The club was alive—strobe lights pulsing in sync with the bass, sweat-slicked bodies dancing shoulder to shoulder, and drinks flowing like neon rivers under the bar’s glass surface. Breaker Box was at full capacity, the kind of night Eddie and Volt lived for.

Eddie stood behind the bar, slicing citrus with his sleeves rolled up and sweat gleaming on his neck. His arms flexed as he poured drinks with muscle memory, flashing that sly, crooked grin that got him more tips than the liquor ever did.

Volt worked the soundboard from the DJ booth, scanning the room through tinted lenses, his sharp jaw tight with focus. Every beat drop, every shift in lighting, was perfectly choreographed to elevate the room’s energy.

And then there was you. Their third. Their dancer. Their fire. Their center.

Up on the glowing stage, clad in black mesh and chrome harnesses that caught the light like a disco ball built for sin, you owned the room the moment your boots hit the catwalk.

You moved like a storm, all sweat-slick skin and sharp turns, a masterclass in seduction. Your body caught the light just right, and when you spun, every eye in the room stayed hooked. Including Eddie’s and Volt’s.

The crowd surged forward like moths to flame, hypnotized by every roll of their hips and every smirk that danced across your lips.

But it was the stranger who tried to slide a hand along your waist—too familiar, too bold—that snapped both Volt and Eddie out of work mode.

Eddie paused mid-shake, drink sloshing onto the bar. “You see that?”

Volt had already turned, jaw tightening. “Yeah. I see it.”

You didn’t even flinch. With practiced grace, you spun out of reach, twirling into the spotlight with a wink toward the booth—and then the bar.

That wink was for them. Not the stranger.

Eddie was already moving, wiping his hands on a towel and nodding at a barback to take over. He pushed through the crowd with purpose, confidence oozing from every step.

Volt came down from the booth at the same time, the crowd parting like they could sense the voltage in the air.

Eddie’s hand found your waist first, firm and sure.

“You looked unreal up there, baby,” he said, his voice low and rough, “but if one more person touches what’s mine—”

Volt slid in behind, pressing close, his voice a murmur against your neck. “What’s ours, Ed.”