BRUTAL MATE
One minute I’m walking back home from a nightclub. The next, I’m waking up in a cage.
Abducted by aliens. Given to an alien race. Put up for auction. But instead of being sold to the highest bidder, I'm rescued by one of the Brutal Ones: the biggest, baddest bullies in the universe.
But it's not a rescue. Not really. My rescuer makes it clear he wants something in return for saving my life...
… an Omega.
Me.
CONTENT WARNINGS: The Brutal series is a dark omegaverse with adult themes.
Please visit this web page for a full list of content warnings.
www.leesavino.com/brutal-series-tropes-and-content-warnings/
ONE
Emma
“It hasto be on there. Please look again.” I hate the plaintive note in my voice but at this stage, it’s impossible not to whine.
The bouncer’s bushy eyebrows almost meet in the middle as he stares first at his clipboard, then at me. “Sorry,” he says gruffly. “There’s no Emma Turpin listed here.”
That fucker! He promised!A gust of wind threatens to lift my miniscule skirt and I frantically pin it down over my butt with one hand, clutching my bag with the other. “James Macklemoore. He said he’d get me on the list. Do you know him? He told me to come here tonight—”
“If you’re not on the list,” the bouncer leans forward, his growing impatience obvious, “you’re not on the list. So you don’t get in. Invitation only.” Raising his big head, giving me a good view of his broad, blotchy neck, he addresses the woman behind me. “Next!”
“Wh-what am I supposed to do now?” I bleat.
Returning his attention to me even as the lady behind me gives a huff of impatience, the bouncer shrugs his huge shoulders. “Go home?” he suggests.
Spectacularly unhelpful.
Finally admitting defeat, I swallow a pithy remark and step out of the line, moving aside to let the next hopeful be vetted for entry. The building which houses the latest and most happenin’ BDSM club this side of Richmond doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it’s grown so popular in such a short amount of time that capacity is limited, and it’s now the kind of place you can only get into if you know someone.
Which is why I danced circles of delight when my friend Susan told me she’d met a guy who could get us in.
A guy who had obviously been lying.
I take a few steps away from the bouncers, the velvet rope, and the queue of would-be club guests. I need a moment to think, to mull over my options.
A chilly breeze cuts across my path, and I shiver as I wobble down the shadowy sidewalk. I’m wearing heels more suited to the bedroom than for walking in, a skirt so short I don’t dare bend over in it for fear of indecent exposure, and a halter neck top which emphasizes my boobs quite nicely, but doesn’t offer anything in the way of warmth or comfort.
It’s nine in the evening. I grit my teeth against the cold—I’m already covered in goosebumps.
And I don’t have my car.
I’d been hoping to get off with someone at the club. In order to do that, I would have needed some liquid courage, and therefore I had decided to get a lift instead of driving myself. A friend of mine offered to drop me off here on her way to work—she’s a waitress at another club downtown.
It had never even occurred to me that I might get turned away at the door. Susan is one of my best friends, and she doesn’t usually hang out with what we refer to asbad types—liars, cheaters, and so on. She had asked me to wait until she had an evening off too, so we could go together, but I, Little Miss Impatient, had to refuse that suggestion, didn’t I? Instead, I asked her to get the mysterious James to make sure my name was on the list for Friday night.
That has obviously not happened.
Dammit.
Fishing my phone out of my little clutch purse, I finger it for a moment, debating my next move. All dressed up with nowhere to go. Do I head home, admitting defeat? Do I try another club?
