Page 83 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys
Only one thing came into stark clarity.
My own freaking signature at the bottom of each page. Diana Shaw. My middle name, instead of my first. A meager deception, but I had a fake ID to prove it—thanks to Crystal and her ‘I’ve got a guy’ magic. But it was close enough that I might as well have signed Nelly in the navy-blue ink. It made no difference that the name began with a D—swooping, messy, and so carelessly scrawled—rather than an N. So stupid, to think that a solution-soaked bangle and a middle name could protect me.
I remembered signing these forms—standing at the bar after my Club Midnight interview, scared to death as I wore the bracelet from Crystal and praying it would truly hide my Omega nature. I’d rushed through the paperwork, thinking they must be standard because the other dancers assured me the pile of pages were no big deal. I knew better. I’d signed a mile long contract with Imperial. I’d read that one top to bottom twice before signing.
How could I be so stupid?
“In closing, Ms. Shaw, you signed this contract. Refusal to fulfill contractual obligation means federal reporting. There will be a trial. You’ll walk away with a hefty fine or light jail time. You should also know that cases like yours have all ended in Omega registration for mate placement. It’s been that way since 2018. Pay a fine, you’ll still be pulled into the system. Do your jail time, and you’ll still be registered. At least with Eros, our Omega products are treated with the upmost care and respect. We ensure the very best Alpha matches.”
“I’m not a goddamn product,” I seethed as fear and frustration created an unpleasant cocktail inside me.
I looked around the room, feeling like a cornered animal. Four male Betas. One exit. Even if I got out of the door, I knew they’d catch me before getting out of the building.
“You're a product of evolution,” the hawkish man replied smoothly. “An Omega genetically designed to be a companion for a specific Alpha or Alphas. The Institute merely facilitates what nature intended. We’re helping you, Ms. Shaw, take the guesswork out of destiny. Do you realize how hard it is to find your perfect mate or mates alone? The statistics of making a successful scent match prove the odds aren’t in your favor. You could be separated by an ocean. Your paths may never cross. You may go your entire life never finding your fate.”
“Finding a mate isn’t my goal in life,” I breathed out. “It never has been.”
“Ahh, well,” He tucked his tablet and the folder under his arm, snagged the pocket square from his jacket, then reached up to pull off his glasses. Absentmindedly, he began cleaning the eyewear. “Whatisyour goal, Ms. Shaw? Ballet career a thing of the past. Family all but gone. Do you really wish to spend your life stripping? You’re an Omega. Meant for more.”
“I’m meant for whatever I want.” I backed away until my body hit the office door. “I’m leaving, and you can shove the contract up your collective asses.”
Reaching behind me, I blindly scrambled for the knob. As I began to turn it, the Beta with the distinct scar moved. He was around Vince’s desk and to me in a flash. I barely had time to blink. He flattened his beefy palm against the door, keeping it closed. My pulse jumped as the reality of the situation sank in—they really weren't going to let me leave. I dropped my hand. There was nowhere to retreat, but standing in the Beta’s shadow made me feel so damn small.
"They have every legal right to escort you," Vince said, his tone suggesting this was all very reasonable. "In fact, they're required to by law considering you shouldn’t be working here in the first place."
"They’re not cops or Feds. They don’t work for the club. If they did, I’d recognize them. They’re Eros goons, right? This can't be legal. You can’t force me to comply," I protested, though a sick feeling in my stomach told me my words were futile. The laws protecting Omegas were minimal at best, designed more to control than safeguard. Most judges wouldn’t side with me if I fought the contract in court. And the club and Eros could always paint me in a bad light. I’d lied about being a Beta. I’d deceived not only my boss, but also every Alpha that came into the club.
“Can’t be legal,” I said again, more to myself than the men in the room.
“Neither was you hiding your true nature to get this job, Miss Shaw,” Vince bluntly reminded me.
“How is tricking me into selling myself in the same category?” I blurted out, chest feeling tight.
“No one tricked you. It was all in the contract. And you signed it.”
“The other girls said it was just run of the mill stuff. I… I didn’t think…”
“The other girls are actually Betas,” he countered. “Why would they worry about anything related to Omegas? Ultimately, it was your responsibility to read what you were signing.”
I stared at him, feeling hopelessness wash over me. God, I hadn’t missed that all-too-familiar feeling. It settled into my body like it had never left, worming into all its old cracks and crevices.
The other dancers had always told me how protective Vince was. They’d say,‘Vince is tough, he’s got strict standards, but he’ll protect his girls when it really matters’. Maybe I hadn’t been here long enough, maybe I didn’t qualify for that protection. Still though, I couldn’t believe he was okay with this situation.
"You're just handing me over to them? Just like that?” I shook my head at Vince, refusing to give in. “I’ll tell the fucking press. I’ll call the actual cops.” Turning, I trained my gaze at the beady eyed man with the tablet and shouted my next threat. “I’ll call the Omega Rights Association! They won’t let you do this!”
He was unphased, pushing on his still smudged glasses and letting out a long, tired sigh before shoving his pocket square back into place and responding. “I’m afraid even O.R.A. would read over what you’ve signed and realize they had little legal ability to fight us. However, you should know a comprehensive non-disclosure was included right after your medical privacy paperwork prior to testing last week with Eros.”
“A non-disclosure...” my voice trailed off. Feeling unmoored, my anger beginning to give way to fear once again, I slowly looked back at Vince.
For a moment, something like guilt flashed across his features. Then he shrugged.
"It's business, Nelly. Nothing personal. Besides, you'll be better off. Matched with some wealthy Alpha or pack who can take care of you. Isn't that what all Omegas want deep down? Why the hell would you strip at my club when you could have the entire world at your fingertips?"
The casual sexism, the utter dismissal of my autonomy, hit me like a physical blow. I'd heard these stereotypes all my life but never expected to have them applied to me so callously. If I were still a celebrated principal dancer, I’d get a pass on fulfilling my Omega duties. I’d be able to mate later in life, should I find an appropriate scent match. Now, society measured my worth in bonding and pupping.
"I have a life," I said, my voice breaking. "I have my own plans."
"And now you'll have new ones," said the man with glasses, his tone suggesting he was offering me a gift rather thandestroying everything I'd built. "The Eros Institute specializes in helping Omegas transition into their proper societal roles. We’ve improved our process in leaps and bounds recently. If you cooperate, you’ll find everything moves forward smoothly. Soon you’ll realize how lucky you are."
