The suds washmy sins down the shower drain. The pinkish bubbles swirl in a perfect circle and disappear before my eyes.
It would be like any normal shower if I didn’t have a few hundred subscribers watching. I can’t hear the dinging of likes, or read the comments over the loud flow of the water, not that the people watching care. They’re only here to watch my online personality, Marielli, not me.
I have a few rules when it comes to my lucrative online business. First and foremost, I don’t show my face. It’s not that I’m ashamed of what I’m doing for money, it’s more about my safety. The last thing I need is one of these subscribers trying to find me in real life. In all honesty, it would probably get themkilled in the process. This leads me to my other reason for never showing my face. If my family—blood or otherwise—found my channel, I can’t even imagine how badly everything would blow up.
My second rule is no personal attachments. I hardly answer messages, and for whatever reason, that seems to make some of my followers even more rabid. It must be the allure of the chase, of what they can’t have. Either way, responding to a ton of messages is a lot of work and time that I don’t plan on putting into this online persona.
Number three, I’ll stop once I meet my quota. Do I have a set number? Not particularly, but I think around a hundred grand is the goal, and I’m just about there. I need a nest egg—no pun intended. While I’m so ready for a nest and pack of my own, this secret bank account is a security blanket that I need to truly commit to a packed lifestyle. I refuse to end up like my mother, not her current life, but the one she had before we found our home with the Dead Palms MC.
I sigh just thinking about it and finish scrubbing up, careful to not bend over or, if I do, I use my long dark hair to cover my face. I cut the water off and grab a towel, standing in front of the camera so they can get a good glance at my wet breasts. They’re small by most people’s standards, but my followers seem to enjoy my cute little tits well enough.
The phone chimes with tips coming in, and I smile to myself. Every dollar is another step closer to the life I dream about having for myself—which is equally as complicated.
It’s not that camming was my only route for income, but it's pretty close. I’m kept close to home at nearly all times, and it’s the only way I can make the kind of money I need in such a short amount of time. Plus, why the fuck wouldn’t I try to monetize being an Omega before I’m locked down with a pack for the rest of my life?
“Thank y’all so much. Thank you User26738 and AbbyLicks69,” I say sweetly off to the side of the camera. I always make my voice a little more wispy when performing. “Mark your calendars for two weeks from now. It’s what you’ve all been waiting for. Make sure you’re subscribed to Marielli’s Mass,” I remind. More hearts pop up on the screen, and I quickly close the stream, putting my phone face down on the counter as I look in the mirror.
I love myself; I love my body, my face, who I am as a person, so I have no problem looking in the mirror. I appreciate this body that is affording me my future life. It’s the only way I’ll be able to move forward. Not that I have packs lining up for me… well, I would, if it weren’t for my stepdad laying down the law that I’m off limits.
I roll my eyes every time I think about it. I use the towel to dry myself off and wrap up my hair before I go into my bedroom to get dressed for the day. It’s the club’s annual summer bash. They hold it on a different day every year, so they aren’t predictable. But this year should be more exciting than others because the nomads are coming.
The Jacksonville chapter got busted and a mix of their old members and other nomads are looking for a new home. It’s not like they’re a viable option for me, at least not in my parents’ eyes. But damn, I could use some more eye candy around here. If they’re going to force me to hang around the compound most of the time, the least they could do is initiate some hotter club members.
I choose to dress in a light blue sundress that has spaghetti straps and flares out at the waist. I don’t even bother with a bra and just stick with some biker shorts underneath because I know I’ll be sweating my fucking soul out. Plus, I need to tamper down my scent slightly around all these feral men.
I constantly have dreams about not hiding my scent and letting them all run a train on me over a picnic table. But that’s a complete fantasy. They all abide by the no-touching rule. That is everyone except for one very hot and wild Beta that I know will be here today. I may or may not take extra care when applying my makeup with him in mind. I can’t help myself when I decide to shoot him a text. I know I’m not supposed to utilize the guys’ phone numbers unless it’s an emergency, but I don’t care. He’s the one person I look forward to seeing at any club event.
Are you coming tonight?
Axel
You make it really hard to be a gentleman. Yes, I’ll be there tonight.
I bite my lip and smile, I need to find a way to get him alone. We don’t text often, but when we do there’s always a flirty undertone. Every time we’re at a club event together it’s like we’re two magnets, unable to stay away from each other. Who would have thought out of a club with primarily Alphas the Beta would be the one I was hopelessly pining after?
Knowing how hot it’s supposed to be, I keep my makeup simple with just some winged eyeliner, mascara, and a red lip tint. I don’t bother with blow drying my hair; I just use a wet brush, knowing that my hair will dry quickly in the summer heat.
Before I leave my room, I take my suppressants by the sink, rub some deodorizer on my body, and slap a hair tie on my wrist. I leave my phone in my room and make my way downstairs.
I can’t help the smile that takes over my face when I see my mom on my stepdad’s—well, one of my stepdad’s—lap. Kurt is the head Alpha of her pack and the Prez of the Dead Palms MC. He’s gripping her hip tightly as he kisses the scarred part ofher face. Watching him do that small action is like having a fist gripping my heart and squeezing.
It’s sweet that he loves her no matter what, but remembering where she got those scars always makes my heart sink. My mother used to be the most beautiful Omega I had ever seen, which is not to say that she’s no longer beautiful. But the burn marks on the left side of her face are usually the first thing people notice. Her eyes are still brilliant blue and her blonde hair flows down her back.
Every day I wish I looked like her and not so much like my sperm donor. Luckily for me, my mom doesn’t see me that way.
“Hey, sweetie, we’re just about to take the food out,” she says.
“Oh, is that what we were about to do?” Kurt teases, kissing her face multiple more times.
“Kurt, stop or we’ll never make your party,” she chastises.
“Tell me how I’m supposed to go to the party when I’ve got my beautiful Omega on my lap?” Kurt jokes. I smile, not only because my stepdad loves my mom so much, but because only we get to see this side of Kurt. Outside these walls? In front of his club? He’s a different man, but with his family, he is so loving and tender.
My Mom’s other Alpha, Dread (I still don’t know the man’s real name), tugs her off Kurt’s lap and wraps his arms around her chest.
“There, now you can go,” he says, making my mom giggle.
“You sure you still want to be with this asshole, T? I could still kill him,” Kurt jokes.
