Bound to the Alpha

12. Red Spot

Red Spot was a downtown strip club beaming with deep purple lights. A long cue trailed behind the dark corner, disappearing from view as Mason pulled up to the back entrance of the two storey building. A man in a uniform with a maroon coat dashed to Mason's window, a leather shiny cap set low on his bushy brows, "We'll take care of the vehicle."

"Thanks." Mason nodded, fixing the collar of his shirt.

Angelina hadn't missed the way he looked.

She hadn't expected Mason to look so...different. There was a certain swagger he adapted as soon as they left the Pack. Another layer to all the different disguises he wore.

He had donned dark denim bottoms that sculpted his ass perfectly. It wasn't something she would confess to his face but she couldn't just not appreciate it. It would be unjust. He had also pulled on a long-sleeved dress shirt with little black buttons that lined down the centre. She would have guessed that he had purposely left the few top buttons loose to expose the golden skin of his chest but she would bet that he simply didn't realise the detail or care enough for it.

"Just a set of rules before we enter." Mason sighed, glancing around the empty block we settled in. Puffs of smoke grazed by, fogging the windows. "Don't engage in talk with anyone. People in there will most likely come to you in order to get to me."

"Popular much?" Angelina grinned. She barely survived the way he glanced back her, a small smile tugging at his lips. "People simply love the enigma that I present."

"Huh, so you're not oblivious with what people think of you."

"I'm not the only unreadable one in this vehicle." He noted, raising a brow.

Angelina pursed her lips, "Well, I love pissing people off." She quickly climbed out of the Jeep. Mason followed shortly, handing his key off to the man who accepted it with a bow. Angelina rounded the vehicle and stood beside Mason, ignoring the gust of wind that flicked her ponytail wildly about her face. "What were the other rules?"

"Stick to me, listen and observe everyone."

"I'm not going to just stand around like arm candy?"

"Anyone who thinks you're just arm candy is blind."

"There's a compliment in there somewhere." Angelina muttered, trailing Mason's brisk steps over the damp concrete. She was grateful that the soft rain from earlier had completely ceased. She wasn't keen on pretending to be sexy if she resembled a racoon in the glitzy establishment.

"One more thing." Mason paused at the threshold. The door was vibrating from the bass of the music blasting inside. There was a cheer of men inside, followed by a delighted screech of a woman.

"What is it?"

"People will draw conclusions as to who you are to me. It's the only way no one will approach you without asking for death. Don't confirm or deny any assumptions."

"So should I use my real name or come up with one?"

"Avoid it if possible. We don't need your name being spoken around."

"Ok but am I supposed to feign flirting with you? Or keep my distance? If I have to nickname you, I'll probably use Honey or Snookums. What do you think?"

Mason pushed the metal door open, shaking his head. "Those are all horrid names. We'll stick with our own names between each other. I'm sure I'll find a name for you when the time comes other than Chatterbox." He said, taking the first step inside into the laser lights that lit up the dim hallway. Smoke machines were carefully concealed strategically behind the massive vases that lined the way, pushing out mists of fog through the air to the point their feet were partially obscured from sight.