Page 1 of Rage

I Hope They Serve Dick In Hell

By: Jo Brenner

Prologue

Emma

It was a dark and stormy night, and I was so desperate to be fucked, I wanted to die.

But that was Hell. Or at least that’s what we omegas called the maximum-security omega prison we’d been sent to. It was a fitting name for a place where the wardens forced heats on us as “proper, progressive rehabilitation measures.” More likely, it was because they enjoyed medically inducing heats and then sitting back and watching as our alpha and beta guards gave into their instincts (or wannabe instincts, respectively) and fucked us brutally through them, until we were nothing but desperate, mindless, writhing bodies on the floor.

I hated it here.

I didn’t care that the rain was coming down in heavy sheets, or that thunder rolled through the hills, shaking the prison, or that lightning pierced the sky in a violent, electric threat. I didn’t care that there were three new alpha guards, bigger and crueler looking than the rest. I didn’t care what—or who—I had to do.

I was getting the hell out of Hell.

I only hoped they took murderers in Heaven.

Maybe I should introduce myself: I’m Emma Bernstein. Or was. Now I’m simply known as 0071618. It’s the number they gave me when I arrived at this godforsaken place, and it’s what they call me when they’re feeding me or when they’re “re-educating me” on what it means to be an omega.

I’m here in Hell because seven years ago, I killed an alpha. He made the mistake of forcing a claiming mark on me, and then forcing his dick inside me. Instead of accepting his bite and penis like a good, normal, well-adjusted omega, I killed him. Knotted, with nowhere to go and distracted by his orgasm, he hadn’t seen me reach into the drawer in my bedside table. Though he’d certainly felt it when I stabbed him in the neck with the yarn scissors.

As I lay underneath him while he bled out on top of me and his knot deflated, it felt like poetic justice. Or maybe just poetic, I’m not sure.

But then I’ve never been good, normal, or well-adjusted.

But back to that dark, stormy, horny night. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Well, the dark and the horny, anyway.

Chapter 1

Emma

“It’s my unfortunate duty to inform you, Ms. Bernstein, that you are not eligible for release for good behavior. In fact, it seems there’s no good behavior to even take into consideration,” the beta in charge of the parole board informed me with a sneer. He sat behind the plastic and metal folding table, reclining as if he were a judge and not just a member of the committee who’d been given the role because no one else wanted it.

He looked at me like he was so much better than me. As if he had any idea what it was like to be an omega in our society, where any attempt to find autonomy or agency was vilified.

“You’re lucky, Ms. Bernstein,” he added.

I couldn’t stop myself from responding with a sneer of my own. “Lucky? How am I lucky? You’re forcing me to remain in Hell, without any hope of freedom, or any reprieve from being humiliated and tortured and raped, all for some greater good? Where is the ‘luck’ in that?”

He glared, looking down his nose at me. “You have no respect. None for the law, and none for the man or community you harmed. You’re lucky that we don’t put omegas on death row, because if we did, that’s where you’d be headed.”

I laughed, the bitter sound echoing around the courtroom. “Death would be better than this.”

There was a gasp from the other end of the table. The female beta psychiatrist who’d declared me a sociopath and deviant that also sat on the board. I’d bet my grandmother’s cottage that if she went through what I’d gone through, she’d fight back—and not lose a night’s sleep over it. But if you were an omega and fought back, you were fucked in the head and stuck in this shithole.

“She should be put down like the feral animal she is,” a guard muttered behind me, absentmindedly playing with his damaged left ear. One of the few betas on staff, Bob, had attempted to stick his dick in me, but only once. He’d made the mistake of doing it toward the end of the induced heat cycle, when consciousness had returned to me, and I’d bitten off part of his ear as a thank you.

The parole board leader smirked, reaching under the table and adjusting himself. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been invited to one of the observation rooms during the many heat and rape fests myself and the other omegas were subjected to. Omegas were great entertainment, especially when we were barely sentient.

Feral animals, indeed. I stood, done with this bullshit circus.

“Well, thank you for paying for my care for the rest of my life, and I hope I never see you again,” I said. My tone, at least, was diplomatic, even if my words weren’t.

I ruined it a moment later when I passed their table and spat directly in his face.

He turned red as he wiped the spit off.

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