Page 1 of Omega Untamed
Chapter One
Kee
He might have been two hundred years old. He might have come out of the wastelands after having lived there for decades, surviving off cactus and the occasional miraculous spring. The cold starlight of that country still mirrored in his strange black eyes. He might have been wrinkled and far too somber for my tastes, but this Alpha wore a two thousand dollar silk suit and diamonds on his hands. His hair was still dark without a hint of gray—expensive dye job?—and he’d been eying me all night as if he had thousand dollar bills ready to hand me.
I laughed behind my tall, fizzy drink. Did Alphas that old still feel their Burns? What did I care as long as the guy paid? I’d do anything for pay.
“So many eyes, Kee,” came a whisper in my ear.
Tobi, one of my street friends, wore a gold vest, low slung gray trousers and not much else but some hastily applied glitter on his slim form. He sashayed away, turned and grinned at me.
“Your point?” I asked.
“Everywhere you go people stare. You’re a conceited slut, but you attract them like flies; I’ll give you that.”
I glanced around. Neon behind the bar made the bottles glow gold, green and blue. The tables were packed with hungry, broody Alphas, some looking for a good time, some on the verge of a Burn. The stage had mostly naked Omegas covered in silver or gold paint and glitter, gyrating in every possible submissive position to loud industrial music. Everything looked normal. For a pick up bar.
And yes, all eyes were on me, despite the strippers. My chest swelled with pride. I laughed again. What else was new? I knew how to play it up better than any of the dancers. Better than any street boy out there.
I could take a torn sleeveless jacket with no shirt, ragged old jeans and scuffed boots and wear them like a suit of silk. Accessorizing my smooth-muscled, tanned skin with a ring, a gold bracelet, or a choker, made me shine even more. As long as enough skin showed through the rips of my jeans in all the right places—the crease between where thigh and butt cheek met, knees, upper front thighs—and my hair fell just right against the cat-gleam of my green eyes, I had no trouble finding my way into the most posh parties in the richest homes.
Some called me beautiful. Some called me cute. But I never met an Alpha who didn’t want to keep me. Own me. Tame me.
Funny, because they didn’t even realize how they appeared. So needy. So greedy. Such baby boys only wanting what they wanted. They didn’t know me, but they were all ready to claim me and bond me in the shackles of their power-hungry domineering lifestyles deemed normal by our culture if only I would say yes.
Fuck that.
Superior assholes who bought and sold Omegas like they were oil or copper or gems on the trade market.
Sure, I sold myself. But not for keeps. I took the money and went my way.
Most Alphas were despicable. A few were okay. The rare ones that made me bite my lip against caring a little too much were the ones I ran fastest from.
The one staring at me now with his thousand dollar bill eyes and his wrinkled face was no doubt one of the despicables. Despite his dried up appearance, seemingly heat-soaked on the beds of fire-ants for decades, he gave off an air of ice and sharpness.
Even if I charged him by the minute, some exorbitant, embarrassingly large sum, instinct assured me he’d pay it.
So I stared back.
Another Alpha caught my eye, then. Much younger. Handsomer. Taller. Wearing some strange, light-weight coat that was long at the knees and all black. I would have rather had him, but he didn’t look rich. His hair was tamed straight back but a little messy on the sides, blacker than mine, and his features were also sharp, a little hardened but pretty. He’d be all angles and mutters, probably, all possessive, too.
The meaner, wrinkled one would pay more and toss me out in the morning, so he was the one I decided to court.
I played hard to get because I could. Because it was fun. I put on a show every time, let all the Alphas think they might get a taste. No matter where I was, this was my routine. Bars. Street corners. Clubs. It didn’t make any difference.
Once an Alpha said to me, after he’d chained me up and had his way with me for the two days of his Burn, “You’re made of gold and gall.”
I had to look it up.Gall.Insolence. Impertinence. I laughed and laughed. I so totally could live with that.
All I could say to every Alpha I met, as long as they didn’t do more than fuck me or beat me (just a little), was, “More! More!”
Orgasmic highs kept me going strong. When I came down from them, I used. My personality filled entire rooms, and when I was high I owned the world.
Or so I thought.
The strip joint bar was called Moosie’s, named after the Alpha owner. Everyone called him Goosie behind his back, though, because of his pocked skin and beak-like nose. I came here often because it was so easy. Any club or street corner could be my office, but Moosie’s, strangely, had the best clientele. And the best drug dealing going on in the john.
The air reeked of alcohol and cheap perfume. My elixir.
