishment such at this by choice. But Michelle was having a blast, and her black dress and white sash that was embroidered with the words Bride-To-Be had made her the center of attention. More than one dancer had swung by because of it, giving Michelle a show to the shouts and cries of the gaggle of women surrounding her. There were about nine of them altogether, and they were a fairly noticeable party in the sea of men.
The song ended and the woman, now fully unclothed but with a fistful of money in either hand to compensate, scampered from the stage, snatching up her discarded items as well, minus the shirt she’d lost to a customer. Rachel tried to estimate how much the bills she’d seen tossed around added up to, but got lost somewhere between two and three hundred.
Maybe I should be doing that.
Her hand went to the gentle swell of her stomach, a reminder that it wasn’t going to be quite that easy for her. The child growing inside of her was wonderful for repelling a lot of the shifters, and almost all of the human men who might want to hit on them, but it meant that dancing for money was also off the table, not that she was serious about it.
A commotion broke out nearer the stage as yet another young woman approached, all thick and curvaceous like the rest of them. Which wasn’t a surprise to Rachel, though it would have been to any random person who walked in. This particular adult entertainment lounge, as they titled themselves, catered to an exclusive clientele.
“He’s not calming down,” Michelle said from next to her.
The music had died away, and security was rushing to the scene as the noise grew. It wasn’t the good-natured catcalls and shouts of encouragement from earlier. The noises had taken on an undertone of anger, which would make anyone nervous. Considering that a decent amount of the patrons were possessed of superhuman strength, it was a sign that they should be putting some distance between them and the stage.
“Come on, ladies,” Rachel called. “Time to hit the ladies’ room I think.”
There was muted agreement from the group, and they all stood up, some grabbing bottles of water as they headed, hopefully, away from the growing situation. The last thing Rachel wanted to do was be near an irate and likely drunk shifter. She knew the majority of those who came to the town of Cloud Lake were friendly and easygoing, but there was a bad apple in every bunch.
Acting as sort of their shepherd, she got them across the floor and into the bathroom before things got worse. Rachel was just about to follow them in when the tensions suddenly ratcheted up a level as something broke. Security was hanging way back, trying not to provoke the situation any further, but there was only so much they could let pass.
One of them shouted and she saw movement from right to left. There was a loud rumbling growl that filled the room, and then there was much faster movement from left to right. Most of it was obscured by the crowd of people standing between her and the situation. The cries of astonishment and parting of the crowd allowed her to see the bouncer that had gone flying across the floor. He hit the ground, slid into a table and chairs that spilled the contents of drinks all over him, and then lay still, groaning.
At least he’s still alive. If the shifter wanted to kill him, he could have.
“Come on, why isn’t anyone else intervening?” she asked, speaking the words out loud without realizing it.
“No idea, but I wish they would.”
She looked over at the voice. It was a male, his attention focused on where the situation was playing out on the far side of the room from them. Like her, he must have had the idea that making himself scarce couldn’t hurt.
“Before anyone gets hurt,” she agreed.
There were other shifters in the bar. She knew that. They sort of stood out, considering most of them were well over six feet in height and covered in 3D-printed muscles. Not to mention each one was quite attractive. All in all, they had a number of advantages on normal humans, much to the dismay of the locals, who had found themselves suddenly competing with them.
“Yeah,” the random guy said, just as another roar sounded.
This time they both watched the black-clad security guard sail through the air, crashing through a table. The wood shattered under the impact, splinters flying out in a circle from it. One skittered across the ground and came to a rest against her shoe before she kicked it away.
Nearby, a large figure made a displeased noise as he was pelted by remnants of the table. Rachel watched as he stood up. Without a word he plunged into the crowd, his massive frame parting them like water, allowing even someone as short as her to watch as he lumbered his way across the floor.
“You know, I suddenly get the feeling that I don’t want them to intervene,” the man said from next to her, and disappeared into the male bathroom.
Rachel frowned, but she couldn’t stop herself from watching. There was a fight about to go down. It could be dangerous. Deadly even, to a bystander like her. When two shifters threw down, it wasn’t a pretty sight. She knew that much. Yet her feet remained glued to the floor, unresponsive to her efforts to get them to move her into the bathroom itself.
Before the irate shifter could make it to the unknown instigator, the front door swung open and two men came inside. No, not men, she corrected. Shifters. It was obvious. The door boomed loudly as they slammed it open, not bothering for a stealthy approach. She watched as they strode forward, patrons and tables simply falling out of their way.
The lead one spoke. “That is e-nough!” he bellowed sharply, his voice full of steel and command, so much that even Rachel, innocent of anything, felt the subtle urge not to disobey. She could only imagine how those it was directed at must feel.
Another roar sounded, followed by several meaty smacks. The shifter who had been seated near her had evidently arrived. There was a howl of pain—she wasn’t sure from which party—and then the two newcomers rushed across the bar. Moments later she heard dual shouts of agony, and then suddenly the crowd seemed to relax. There was a nonverbal sigh that seemed to rush through them all like the wind through the forest, and suddenly the atmosphere was more upbeat.
Rachel meant to turn around, to go back into the bathroom with her friends. But as she tried to tell her body to do that, her feet once more stood rooted to the spot. Some part of her needed to watch the proceedings. Irritated, she looked around, noting the raised area of the private lounge, an area where men could go for a semiprivate dance, if they felt like forking over the money. Climbing the short three steps up onto that gave her a much, much better view of what was going on.
The two shifters, both in white T-shirts that stood out easily amongst the darkened interior of the club, were hauling two figures to their feet. Neither prisoner seemed overly with it, swaying and having trouble staying on their feet. It was the first clear glimpse that Rachel had gotten of any of the participants, but it wasn’t there that her attention was riveted. She froze at the sudden realization that she knew one of the shifters who had come to stop the fight.
It was Hector.
Trying to remain calm and unobtrusive, Rachel glanced down to ensure she had proper footing to get off the raised platform before he saw her. But when she looked back up, his eyes were focused unerringly across the club at her. He’d seen her. His eyes took in her, her outfit, and where she was standing, and she could practically see them become hard and glittering.
Rachel glanced down at herself, and then suddenly it all made sense. She was wearing a very similar outfit to the first dancer, albeit with more buttons done up and far less skin exposed. But still, combine that with the purpose of the establishment, and then her location on the edge of the VIP stage, and it all made sense.
He thought she worked there. Part of her wanted to rush across the club and reassure him that she didn’t. The rest of her did what she’d done every time he’d contacted her since the day they’d met. She stonewalled him. Simply standing there, watching as he hauled his captive across the floor. His eyes fixed on her more than once, and the sadness became more etched on his face with every step.
Say something. Wave to him. Acknowledge his presence, dammit!
She did nothing of the sort. Rachel stood there like a statute until after he was gone and the club had turned up the music to try and re-energize the crowd. It didn’t work much at first, but then a parade of topless women appeared from the back, and the intoxicated men in the club went wild.
It never ceased to amaze her what a pair of exposed breasts could get from a man.
“Rachel?”
She glanced sideways as Michelle came up to her, the rest of their group having emerged from the bathroom with her.
“Yeah?” she asked, dazed.
“Are you okay?”
“Hmmm?”
Michelle looked worried, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Are you okay? You look, um, distraught, kind of.”
Some of the other women nodded along with her.
“I do?” she asked, unaware of the expression on her face. Giving her head a shake she brought herself back to reality. “Sorry. I’m good, I promise.”
She flashed Michelle a smile that, while not completely convincing, helped to relieve some of the worry.
“Come on, let’s go get some more shots of delicious H20 and get crazy!” she shouted.
The women cheered, which set the men nearby to cheering, and then carried through the rest of the bar. A path opened up between them and the bar, and Rachel led the way, taking Michelle’s hand in hers. This was her friend’s night after all, and she wasn’t going to let one gorgeous shifter ruin it.