I think I might be sick on the floor of my father’s office.
Silence fills the office for a moment until this asshole decides to open his mouth, smirking jauntily at my dad like he’s presenting a prize. His eyes pinch at the corners as he moves closer, and the smirk drops off slightly.
I watch him carefully, noting the way he winds the leash in around his fist, forcing the girl closer to him. He’s possessive of her.
“Well, sir, I think you’ll be pleased with my results,” he simpers.
His weaselly voice goes through me. He gives the leash a shake, and the omega’s neck pulls sharply upwards. It must hurt, but she doesn’t react, staring straight ahead.
Devlin hasn’t moved, his eyes focussed on the broken girl in front of us.
My father clears his throat again, and I whip my gaze over to him. He meets my eyes steadily, with no hint of distress.
I wonder what happened to the man I used to hero-worship.
“Thank you for bringing 792 in for a viewing, Jason. As you can see, we have two alphas with us today, who would also like to witness the progress you’ve made. If progress is sufficient, we may look to match 792 with a pack because of your efforts.”
I can’t even be angry at him for throwing us under the bus. One look at the bruised omega in front of me and I want her out of here, safe at home where Gabe can fuss, and we can work this out as a group. Even if she’s not for us, I’m not leaving her here with this toad of a man. I move closer to Dev, brushing his arm with my own. He tears his attention away just enough to give me a brief nod before it returns to her. We’re on the same page, his dislike of omegas pushed aside for the moment.
The guard – Jason - obviously isn’t happy with my dad’s words. He starts to splutter, his fingers holding so tightly to the leash that they’re white at the knuckles.
“But, Sir – we’ve made so much progress, it would be an awful shame to see that go to waste. I think I’ve proved that the Phoenix project has real potential, and my father won’t be happy if we abandon at this stage,”
I tune his whining drivel out. Clearly, my father is pushing us towards this girl. Whatever his reasoning, I’m not going to argue with him about it. I let him handle the dickhead whose face is turning redder and redder.
Scanning my eyes over the omega, I force myself to detach from the emotion hitting me like a battering ram and clinically assess her in her measly clothing. It’s cold out today and she’s wearing hardly anything, a filthy underwear set with a camisole that looks like it might have been white at one stage. It’s ripped in parts and she’s dangerously close to exposing herself, but she stays perfectly still while Jason rants above her.
There are bruises littering her creamy skin, shades of purple and green made over several days. One particularly nasty purple bruise looks like a large boot, and there are smudges of dark finger marks dusted over her chin and neck area.
Her wrists aren’t cuffed, but the marks covering them tell their own story. She’s been restrained recently for a substantial period. I can’t see her legs properly from this angle, but her feet are bare. Her tangled, damp hair is a beautiful shade of copper and swings down either side of her face, hanging off the floor by a few inches.
She’s breathing quickly, her ribs clearly visible as they move in and out. I canfeelhow petrified she is. The scent permeates the room, making me shift restlessly, but she’s trying to hide it. She keeps perfectly still, trying to avoid attention even though every alpha in the room is focused on her.
I swallow back the urge in my chest to go to her, to rip her away from the guard. Is this what they mean when they talk about omega control? It feels like there’s a rope in my chest that’s tugging me to move straight for her.
I need to get her out of here.
My father is trying to get my attention, so I turn to him reluctantly.
“Let’s sit down, shall we? Jason, please demonstrate your progress with 792 as requested and we can discuss from there.”
Every mention of this girl by number makes my hackles rise. Dev sits reluctantly in his chair but leans forward, laser-focussed on the omega in front of us. I follow his lead and take a seat, hating the feel of soft leather when the girl in front of me is on the floor.
The Director gives Jason a nod, and he snaps his fingers.
“Kneel.”
The omega moves quickly, her hair catching the light like liquid fire as she pulls herself into a kneeling position. Knees pressed together, she sits back on her heels, placing her hands on her thighs. The whole time, her gaze remains downwards.
Jason waits a moment, and my father jumps in. “How has she behaved over the course of the pilot?”
His face twists unpleasantly. I can see him battling with the urge to boast and wanting to keep her here, with him.
“Improving, Sir,” he says reluctantly, “but she needs more work. It took a while, but by using the continuous training techniques identified in the earlier stages of the project, she now responds well to most commands.”
He strokes a hand over her hair gently as he speaks, and revulsion fills me as she leans into it. What kind of conditioning have they given her?
Dev clears his throat next to me. “Tell us more about thiscontinuous training.”
