Page 3 of Omega Chattel
As I made my way down the sidewalk in the growing dusk, past more hustlers beckoning in the windows of sex shops, and through the scent of weed coming from the tattoo parlors, a prickle began high on the back of my neck.
Sidestepping barkers for strip clubs and lingerers at the entrances to bars where loud music thumped and blared into the night, I hurried a little faster toward Uptown where I’d left my Jaguar in a secure and fancy underground garage.
The prickle on my neck grew and tingled at the top of my spine.
Someone trailed me about a hundred yards back. I smelled his silken sweet Omega skin, all natural, not made up and reeking with cologne like the corner boys. I could almost picture him without looking: loose pants, ratty jacket that was probably stolen, a backpack that held all the treasures he owned.
I didn’t sense anything malicious. I wasn’t scared. I was Alpha; I could take care of myself. I simply didn’t want any hassle tonight. And my mood at not being able to find Kee yet again was morose at best.
Another block up and the sounds of the Trenches diminished to echoes and distant hums. All my Alpha senses strained and now I could hear him and smell him much better. His footfalls came soft and fast, but hesitant. He still smelled sweet but an overlay of musk from unwashed hair and clothes curled around him. It was strangely enticing, and that response was so unlike me.
My car was still half a block up, but I dodged around a closed storefront where a small driveway led to an alley of private parking for the stores that backed up to it.
The footsteps slowed, but came closer all the same.
When I heard him approach the building’s edge, I jumped around the corner and put him up against a wall so fast he didn’t have time to blink.
My palm connected with his slim throat, holding him taut, and he flailed a little as I pressed my large body to his smaller one. He stopped fighting when he realized he couldn’t move.
My face was about two inches from his. Frightened brown eyes stared up at me. His brown hair hung in tangles about his cheeks and head. Maybe he was eighteen. Maybe.
“Why are you following me?” I hissed.
“I—I—“ He choked a little.
Realizing I was pressing a bit hard on his airway, I let up. “Answer me. Have you heard something about me? That I’m soft on Omegas? What do you want?”
He sucked in air which puffed up his narrow chest. “I—I thought maybe you were in the market for--” He gulped.
“An Omega? You, maybe?” I almost laughed. I took a half-step back and looked him up and down.
I had no space left in my house right now for any more down and out Omega runaway guests. The spare rooms were all taken. Except Kee’s room.
My prediction of this one’s appearance had been spot on. He wore a jeans jacket with half the sleeve drooping, a gaping hole at his shoulder. His backpack was slung sideways and squashed between himself and the wall. And his pants were loose, although I had not expected them to be the black drawstring variety the Omegas from chattel farms always wore. He also wore the white chattel shirt, a button up. It looked dingy in the low light, and too thin for the cool night air.
“Another runaway,” I accused.
“No, sir. I, uh, I live and work just down there.” He nodded back toward the Trenches.
“How long have you been out?”
His dark eyebrows came together to form a tiny dent in the skin between them. “Out?”
“Outside. Away from your babysitter.”
“I’mnota baby!”
Now I did laugh. “Tell me again why you’re following me. Do you know who I am? Did someone send you?”
He sniffed, lifting his chin. “I can show you a good time.” His voice came out shaky.
A sudden wind gust filled with dust and smog stirred my hair, pushing my long bangs into my eyes. I stepped back, tossing my head. “Really?”
He blinked slowly. Did he even know how vulnerable he looked right now? My heart skipped with a bit of pity, a bit of empathy.
He was half-trembling, but wouldn’t let up. “I saw you at the corner talking to the other boys. They’re not like me, though. I’m different.”
I looked back at his black trousers. “Farm trained, I’m sure. Did you even stick around to have your first time?”
