Page 3 of Sawyer

“Chase that O,” I whisper and slam my head against the wall. The self-loathing will fade soon, and in its place, calm will wash over me.

I know this well. I’ve been in this moment, this situation, a dozen times in the past. Ever since that first moment when I slung the stimulant back, the addiction consumed me, and I sought a supplier who peddles these stimulants. Now I’m nothing more than an addict seeking her next hit and striving to become something I am not.

Alphas rule this world with their barks and their bites, walking around, dripping confidence and sex appeal. Their scents and their pheromones trail behind them like a villainous cape, their erect cocks pressing against the fly of their pants.

All designations want to fuck and suck them just as long as an alpha gives them a little attention. I am no different. No matter how hard I try, if an alpha floods a room with his pheromones and crooks a finger at me, I’ll run to him and beg him to knot me, even when it hurts so good I can’t walk the next day.

Their power is so much more than that though. They run this world, and when alphas bark, the rest of us tilt our heads in submission, although some suck less than others and are kinder, so they might ask.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have wanted to run with them and be a part of their world. Not necessarily to spread my legs, even if that is a bonus, but to stand with the alphas making decisions and changes to better our society.

A snort slips free of my lips.

Fate had other plans for me.

The scent of mold and mildew assaults my senses on the next inhale. Most would wrinkle their noses and rush from the room. Me? I inhale again and close my eyes while savoring each hint of a smell.

With each breath, the smells strengthen. I inhale through my mouth, and the particles float down to my taste buds. Licking my lips, I taste the residual lipstick I applied this morning when I got ready for my day. Bitter and chalky, I scrape my teeth along my bottom lip and suck on my teeth to ingest even more of the disgusting flavor.

Limes scent the air, my unique scent, and I take several deep breaths just to smell myself and that slight hint of arousal that always spills free of me when the tonic kicks in.

Finally, the self-loathing fades, and I peel myself off the crusty bathroom floor. I don’t even hate that it’s moldy and has mouse shit in the corners. It’s real and raw, and I can smell it.

A sneeze bursts from me, spilling droplets that splatter along the sink.

I need to get the hell out of here.

As I turn to grab my heel, I catch my reflection in the crusty mirror. Distorted and cloudy, I peer at myself. I have flushed cheeks and full, pouty lips. The gamma smiling at me is the version of myself I always wish to emulate.

Yet as I sink to the floor on one bare foot while the other remains in a heel, I am reminded that I am a lie.

Turning away, I slip my foot into that damn heel, roll my shoulders back, and unlock the bathroom door.

A woman leans against the wall just outside. Her bleach blonde curls spill around her round face, frizzy and unkempt. Smudges of dark makeup streak down her cheeks, and her brown eyes blink up at me, unseeing and unfocused.

I inhale her scent. The odor of putrid apples fills the air, like ones left out on a counter far too long with their bottoms rotting out, spilling fermented juice across the counter. That is what she smells like, combined with the sour scent of cum, telling me all I need to know about her.

She is a gamma, just like me, and she reflects what I could have become—another sex worker lost to the world. For many, gammas are the other woman in so many lives and packs.

“Hey,” she drawls, pointing a finger at me as she twirls it around in the air. “I know you.”

“No, you don’t,” I reply simply. Before the tonic, fear would have had me bending over and rushing from the dirty hall. Now, with the stimulant pumping through me, I can stand my ground.

“No, I know you.” Her voice softens, and a hint of awe drips from her tone. Her apple scent deepens in the small space between us. “You’re that reporter for Central Daily, the one who went viral on that app…” She trails off and scrambles up, clutching my pant leg in the process. “Hey, you’re famous.”

Guilt churns in my stomach for what I’m about to do. “I’m sorry. You must have me mistaken for someone else.” I harden my tone as I lie to her, knowing that, as a gamma, she’ll back down.

Her brown eyes fill with a sadness that I know far too well, one that reminds me that I’m no better than her.

“But…” She whines just like an omega would. That’s the curse of a gamma.

We are just like omegas, only we can’t breed, drop omega pheromones, or go into heat like an omega. It’s why so many of my designation end up in sex work.

We allow alphas to knot, to sow their oats, and fuck before settling down with a pack.

“Fuck,” I whisper to myself and dig into my pocket. Crouching low, I look into her brown eyes and grab her hand. “You didn’t see me, okay?” I press a fifty into her hand and wrap her fingers around it. “Okay?” I press.

“Yeah.” She nods. “Okay.” Dejected, she slumps back against the wall, shoving the money into her jeweled bra.

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