Page 209 of Claiming the Pack's Omega
"How did you get into these jobs?"
"I was eighteen, still in high school, when I was almost gang raped as I was going into my first heat," I say softly.
I hear my voice through the overhead speakers, blasting my words to the entire crowd, even though I want nothing more than to take those words back. I guess it makes sense, that kind of reaction, considering I spent so longnotspeaking about what happened to me. Sharing that in front of a crowd of people, especially this kind of crowd, is a hell of a way to start.
I take a breath.
I practiced for this. I can do it. I'm not being asked to perform in front of a crowd of men hungry for my body and what I could give them. I'm being asked to be true to myself, to share my life.
And to be completely honest, that vulnerability is more terrifying than pretending to be something I'm not for the rest of my life. But pretending won't lead to change. It won't help all the other girls stuck in the Southside clubs because they don't have a scent matched pack ready to sweep them and their families to safety.
"I was saved, but there was a price. The person who saved me offered me suppressants so I didn't have to experience my heat if I didn't want to. And at that moment, I certainly never wanted to. But they came at a cost. A monetary cost that was well out of the realm of possibility, given the fact that my parents werebarely scraping by when they were both working eighty hours a week," I say. "So when that same alpha offered me a job, I took it, even if it meant selling my body."
"Other than allowing you to afford those suppressants you needed at the time, what else did that job afford you?" Theo asks. Even though he's in lawyer mode right now, I can feel the pride pouring through our bond. I have to fight the urge to cup the crook of my neck and touch the bond mark he gave me.
"I worked nights, on the jobs that I had, which meant that I could spend the days taking care of my siblings. I was in charge of making sure they made it to and from school, making sure they ate, and taking care of them when they were sick."
"Those sound like the potential positives of your job, but what were the negatives? Would you choose to work that job if you had the choice?" Theo's eyes tighten as he asks this question. He didn't like it when we practiced, and it looks like he doesn't like it now.
Andy insisted, though, and he had a point. The defense is going to try and frame me as a sex and money-hungry whore. I'm here to convince the judge otherwise.
"I don't know if we have enough time to list all the negatives," I say.
I grip the edge of the witness stand, my knuckles going white.
"The kinds of men who would come and see me are the kinds of men who would see Southside omegas because they enjoyed having all the power they wanted. They enjoyed belittling the women they were with and making us feel worthless. Like less than nothing. And it was our job to grin and bear it because we had no choice. Whether we were sold into the business because our families had debts or we were working to keep us or our families out of debts, we were there because we had to be, not because we wanted to be. If I'd had the choice at any point, I would have always chosen not to do it."
"The clientele you saw, if you could use one word to describe them, what would you use?"
"Northsiders," I say, swallowing hard.
"And you're sure?" Theo pushes.
"Yes. There were plenty of Southside alphas who went to the clubs to watch the girls dance or watch the fights, but the vast majority of men who were rich enough to buy my time were Northsiders."
I let the world fall away, only looking at Theo as I continue to answer his questions about the Southside, my knowledge on the omega trafficking, and my role in the brothel I worked at.
"So in summary, Ms. Carver," Theo says. "You chose to do the work you did, but only because it was the only choice you had as an omega who still had family to care for?"
"Yes," I nod.
"And is your story out of the ordinary for other Southside-born omegas?"
"No. Not at all. There are plenty of omegas out there who choose not to register with the Northside. Whether that's because they don't trust the Northside or they want to stay in contact to help support their families. A lot of us feel like we're given the choice to sell ourselves to the Northside right when we present and go into heat or take things into our own hands."
"And with that, your honor, I close my direct examination," Theo says, nodding to the judge as he moves to sit down.
The judge nods, his expression unchanging. It's like the man's made out of stone.
"Defense, you may begin your cross-examination," the judge says.
"Thank you, your honor." The unfortunate-looking defense lawyer says. He's an older man, but age hasn't been very kind to him, if his patchy hair he's desperately trying to hold onto, and sunken eyes are any indication.
I've had a bad feeling about him this entire time. He's been sneering at me so hard it feels like it's a permanent fixture on his face.
"So, Ms. Carver," the defense lawyer says, stepping up in front of me. He's let himself go surprisingly hard, for an alpha, if his strong, burnt bread scent is any indication of his designation. "The prosecution has done an excellent job painting this picture of you as this down-on-her-luck omega whose only intent is to help her family, but I'm inclined to believe that just like how artists paint onto canvas, that this is all a fabrication."
Theo's hands clench into fists on the table in front of him as he stares down at the defense lawyer. If looks could kill, that man would be on fire with how intense the stares of all four of my mates are.
