Prologue
Is love possible for an unwanted slave?
No, right?
Three auctions, countless Alphas, even a few hundred Betas, and nothing. Not an ounce of interest for the omega who’s been trained in everything yet held a little too long in training to therefore appear… Defective. Like his other training was just a bandage to cover whatever the hell was really wrong with him.
After all, why else would an able-bodied, attractive Omega not reach his first auction until age 23? Especially one who was said to be raised in the training houses. The only explanation is that he must be faulty.
That’s why he’s anything but surprised when his Keeper, Elijah, steps forward to run his nightstick along the solid metal bars that make up his door. “Up and, Osiris.” The gruff man says, a smirk twisting his otherwise soft expression. “It’s time to take you up there. Think today will be your lucky day?”
The question is rhetorical. There’s no point in answering, because speaking out of turn would get the malnourished Omega in much hotter water than-
“I said, ‘think today will be your lucky day?’”
Clearly, Osiris’ 24 years of experience being manhandled, tricked, and trained, has done little to teach him his place with no margin of error. At least, the newly blooming bruise across his cheek seems like a pretty clear sign that he’s still got a decent bit of learning to do.
“My apologies, Alpha.” His voice is meek as he speaks, hoarse from lack of use and rather high despite being well past puberty. “I… Hope that today will be my lucky day, though I do understand that the odds are not very in my favor.”
“Not very in your favor,” Elijah laughs, the sound sending a chill down Osiris’ spine. It’s not a sound that’s regularly associated with positivity toward himself or his fellow Omeagas. “Perhaps you should stop thinking about what is or will be in your favor, boy. You are an Omega. You are filth until someone with actual class makes use of you. You will never be more than the plaything you’ve been to us. Do you understand me?”
“I understand, Alpha. My apologies.”
As much as it hurts him to admit, Osiris knows good and well that he’d likely not be bought at today’s auction. Instead, he’ll be sent along to the breeding house or brothel that would pay the highest price. There, they don’t care if an Omega is defective. If it can fuck, it can bring in a profit, especially when they have a pretty face like Osiris does.
Hair as dark as a moonless sky, blue eyes clear like a vast ocean, his skin fair but holding just enough of a golden glow to catch the attention of passersby—all features that would normally have him looking at a pretty high selling cost, ones that were drilled into his head as being desirable by one of his first Keepers years ago. The woman would whisper poetry to him in the dead of night, soothing him from nightmares of what the future might bring…
“Good. Now, let’s go. You’re up next, and your chances dwindle every second you’re back here instead of standing up on that stage.”
Elijah’s large hand wraps around Osiris’ bicep, the tip of his middle finger meeting the tip of his thumb as he yanks the much smaller man out of his now-unlocked cell. Osiris’ barefoot steps are practically silent against the cement floor of the warehouse, meanwhile Elijah’s echo heavily, the sound of whimpering Omegas sounding quietly in the cells they pass.
“Just think… When you’re pulled back off that stage, not a single bid on your scrawny ass,” The Keeper’s free hand lowers, teasing the exposed skin of Osiris’ thigh where the oversized white t-shirt ends, “I'll be able to take you for a ride of my own before we send you off to a breeding house—if you're lucky.”
And lucky it would be. No one would be caught dead wishing for placement in a brothel. At least in a breeding house they don't force abortions on you, nor do they pump you full of medication to kill off your reproductive organs before removing them.
But then again, any children born to an Omega breeder are taken from them regardless. No time to hold and bond with the child they grew within their womb. No time to give them even an ounce of love before they're ripped away.
The Omega offspring, like Osiris was, are then taken to a training house where they'll grow up learning how worthless they really are in this world. Unlovable.
Neither option is one he would look forward to, and the idea of Elijah getting to have his way with him before being sent off to either is enough to have disgust crawling down his spine.
Before he knows it Osiris is standing center stage, looking every bit the worn-down, dirty thing he knows the Alphas and Betas in the viewing audience believe him to be.
The heavy light practically burns his skin as well as his eyes, his heart racing. All he has to wait for is the auction host to announce that there has been no sale, and no further auction appearances for Omega #147352. That would seal his fate, and as the starting bid of $30,000 is lowered to $20,000, then $10,000, Osiris can feel any semblance of hope for freedom from this slingshot to misery crumbling. No one would want—
“$50,000.”
Osiris' eyes shoot open, his head snapping up to loosely meet the gaze of the man standing at the center of the audience. An Alpha with tamed black hair cut short, his eyes sharp though the Omega cannot tell the color from this distance. His suit looks nice, fits well to his body, and the fact that he's so willing to spend Osiris' first auction opening bid on purchasing him, despite the bid decrease…
This can't be good.
“Going once, going twice, and sold to Mr. Picadilly.”
Mr. Picadilly? The name rings a bell in Osiris' mind that he can't quite place, but that bell soon turns to ringing in his ears as Elijah grabs his bicep once more, hauling him off stage.
The Keeper mutters something. Something harsh, something personal, but Osiris can't hear a word. Nothing is registering in his mind except that name. Something about it unsettles him—something about this entire situation unsettles him.
Even as he's stripped bare, hosed down, then dressed in a clean cotton robe and shackled before being taken to the back exit to meet his new Alpha, his mind is spiraling.
It's not until he's stopped before expensive-looking and shiny shoes that he realizes just how spaced out he'd been, his heart beginning to race even more as the ringing in his ears subsides just enough to hear the voices around him.
“- obedient, but to a fault, I'd say. Ain't one you'll get to enjoy the chase with. Trained in everything from cleaning house to walking the dog, cooking dinner to drawing a bath. Plenty of sex education, but we keep our Omegas clean until sale. You'll be the first to get a taste of this one.”
Elijah's voice has an unmistakable and familiar tone of discontent to it, making Osiris' stomach drop. He wants to say something, to speak up in any way, but that's not his place. And now more than ever as he enters into this unknown situation, he needs to hold tight to his training. Not a toe out of place, not a breath off cue. He would be perfect. He has to be…
“I'll take him from here,” A deep voice replies, “I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to see exactly what kind of Omega I've purchased today. Now, have a good evening.”
Oh. Piccadilly.
Ian Picadilly.
An Alpha that Omegas warn each other about—a modern day Boogeyman.
Even the gentle guidance from his new Alpha won't slow the Omega's heart as he is led to the sleek black car waiting for them. Osiris is promptly taken to the back, his chained wrists behind him as he lays in the fetal position across the floor board. Something is said about a long drive, then the door is shut, leaving the young man along with his thoughts.
Thoughts of what cruel fate will befall him when he reaches his new residence. Thoughts of the countless Omegas this man has sent to an early grave. A desperate little tendril in his mind wondering what the odds would be of being just good enough that he wouldn't meet the same, dark eternity.
Perhaps only time would tell.
