Welcome to my clusterfuck, ladies and gentlemen. This story is inspired by the Beartooth song "In Between" and the idea that Adam Driver's glorious face could use a bit of metal in it. And that his arms could use a little ink. I'm about 1/3 of the way through writing this, so I hope I'll be able to post this regularly. I'd planned to hold off on posting until it was completely finished, but I'm an attention whore who needs input to keep chugging along, apparently.

Warnings: Rey has some obsessive-compulsive issues and is in counseling for it (thank god) so there will be some discussion of that as well as the childhood trauma that sparked her problems.

I'm also posting this on AO3, which allows some more creative freedom with photos and songs. I'd encourage you to pop over there if you're interested!

This work is unbeta'd, so any mistakes belong to myself and Grammarly.

Cheers!

Rey's already feeling that gluey, awkward kind of sweat starting to cover her skin, and there's still seven more hours of business ahead of her before she can even begin to think about taking a break. Amilyn is on her ass today, which is to be expected because booking concert events make her the most anxious. And it's especially stressful when the band is in the alternative style. The musicians are less troublesome than other genres (besides those easy-going country boys), but the fans are crazier. And as her assistant, Rey's responsibility is to make sure that Amilyn doesn't know how fucked up everything. At least, until their debriefing after the weekend.

Amilyn Holdo, Rey's boss, is the Performance Experience Manager for the Temple Center. Temple Center is a dynamic venue fitted with a permanent stage and ample floor space that makes it the perfect space for most large-scale events. It's versatile enough to serve a wide range of clientele, which means the staff has to be adaptable. Presentations and city events keep the teams occupied to be sure, but the biggest money-makers are the musical acts that the center books on most weekends. When the booking department lines up an event, they pass on the information to Amilyn, and she disseminates the information to the various departments for their assignments. It's Rey's job to manage the small details so Amilyn can focus on the bigger picture.

It's a job Rey is grossly under-qualified for when considering the requirements most people in her position would have to meet. She has no experience or education in event management. Realistically, Rey doesn't even have a college degree. But she'd managed a small pawnshop for a while, and her bookkeeping skills are impeccable. And with an actual honest person onboard, the shop saved buckets of money and managed to avoid a few charges of selling stolen merchandise. It was the only thing she brought to the table during her interview, and yet, shockingly, Amilyn had hired her after only a brief introduction. It made Rey all the more determined to do it right.

Rey spent most of the morning compiling the data and sending it out to the different departments. Everyone from hospitality to visual effects has to work at concert events, so it's a lot to put together. And Rey's struggling with the outside security firm they've hired for the night. It's taken two hours to untangle a web of issues into organized lists of instructions for everyone, but she finally gets the information out to everyone via email. The confirmation emails are slowly back, but not from everyone, which is typical, but still frustrating. She'll soon undock her tablet and make her rounds to ensure everyone is performing as expected.

One of the last tasks Rey has left is to review any hospitality riders presented to the center. She starts with the headliner band's first, as is customary. There's a digital copy already on the way to the hospitality team. Still, Rey always prints the riders to post them on each dressing room door as another reminder of the expectations. But as she watches the paper scoot out of the print tray, an eyebrow begins to rise at the first line of text that appears.

There is no one outside of the band members or the band manager permitted in the dressing room of Kylo Ren (guitarist) before the concert.

It's odd. Rey expects the requests for privacy, but usually, the demands are a bit more specific. She's used to requirements like 'No photographing the band members.' Or sometimes the more definitive request of 'No groupies.' Or the more specific 'Provide controlled access to fans (aka 'Let us have access to the non-homicidal, slutty groupies').'

Luckily for Rey, it's an easy request to meet.

She's surprised to see the rest of the hospitality rider is short. They'd like bottled water of a particular brand, and they'd appreciate only vegetarian food selections. She verifies they haven't requested any guest tickets, which is surprising but not unheard-of. Their dressing rooms have private bathrooms, so she doesn't need to arrange access to those, and they have plenty of rooms available to meet the number they've requested. She needs to make sure the organizer for the center's merchandising oversight department has all the information for the merch they're entitled to sell. The center offers the dedicated booth already built into the building to headliners, so she'll need to do very little for that. Really, it's all rather cut and dry.

She browses through the rest of the riders for the smaller bands, rolling her eyes when she comes across a few rather presumptuous demands. She's grown used to the requests of the newer kids enjoying the power of demanding sparkling grapefruit water and fresh avocado mash on bagels. Those little notes have asterisks next to them, indicating that the band was informed of the limited capacity to accommodate those requests. But they will anyway because Amilyn demands nothing but perfection. And so Rey has to make sure it happens.

She drops the riders with the hospitality staff, informing them she'll be back later to confirm they've met all the conditions, then makes her rounds to the other coordinators to verify they have everything they need for when the bands arrive. She exchanges heated words with a frantic box office manager when a staff member calls in sick, but she remedies the situation with some rearranging of cross-trained staff. And while it's stressful to encounter problems, the challenge is one of Rey's favorite parts of the job. Rey can't think of a single concert event she has overseen where at least one thing didn't go wrong. It's why she never stops moving and checking every department, no matter how competent they may be. And it's during her rounds that she eventually has a moment to speak with her best friend, Finn.

She finds Finn leaning against one of the concrete walls of the service corridors. He's examining something on his tablet, lifting his head every so often to confirm an individual item is present in the equipment storage room. When he realizes her approach, he lifts his head and gives her a warm smile, teeth bright against his deep skin. She gives him a smile in return, moving to rest her body against the wall beside him.

"Had a moment to breathe yet?" her friend asks, eyes twinkling as he takes in the small chocolate brown hairs that have escaped her high bun and are now sticking to the skin of her forehead.

"You know I haven't," Rey replies, a smirk on her lips as she elbows him in his ribs.

Finn's smile drops for a moment as he asks in a more serious tone this time, "How are you feeling? Better?"

Rey sighs, throwing her head back to look up at the ceiling. "It's like each one is a little worse. I'd give anything to put them off more than every six months."

Rey's heat ended five agonizing days prior. She'd promptly been to her doctor's office this morning to have her suppressant implant replaced after the inevitable cramping and bleeding of her "failed" heat had ultimately stopped. The doctors always say "failed heat" as if managing NOT to get knocked up while being horny and desperate and miserable is a bad thing. Being an omega is mortifying enough. And the suppressant options to keep her heat at bay and reduce the risk of getting pregnant don't improve the experience much. She could take a daily pill or get a monthly injection to keep her heat way indefinitely, but the doctors recommend at least one heat a year to maintain reproductive health. The hassle of taking daily pills, or getting monthly injections, proved too much for even her well-organized mind. So Rey moved to the implant a few years ago. She'd convinced herself having a heat every six months was better than having random ones when she missed too many days of her pills or forgot to go in for her injection. But some days, especially the days immediately after the new, more intense heats, it's hard to remember it's the less tedious option.

"Have you mentioned it to your doctor?" Finn asks, and Rey turns her head to see his expression is one of worry. "It can't be normal for you to be so sick afterward."

Finn is a beta, so he doesn't have a comparable experience to commiserate with her. But he's been Rey's best friend all her life and seen her at her worst more than a few times. In desperate moments he'd even tried to help her out while they lived together. He'd try to fuck her hard enough to take the edge off for the first two days when she isn't yet screaming for an alpha's knot. But there had been an especially horrific accidental heat a few years ago thanks to Rey forgetting to go in for her injection. After that, they decided there could be some things, even the best of friends aren't supposed to witness. And Rey had finally broken down and gone in for the implant. Sure, it only lasts six months. But it's still better than having a heat slam into you without warning.

Rey's cheeks bloom crimson as she quietly says, "They recommended finding an alpha to help me, which is the usual suggestion. But this time, they wrote me a prescription for a sedative to help if I can't find one."

Finn's startled expression is a mirror to what Rey is sure her face had looked like in that doctor's office. It's the face she makes every time they give the gentle suggestion of an alpha's help when she tells them how miserable her heats are on the implant.

"Wow."

"I know," Rey sighs. "I know there are apps out there you can use to help Omegas in heat and Alphas in rut. Maybe I'll try one out next time and see what happens." She's intentional in the way she says the last part flippantly as if the idea hasn't kept her up every night obsessing.

"I don't like it, Rey," Finn says vehemently. "There could be serial killers on those things. Or freaks. I heard a story about a beta who pretended to be an alpha to get an omega in heat to sleep with them. They bought this fake knot thing and tried to hide it from the omega until it ballooned so big it almost squeezed his dick in half."

Rey lets out a short, loud laugh. Finn's protestations ease the frustration conversations about her heat always bring up. Leave it to Finn to state something so organically humorous to make the situation comical. "Maybe I'll find myself a sexy rock star tonight to put on speed dial for the next one."

"You laugh now," Finn solemnly remarks while fighting off a grin. "Most of these rock gods are alphas. It's like it's a prerequisite to being able to play the guitar. You could do worse."

"Did you get your instructions?" Rey asks, glancing away to look at her wristwatch to derail their current conversation's train of thought. "There's a fair bit of equipment coming tonight, and I didn't get a confirmation message back from you."

Finn doesn't point out her apparent deflection, but instead raises his tablet and gives it a wave. "Got it this morning. Nothing I can't handle, we've got the spaces all squared away for them, and we're ready to help with the stage setup if they need us."

Finn is the equipment manager for the center. It's his responsibility to ensure the bands' teams know where their instruments, stage equipment, and other tools go. He also has to help coordinate the changing of instruments on the stage and make sure everything runs smoothly between acts.

Rey remembers the majority of their childhood watching Finn tinker with old guitars and pianos he found in garbage cans and thrift shops. He'd ultimately gotten to the point where he learned enough to be able to flip them and make a profit. If Finn had come from a family with money, it would have been possible to open a shop of his own. But instead, he'd found this job working for Temple Center, and it seems to be something he genuinely likes doing. The position requires management of more than the instruments some acts bring with them, but Finn doesn't seem to mind the other parts of the job. And he'd been the one to get Rey the job working as Amilyn's assistant.

Rey gives him a huff and rolls her eyes as she raises herself from the wall. "You could have saved me the trip over here if you'd sent a reply message back."

"You could have saved yourself the trip over here by trusting that I know what I'm doing," Finn retorts, raising an eyebrow at her. "But you can't help but be a control freak and micromanage us all into oblivion. Luckily, it's what makes you good at your job."

Rey knows better than to take the statement personally. Instead, she gives him a knowing look before turning away and continuing down the hall. Her hurried strides carry her quickly down the corridor, her modest black skirt swishing around her knees as her short heels clack on the polished cement floors. He yells something at her retreating back, but she doesn't bother to turn around and ask him to repeat it. Rey is used to their banter and usually loves having a verbal sparring partner, but she has a job right now. And, as Finn so kindly pointed out, she's a control freak.

Two hours later, Rey stops by her office to grab a granola bar and jot a few notes in her journal for reference later tonight. Rey obsessively journals, which has turned out to be a far healthier obsession that her previous coping mechanisms. Her other pastime is photography, which gives her a creative outlet but doesn't give the same organizational reprieve of journaling. She takes notes of everything that happened in the day and how she felt about it, then compiles it into a complete entry at the end of each day. It was something her therapist had suggested to relieve her anxiety and help her sleep after a bout of exercise and diet obsession had lead to a borderline anorexia nervosa diagnosis. Rey had obsessed about diet and exercise, attempting to better control her response to stress, or so the doctor had said. And so they'd worked to come up with a solution to help her mind digest everything that had happened logically. Supposedly it allows her to unpack her brain practically. She spills all the events, fears, and triumphs onto paper in a way she can review and process. No matter how exhausted she is, Rey always takes the time to journal before going to bed for the night. And between the Prozac and the journaling, she has to admit there's been a drastic improvement.

She scribbles in hasty cursive, making only a shortlist for the moment. First, she marks down her conversation with Finn, cheeks flaming with embarrassment but persevering nonetheless. Then, she scribbles her irritations of issues she'd had to resolve that anyone with a brain could have managed and yet the level of control she'd felt managing the problem herself. But finally, she jots in her pride in her teammates who'd pulled together well despite issues that arose. It's soothing to her, and it takes the edge off until she has time to write a proper entry later.

Polishing off the granola bar, Rey takes a moment to look in the mirror of her makeshift desk. When Amilyn hired her, the center repurposed a dressing room into an office for her rather than making room for yet another workspace in the already crowded offices. As a result, her makeshift desk features a large mirror she attempts to ignore during the day. But because a part of her work requires she interacts with clients, it does come in handy from time to time. As she suspected, the little hairs she'd felt sticking to her forehead are now a forest of wayward baby hairs. She grabs the small comb she keeps in one of the drawers and smooths them down to the rest of her dark brown hair. The tiny bit of mascara she'd brushed on earlier has smudged under her eyes, so she takes a moment to wipe it away and apply a fresh coat. A dusting of powder of her forehead, nose, and chin addresses her oily, sweaty skin for now. Considering she'd hardly worn make up before starting this job, it's practically a full glam look in Rey's book.

The radio at her hip buzzes to let the teams know the equipment buses have arrived, and that the buses holding the performers are about two hours behind them. She makes her way to the dock doors, pleased to see Finn already present and barking orders for his team to direct the equipment to the designated areas. The bands' equipment managers are leading their teams as well, already coordinating the transportation of stage equipment to the designated backstage areas and storage rooms Finn has appointed for them. She confirms Finn has a list of equipment the performers have on their buses, and he brushes her off with a roll of his eyes and a terse reminder of "Don't you have someone else to micromanage?"

Rey doesn't know why she ever bothers to hover or double-check his work (besides her previously mentioned perfectionist streak), because Finn is the master of his job. Just as her radio is crackling to announce the arrival of the performer buses, the equipment ones are simultaneously pulling away to make room. Rey pulls up a screen on her tablet and hits a few prompts to alert the hospitality staff. A robotic voice crackles on the radio, transmitting the message to the small hospitality radio channel.

The center gives headliner buses the priority, and Rey wants to be present to confirm everything is the way they need it. She's quiet as she waits in a corner until a staff member opens the exterior door, greeting the small group she assumes is the headlining band. There are three males and one female who all appear to be about Rey's age dressed how she would expect members of an alternative group to look: dark jeans, graphic t-shirts, and a plethora of tattoos covering exposed skin. Another male accompanies them, dressed in a suit and appearing to be a decade or two older.

Rey knows from her notes that the name of the headliner band is The Knights of Ren. They've been headlining tours for about three years now, and this is their second trip through Coruscant. The previous one had been their first tour, just before Rey had started working for the center. Finn had been here at the time and said it had been a well-managed show. No complaints about the band members, although the groupies had been a bit of an issue, and their crews had been efficient and well organized. She's hoping today will be a repeat of that.

Rey lifts her body from where she's propped on the wall, intent on approaching them and introducing herself. That is until she realizes they're in the middle of an argument. One of them, a huge man with thick, jet black hair nearly to his shoulders, seems agitated. She can faintly hear his voice, deep and growling, saying something to his band-mates that sounds decidedly pissed. The other males are all in various modes of trying to calm him down, their voices mimicking those of someone trying to calm a startled animal. The female has her arms crossed, and her body language displays how childish she thinks the whole display is.

"Let's just get you to the dressing room, dude," one of the men, who Rey sees has beautiful tanned skin and dark brown hair, urges the big one. "Snoke can find out where the rooms are, and we'll get this settled."

"This is getting old, Ren," the other male, a redhead with exceptional, pointed features, says stiffly. "You're a grown man who's been through this a hundred times. Pull yourself together."

Rey decides now is the time to intervene since none of the other staff seem keen on approaching the agitated group. Rey leaves her corner to make her way to introduce herself, bracing herself for the confrontation. But the older man, the one in the suit, sees her coming and quickly strides over to intercept her. He looks frustrated, and Rey immediately bristles at the irritation on his face as he takes her in.

"Is anyone planning on getting us settled, or are we expected just to stand here tonight?" He demands, his voice deep with the gravel of a man who never misses his evening cigar.

"Find out where the fuck they're keeping my guitar!" the large one yells in their direction, voice deep and booming off the service area's concrete walls. "I'm not giving my girl to just any idiot, Snoke."

"I'm sure my staff is waiting for your clients to gather before interrupting," Rey says pointedly. She gestures with clear intent in the direction of the angry giant. "But if you're ready, I'd be happy to have someone show you to your rooms. Your...clients...can give their equipment to their own teams if they'd prefer."

Rey waves over a nervous member of the hospitality staff. The small girl was unostentatiously hidden behind the curtain, having made herself scarce when the mood of the newest arrivals became evident. She shuffles over slowly, giving Rey a nervous smile.

"Should I show you to your rooms now?" The girl asks, her voice wavering only slightly as she takes in the man's withering stare.

"Clearly," he snaps at her, turning away on his heel.

No. Absolutely no.

Rey has grown accustomed to eccentric people. It comes with the job. She can handle those that are perhaps a bit more demanding than they ought to be. But she does not abide by clients being verbally abusive towards her staff. And she's going to make that very clear to this proud, entitled man right this second before one more intolerable word oozes out of his mouth.

"Mr. Snoke," Rey calls for him tersely. Her tone makes him freeze, and she knows she's caught the band members' attention as well, based on the sudden silence on the other side of the space.

Good.

"I expect," she continues, her tone firm, "that you and your clients will treat my staff with nothing but respect during your time with us. I can assure you that you'll receive nothing but professionalism from them in return. If I hear otherwise of your actions, I will be sure the other venues on your tour are aware of your...expectations."

Snoke's face begins to turn purple as he fumbles for a response, and Rey knows the band members are surveying her curiously. She can practically feel the burning intensity of the big one's glare cutting into her, but she ignores them. Giving an exacting look to the mortified girl before turning on her heels herself and striding away, the only sound at Rey's back is the continuing clack of her heels.

She knows she'll need to circle back later to make sure they're not causing problems for her staff and to make sure the other bands get settled. But for now, she doesn't have time for diva egos. She has another million and one things to get done before she can sit down, and she's ready to be done with this exhausting exercise in accomodating the entitled.

It's ironic how, just as Rey is confident they've settled everything, and she'll finally be able to sit for a moment, that the world begins to unravel around her.

It starts with the unmistakable sound of something slamming into a wall and shattering as she turns down the hallway to do one final check-in before the show begins. Her head whips around, realizing instantly that the sound came from one of the Knights of Ren dressing rooms. Previous experiences lead her to conclude that someone is throwing a bit of a fit, and she has an assumption on whom it is.

Rey crosses the hallways in four fast strides, burning anger of her own rising in her. It's been a long time since someone got violent in the dressing rooms before the show even starts, and her interaction with Snoke earlier left a bad taste in her mouth. This band has developed a sense of immunity since the last time they were here, and Rey is ready to put the giant in his place.

In retrospect, Rey realizes she should have grabbed someone with security to come with her. But, she argues to herself, then there would have been a witness to her shame. And it starts in the moments following her wrenching on the doorknob and shoving open the door to what she assumes if the fabled Kylo Ren's dressing room.

But as the door thuds into the wall, and she takes a breath to yell, something horrific happens. Her words catch in her throat, an aroma curling at her nose and nearly bringing her to her knees. Pure, undiluted male alpha pheromones drench the air, scented with something profound, thick, and warm like molasses and cinnamon. It's rich and spicy, and good lord is it the best thing she's ever smelled in the entire world.

Rey's never experienced the scent of an alpha off of their blockers, never met anyone stupid enough to do it in public. Not without a mating bond to take the edge off. So she's not sure if all alphas smell this amazing, or if it's unique to the looming figure staring at her from across the room. Kylo's shoulders are heaving with heavy breaths, and his face tinged red as he takes her in.

"What are you doing here?" Kylo demands, the anger in his voice barely registering to her scent-addled mind. "Get. Out."

Rey shakes her head, struggling to remember what brought her to this moment. After a breath in which she attempts to gather herself and only serves to sedate herself further, Rey manages to get out, "You threw a lamp. What the fuck?"

Kylo's face turns from anger to frustration as he rakes his fingers through his hair, tugging at it as he admits, "It's that smell. Fuck. What is it? Who is it? And where are they?" His words are erratic, and Rey considers that he doesn't even fully register her presence. His eyes are unfocused, staring at her without quite seeing her.

"What...what smell?" Rey asks, wondering if he's as entranced with the smell as her. Maybe it isn't him emitting that intoxicating smell. Perhaps he's an omega too, and he's also going as crazy as she is at the scent. But that's impossible because there's no way this man could be an omega. Everything about him screams 'alpha.' If he's anything other than an alpha male, she's lost all grasp of how their twisted world works.

"The omega," he breathes. "I can smell them. Where are they?"

Rey's brain stutters. As far as she knows, there are no other omegas on staff. While employees aren't required to share their designations, most omegas need to make their supervisors aware of the need for leave time for their heats. She doesn't make it her business to note who leaves for three or more days at a time on a somewhat regular timeline, but it's usually something that comes up in the office gossip. She knows for a fact they've talked about her, so the fact she wouldn't have heard about anyone else would be odd. Maybe it's one of his staff members who's forgotten their suppressants. She, of course, knows how easy that is to happen.

And then, he's moving. He's walking towards Reys, bringing that smell closer with him, and her head is spinning faster and faster. Kylo's hands push her shoulders to the wall so firmly there's sure to be bruises tomorrow. His face is so close to hers, and she's sure her knees are about to give out as she takes him in. His pupils are blown full and black, and his expression is desperate. Even then, Rey can't help but register the small details of his appearance. Like the small ring on one side of a slightly too large nose. And the bar through the opposite eyebrow. There are also tattoos on his neck, and she has the strange urge to bend her neck to run her tongue over them. She imagines photographing that neck, perhaps with his face hidden in shadow with only the dimmest light behind him to set him in a halo….

She's lost to the moment of just looking at him when he speaks again, voice low and demanding. "You have to tell me where they are. I have to-"

And then he stops. This colossal, overwhelming mass of a man who's gripping her so tightly she's sure her arms are about to split in two stops mid-sentence. His nostrils flare as his eyes grow wide, and slowly, he tilts his head. He leans forward and, much to Rey's horror brings his nose to her neck. A short exhale along her skin makes a shiver rush down her spine, and then...he inhales.

"You," he groans. "It's you. Omega, Omega, Omega..."

She hates her designation. Hates it when people refer to her as "omega" instead of her name. Hates the assumptions people make when they find out. Hates how the things they know about her are suddenly seen through the filter of an omega. But the way he says it, the utter reverence with which he speaks is...utterly delicious.

"That's impossible," Rey gasps, suddenly realizing her predicament as she feels dampness begin to pool in her core. It speaks to the deepest part of her omega, the pleasure of hearing her designation spill from his lips. "I'm on suppressants. You can't smell me."

"It's you," he repeats more firmly this time, his lips ghosting over her skin as he speaks. "What the fuck is an omega doing off her suppressants here?"

Finally, finally, the anger bubbling under the surface of her awareness breaks through the haze of the smell of an unblocked alpha. Rey brings her hands up to press on his chest, trying to stop the progression of the events currently spinning out of control. Her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head when her palms slide over his firm chest, the shifting fabric sending a fresh wave of his smell over her. Kylo purrs, thinking she's actively participating in the embrace. She wonders with more than a hint of embarrassment if he can smell the slick beginning to leak from her, knowing he probably can. It has the added benefit of making his grip on her arms loosen enough that she takes the opening to shove against him as hard as she can. She's confident that had he not been so lost in his intent to get his nose as close to her neck as possible, she wouldn't have succeeded in getting any space between them. But he stumbles back, shocked by her unexpected reaction.

"No," he gasps, moving to step toward her again to pull her back into his embrace. She ducks under a long arm, skittering foolishly further into the room in an attempt to escape him. He whips around, expression furious and hurt. "Don't run, Omega."

"Stop calling me that," Rey gasps out, hand to her thundering heart. "My name is Rey. And there's no way what you smell is me. I'm on suppressants."

"Omegas go off suppressants all the time to get our attention," he snarls at her, his anger flaring again now that she's put some distance between them. "And none of them smell half as sweet as you. You're lying."

"I'm not-"

Rey doesn't get the chance to finish her counter reply, because suddenly two more people are shoving their way into the room. It's the two other males in his band, the brown-skinned one leading the way with eyes wide.

"What the fuck, Ren," the man snarls, eyes darting between the two of them. His eyes linger on Rey's frightened expression and wide eyes before turning to Kylo, who's standing impossibly tall with a heaving chest. "We leave you alone for TEN MINUTES, and you manage to find and corner her."

"She," Kylo begins, pointing an accusing finger at her, "came in here of her own volition. She came in here, and she could smell me, and then I could smell her..."

He says 'her' with a hint of reverence, taking a step forward in Rey's direction again. Rey's instincts want her to step toward him too, closer to that heavenly smell. But her brain is belatedly kicking into gear, and instead, she steps away from his approaching figure.

"You SMASHED a lamp into the wall," she says, squeaking as his expression goes dark at her retreat. "Of course, I came to investigate."

"If you run, I will chase you, Rey," he promises darkly. His name on her lips is evidence that he's conscious enough to remember her sharing that fact with him. "And I will like it. Perhaps you should," he adds, lips curling wickedly. "The chase would be fun."

There's an exchanged look between the two other band-mates, and Rey sees them nod in agreement before the redhead says, "You should go now, miss."

"No," Kylo snarls, launching himself toward Rey. His band-mates grab him, holding him back from Rey and stepping aside to clear the doorway.

"Go NOW," the tan one says. "GO!"

Rey doesn't hesitate. She races for the door, hearing it slam the moment she's through it and keeps running until her heels hit the next corridor near the equipment rooms. Gasping, she turns to press her back against the cold cement before sliding down to sit dazedly on the floor.

What just happened? How did that go from her being fully prepared to tear an entitled brat a new asshole for destroying company property to him nearly...what? Claiming her? Kylo Ren is insane. What sort of man goes off his blockers in public? Was that why they'd asked the staff to stay away? Thinking about it, Rey is almost sure it's the case. And she fully intends to inform Amilyn of the lapse in ethics this group seems to think they can get away with. Just...just as soon as she can figure out how to tell her without admitting to just how horrifyingly she'd handled the interaction herself.

"So," comes a cold voice. "You're the one who got Kylo Ren even more riled up than usual."

Turning her head, Rey finds the sole female member of the Knights of Ren leaning against the wall near her, a pair of drumsticks in her hand. She's taller than Rey, with a sturdy build and confident demeanor. Her golden blonde hair is cut high on the sides with a mop of curls tousled on top, and her eyes are sharp as she stares down her nose at Rey.

"I beg your pardon?" Rey asks dumbly, sharing up at the woman.

"I don't smell what all the fuss is about," the woman says coldly, raising an eyebrow. "I can't even smell you. You're not off suppressants."

"Where were you five minutes ago?" Rey sighs, leaning over to slide her fingers over her face. "I seem to have been unsuccessful in trying to convince your friend of that."

"Ren's an idiot," the woman snarls, smacking the sticks against the opposite palm. "He doesn't know his head from his ass, and his temper is childish. He's prone to making shit up when his blockers wear off."

The sensation of horror curls in Rey's stomach at the implications of the woman's bitter words. It's almost like it's a regular occurrence. Her eyebrows shoot into her hair as she demands, "Tell me that's not intentional."

The woman doesn't respond but instead gives Rey a saccharine smile. Then she suggests, "I'd stay away from him the rest of the night if you want that pretty neck intact at the end of the night."

And then the woman walks away, leaving Rey's jaw on the ground and heart in her stomach.

Don't forget to check me out on Tumblr (simplyabbeycat) to interact with me! I have my mood boards on there, and will post sneak peeks as I write! I've been inactive on Tumblr for a while, so I'm excited to kick back into it.