амега (peterick)

quinze.

The Alpha watching me dance isn't very attractive. I can't see his face, because it's merged with the shadows, but I can see the rest of his body leaning against the far wall. He has what kids these days call a "dad bod," which 40-year-old mom's might approve of, but it's nothing special. It doesn't really matter what he looks like, though.

He's not swaying to the music. Not like the rest of the Alphas are. He hadn't even bought drink when he came in; just walked off to the side and took his place next to the front entrance, where he's been standing for the last half an hour, watching me.

I always watch the newbies, but I can't watch him.

The small one with the tattoos; he isn't a newbie, but he isn't like the other Alphas who come here. He doesn't seem interested in me, or any of the other Omegas. His eyes have never once drifted this way. I think he's a friend of B's, because all he really does is sit at the bar and talk to him. Squinting through the violet smoke, I watch them chatter as B cracks open a beer and hands it to him. He doesn't take it. I wish I could hear what they're saying.

I bring my attention back to my routine as the song closes in on its end. I toss my arm over my head and thrust my hip out to the side, groin angled toward the clapping, whooping Alphas. I smile at them because that's what I'm paid to do.

I glimpse the man at the bar raise an empty hand, as if he's making a pretend toast. He then pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of his jacket pocket, before standing up from his stool and placing the tip of the cigarette into his mouth. I watch him leave through the staff exit. Once he's gone, my gaze wonders to the back of the room again; the unattractive Alpha is no longer there. I frown before exiting the stage.

The dressing room is a comfort, especially after hours of being drivelled on by smelly, hairy men. Tonight is quiet; most nights tend to be. In total there are eight strippers that work here. Occasionally, we'll find ourselves all together (which is a god awful nightmare), but only a small handful of us perform each night. I'm the only one that clocks in every evening, even when I'm on my heat, since there's nobody at home to look after me. I can't thank B enough; he may be a Beta attracted to Alphas, but he would drop everything in a second to help me out.

The other girls are invisible. They strip because they have to; I strip because it's fun.

Until some idiot Alpha decides it's a good idea to break B's rules.

He shoves me from behind, hands square against my back, and the weight of his force drives me to my knees. I roll over onto my back, hefting myself up with my elbows, attempting to stand, but his thick fingers pinpoint my throat, and he grips it tight, silencing any struggle that dares to escape. My lungs tighten and I gag, nails clawing at his knuckles as my body is elevated, so high my feet no longer touch the floor.

"Get on your knees, you pathetic slut," he barks. He throws me, and for a moment the cool air relieves me from discomfort. Salty tears drip from my eye sockets, but I don't cry out as I slam into the brick wall, crumpling into a heap on the cold, concrete floor of the alleyway.

The Alpha emerges quickly, fists clenched and teeth bared. He crouches in front of me, and I gasp as he grips the back of my head and yanks it backward, forcing my jaw wide open. My shoulders tremble and my chest heaves. I want to cry, want to run away, but my bones feel like sandpaper grinding the soles of my skin, and my lungs feel like they're filled with stone, only allowing tiny, pained whimpers to break out, as if they know he'll hurt me if I try to make a sound.

My neck hurts. I can't breathe.

His free hand is darting toward his belt now, and my body convulses, seizing up with panic, and I squeeze my eyes shut and dig my fingernails into my palms, waiting in the dark as noiseless screams splinter my ears.

"Patrick, open your eyes," the tattooed boy calls out. I've never heard his voice, but I know it's his.

His olive-skinned face appears through blurred vision. It's Pete. My Alpha. He's here.

"You're ok, baby," he's saying as he gently thumbs the backs of my hands. "You're safe."