Page 7 of Broken Dreams

Bret is a weak-willed alpha who makes an exorbitant amount of money from the omegas he owns. His business plan of a “floating” club that doesn’t stay anywhere for longer than a week at a time, keeping him ahead of the law as well. That is, if anyone gives a shit about the lost souls.

I doubt anyone remembers who I used to be anymore.

“We’re opening in a few minutes, and I was going to have you dance tonight, but I changed my mind,” Bret continues. “Alpha Sanchez is dropping in.”

Christian Sanchez is a regular of Slick Dreams. The alpha is beautiful, never cruel, and always asks for me when he visits. Bret is very interested in keeping his regulars happy since he gives them a list of where the club will be a month in advance.

It’s risky, but it allows them to plan around their work trips or schedules so they can get their kinky sex fix in.

“He wants to see you with Linus,” the boss says. “I was also looking at the calendar, Makayla, and it’s been almost four months since your last heat. I’m going to begin sending out announcements to sell out your next one.”

My stage name no longer grates against my skin the way it used to, but his words do. As our heats belong to this man, he plans out the best ways to make money from that as well. While some sex clubs cater to those with a pregnancy kink, Bret doesn’t want to deal with the consequences post-pregnancy or the hormone swings.

Those women also rarely get to keep their children after the pregnancy, and the babies are sold to the highest bidder. It’s a disgusting practice, but the reason Bret doesn’t want to deal with it is because of the intense depression that often comes afterward for those omegas who lose their children.

Instead, every omega who works for Bret is on birth control injections that also keep our heats from coming and dull our senses. It means we’ll never know if our scent match ever enters the club, but we will still be under the thrall of alpha pheromones. On the flip side, alphas know that they can’t claim any omegas whose biology states may belong to them.

It’s intensely fucked up.

Giving him an incline of my head so he knows I heard him, I stand mutely to see if there’s anything else. My heartbeat isthundering against my ribs, the blood roaring in my ears. I hate thinking about my heat because it’s always an awful experience. These alphas don’t give a shit about me, and my heat is something Bret insists on being in attendance for so the alphas don’t kill me with their ruts.

He’s in charge of making sure I at least get sips of water during it. It’s his one exception to protecting me because the money overrides everything else.

“That was all,” he says, shrugging when he sees he’s not going to get a rise from me. “You know what your client likes. Go get Linus and get ready.”

Glancing at my lingerie set, I nod. I’m going to need to change, take my hair out of the braids they’re currently in, and hope I can twist them into curls instead. Fuck, Alpha Sanchez doesn’t like it when I wear this much makeup either.

Turning, I walk quickly out to find Linus, knowing Bret is no longer my concern. My mind is on making sure I’m ready for my next client. I don’t mind catering to what Alpha Sanchez wants.

He’s not cruel, and surprisingly prefers to watch Linus and I fuck each other as he fists his cock. I can almost pretend the omega and I are alone together until the alpha decides to join us. Even then, Linus and I are so aroused after coming with each other, we’re up for almost anything.

While Bret doesn’t insist on health screenings from his clients for STIs, only those who show paperwork of their clean bill of health are able to go bare with us. Otherwise, there are condoms to be found in all the private rooms and main area during the free for all nights. Bret also has us screened every few weeks to make certain that we haven’t picked up something from our clients.

It’s a sobering thought, but one we have to live with since this is our life. There’s so many other things we all do to ensure we’re ready for clients. It ranges from drinking enough water toeating fruit and exercising despite not having much room. All the different factors are enough to make me scream if I allow myself to dwell on any of it for very long.

So I don’t.

Seeing Linus, I grab his hand, jerking my head to the side for him to follow me. Interested, he follows me calmly, though the squeeze of his hand in mine reminds me he’s also very good at acting. Our job is to give alphas whatever fantasy they’re looking for, regardless of who they are.

Escaping into the makeshift dressing room area, I find that we’re alone since everyone else is already ready and waiting for the doors to open.

The term “dressing room” gives the illusion that we have any privacy. The reality is that it’s all open with multiple mirrors so we can get ready.

Linus’ deep leaf green eyes follow me as I drop his hand and I begin to take out my braids. I unwind them as carefully as I can so I can easily curl the pieces that want to be difficult.

“Should I assume our plans for tonight have changed?” he asks. His blonde hair is perfectly styled, his bangs flicked up off his forehead. He’s absolutely gorgeous.

Sighing, I nod as I continue with the other braid.

“Sanchez,” I state, as if that explains everything, because it does.

Linus is dressed in leather pants, his abs on display, along with the deep vee of his hips. He’s thin and powerful, made that way from proper exercise and dancing with me every morning. It’s one of the things Bret doesn’t mind that we do, since the results are that our bodies are in perfect shape.

Passing by me to pull out a one piece, purple lingerie set that cups my breasts perfectly and is crotchless, I breathe in deeply to allow his scent of molasses and sweet tea to settle me. Linusalways seems to know exactly what I need, tries to be within reach as much as possible despite our obstacles.

He’s an old soul at thirty years old, and I swear I could drown in the depths of his eyes. He’s been here for ten years. I swear it’s always been this easy between us, though.

“Someone forgot to unplug the curling iron,” he mutters, shaking his head as he pushes the button up on it to turn it back on. “In their defense, it’s still warm, so they were in a hurry.”

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