Page 97 of Unhinged Omega

Maybe I'm still unconscious, and any minute now I'll wake up...

But the cold metal of the collar around my neck is all too real. The ache in my shoulders from having my arms bound for so long. The throb of bruises I don't remember getting, courtesy of that monster batting the tank around like a cat with a damn ball of string.

This is real.

And I'm fucked.

So is Nikolai if that doctor doesn't get here sooner than later. I find my gaze darting over to his corner more often than I'd like.

He's still breathing. For now.

That realization brings me more relief than it has any right to.

Maybe Geo is right about that, too. Maybe I'm still just that brainwashed whelp Nikolai plucked out of the brothel all those years ago.

My head drops back against the wall as the silence wraps around me like a vice, forcing me face to face with the one old nemesis I'll do anything in my power to avoid.

My memories.

The hazy scentof cigar smoke fills my nostrils as Madame takes another long drag, her ruby red lips pursed around the expensive cigar smuggled in from Reinmich. Her eyes, cold and calculating behind perfectly winged eyeliner, bore into me.

"Kneel," she commands, her voice like velvet over steel.

I drop to my knees without hesitation, the polished hardwood floor unforgiving against my bones. I'm vaguely aware of eyes on me, the quiet murmur of conversation from the gathered crowd watching from the shadows, but my focus is solely on her. Even though she's not using her bark at the moment, my ears are still ringing from the last command she gave me, ensuring I'd be good for her little demonstration.

As if I need more than the metal collar around my neck as a constant reminder of my place here.

"Look up," Madame orders, and I obey instantly.

She places one stiletto boot on the low table in front of me, the patent leather gleaming under the chandelier's light. A perfect match for the tattered leather pants I'm wearing, pairedwith nothing more than the chains dangling from my collar to form a loose mantle over my shoulders. "Clean it."

Without question or pause, I lean forward and start licking her boot. The taste of leather and polish fills my mouth, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Not until she tells me to.

Chuckles ripple through the crowd of wealthy alphas, omegas, and betas gathered to watch Madame show off the training of her favorite "pet." I hear footsteps approach, and a man's voice speaks up, tinged with awe and a hint of disgust.

"Remarkable," he says. "I've never seen a submissive alpha before."

Madame's laugh is like broken glass. "He's my finest project," she purrs, and I can hear the pride in her voice. It makes my chest ache with a desperate need for her approval. "He responds to alpha commands just like an omega would."

I bristle at the reminder that while she's my whole world, I'm nothing more than an object to her. A toy to show off. But I don't stop licking her boot. She hasn't told me to stop, and I know well what the consequences are for even the most accidental disobedience.

She finally gives a snap of her fingers and I stop, sitting back in a kneeling position with my hands on my thighs and my head downcast, awaiting her next command.

"I saw his potential in the rough years ago," Madame continues, her voice taking on that bragging tone she uses when discussing her "projects." "Now he's been molded into a diamond. He can't do anything without my permission. Eating, sleeping... I even tell him when to piss," she adds with a chuckle.

More laughter from the crowd. I squeeze my eyes shut, shame burning through me, but I keep my expression neutral, my gaze on the floor.

"Is he submissive to betas and omegas too?" a woman's voice asks, curiosity evident in her tone.

"Oh yes," Madame replies. I can hear the smirk in her voice. "But you have to watch out. He gets a bit jealous when he's not the center of attention."

More laughter. I want to crawl into the hole in the baseboard across the room and live there like the rats do.

"Even his ruts are unusual," Madame goes on, as casually as if she were discussing the weather. "He gets needy, and sometimes he even tries to nest. Like an omega in heat."

As she speaks, I feel her fingers card through my hair. Despite everything, I lean into her touch, craving any scrap of affection she'll give me. I hate myself for it. For melting at her touch the way I do. For being so pathetically grateful for even the smallest bit of attention.

"Fascinating," another voice chimes in. Male, alpha. "May I give him a command?"

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