For Me,There Is Only You |18+|

70. The Crimson Pulse

I should've known something was off the moment Phoebe winked and said, "Just trust the process."

Now, standing in front of The Crimson Pulse, I finally understood what my gut had been trying to warn me about.

From the outside, it didn't scream "strip club." Not exactly.

But the second we stepped through the door and were hit by the heady mix of cologne, liquor, and way too many shirtless men, the truth landed like a slap.

"Oh," I said flatly.

Phoebe shot me a grin over her shoulder. "Took you long enough."

"You never said we'd be infiltrating a strip club," I hissed, my voice caught somewhere between disbelief and betrayal.

"Technically," Genesis said, calm as ever, eyes sweeping across the crowd, "it's a male revue bar. There's a difference."

"I'm not convinced there is," I muttered, just as a man in tight leather pants swung around a pole with the kind of confidence that made me question the laws of physics, and dignity.

I ducked out of instinct.

Phoebe, completely unbothered, tossed her open hair and started walking deeper into the crowd like she owned the place.

"Relax. Blend in. Look like you came to misbehave."

I stared after her, wondering if I could convincingly blend in with the wall instead.

Camouflage wasn't exactly my specialty, but desperate times...

Especially when those times involved the very real risk of my mate tracking my location.

The lighting inside The Crimson Pulse was dim and soaked in red, casting a sultry glow over everything it touched.

The music pulsed through the floor, heavy and relentless, a beat you didn't just hear, you felt.

If your stomach was sensitive, it probably felt like a bad idea.

On stage, five men... shirtless, glistening, and impossibly well-built moved with the kind of confidence that suggested they knew exactly what they were doing to the crowd.

They danced like it was a ritual offering, their skin oiled to perfection, their abs sculpted with disturbing precision.

It felt less like entertainment and more like witnessing an evolutionary mating display in real time.

I swallowed hard, praying Zev wouldn't find out where I was; it wouldn't end well. For anyone.

And the clothes Phoebe had forced me into weren't helping my case.

A teal silk top clung to me like a second skin, the neckline dipping far lower than I was comfortable with. Spaghetti straps wrapped around my neck before crisscrossing across my bare back.

A high-waisted black skirt hugged my hips and ended far too early on my thighs. Add three-inch heels I had no business walking in, and the transformation was complete.

All of it, courtesy of Phoebe's closet.

Before Ansel... I might've worn something like this without a second thought.

But now? Now I felt exposed. Not in the fun way.

As planned, Noel had dropped me off at Phoebe's apartment... a sleek, stylish space that screamed "leather, wine, and don't touch my stuff."

The three of us... Phoebe, Genesis, and I, went over our plan to approach Milo Grahn.

Technically, I wasn't supposed to be here. Kyler and Noel had both argued against bringing me in, but Phoebe insisted there was no real danger.