Sold to the wrong Alpha (Omega Underworld #1)

Chapter 1

Ren walked through the doors of the Eclipse Grand Casino with his jaw clenched and his fists clenched in his coat pockets.

The place reeked of money and corruption.

Crimson velvet. Fake gold. The sweet smoke of expensive cigars curling through the air.

He hated every inch of that place. He hated even more that his father had ordered him to come.

“Come on, move.” Andrew dug his fingers into Ren’s elbow, pushing him forward with a brutal familiarity that Ren knew all too well.

“I can walk on my own,” he protested.

“Then do it faster.”

Ren clenched his teeth, but obeyed. He always obeyed. Not out of fear—never out of fear—but because every battle he fought had to be worth it. And arguing with Andrew in the middle of the casino would bring him nothing but trouble.

The gaming tables passed him. Patches of light and sound. Fake laughter, clinking chips, shouts of victory. He recognized a few faces—ruined aristocrats, corrupt business owners, people who came here to win and lose fortunes as easily as they breathed. His father fit right in among them.

“Where is he?” Ren tossed the question over his shoulder without bothering to look at his brother.

“He’s not here.”

Ren stopped dead in his tracks. Andrew ran into him.

“What do you mean he’s not here? You told me…”

“I told you to come to the casino. I never mentioned Dad.”

A chill ran down his spine. Ren spun on his heels, facing Andrew with narrowed eyes.

“What the hell is going on?”

Andrew flashed that crooked smile that looked so much like his father’s, full of rotten secrets and broken promises.

“You’ll see.”

Ren resisted the urge to pull free as he seized his arm again with more force.

That look was familiar to him. On his father’s face, he’d seen it every time he came home after losing everything.

The same desperate, calculating look that preceded the apologies, the pleas, the deals that Ren always ended up paying for with his own body.

Dimitri Reznov.

The name hit him like a punch in the stomach.

The last time had been only two months ago.

An entire evening at a luxury restaurant accompanying the alpha while knowing how it would all end.

Ren’s mind knew how to escape those encounters, to abandon his body until it was all over, but on that occasion it had been harder than usual.

Dimitri had hinted that it wouldn’t be the last time they saw each other.

“If it’s Reznov again—”

“It’s not Reznov.”

That didn’t reassure him. On the contrary.

Andrew led him to the back of the casino, away from the main tables, through a carpeted hallway where the noise faded into a distant hum. Two security guards flanked a dark mahogany door. They asked no questions, just stepped aside.

“Go on.” Andrew released his arm and gestured toward the door with an almost courteous gesture. “They’re waiting for you inside.”

“Who?”

“The owner.”

Ren felt the air catch in his lungs. He had never met the owner of the Eclipse.

No one knew him well, according to the rumors. He was a powerful figure who pulled the strings from the shadows.

“Andrew…”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

His brother’s voice had lost all pretense of cordiality. Ren knew him well enough to realize that resisting now would be pointless. So he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and pushed open the door.

The office was more austere than he’d expected. Dark wood, bookshelves crammed with books, an imposing desk. It smelled of leather and something else—something musky and dangerous that made his skin crawl, something that screamed danger and alpha in equal measure.

A man stood with his back to him, looking out the double-paned window that overlooked the poker tables. Tall. Broad shoulders. A tailored suit. The Alpha, of course. Malachi Kovac.

“Ren Valois.” The voice was deep, controlled, with an accent he couldn’t place. “Right on time.”

“Pure luck. I didn’t know we had an appointment.”

The man turned. Ren kept his chin up, refusing to cower under his scrutiny. The eyes studying him were dark and impenetrable. There was something about them that reminded him of a wolf about to attack.

“Your father owes a lot of money to many people.” It wasn’t a question. “And this time, the debts are too big to be settled with a night in a hotel.”

Ren clenched his hands at his sides until his nails dug into his palms.

“How much?”

“Four hundred thousand.”

The figure hung between them. Weighing. Ren closed his eyes for a second, just a second, before opening them again.

“And what do you want from me?”

The man approached with measured steps until he stood in front of him. Too close. Ren didn’t back away. He lifted his head to look him in the eyes.

“There’s an auction tonight.” His lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You’ll be the principal attraction.”

The hallway narrowed as they advanced. Ren felt the walls closing in on him. His breathing quickened. The tuxedo bow tie was tightening around his throat. The pristine white shirt he wore was becoming damp from sweat. Malachi moved forward, familiar with his domain. A bodyguard stood behind them.

“No,” the word came out raspy. Ren stopped. “I’m not going to…”

“You’re not going to what?” Malachi turned his head just enough for the light to catch the sharp angle of his jaw.

Ren clenched his teeth until they hurt.

“It’s my father who owes that money. I don’t owe anyone anything.”

“That is delightfully wrong.” Malachi spun around, and there was something almost amused in his expression; a cold curiosity, like someone observing an insect trapped under a glass. “Understand something, omega. You’re your father’s guarantee of payment. Always have been.”

That was a hurtful thing to say. Because they were true. How many times had he heard his father negotiate with him as if he were transferable property? My son, the omega. Handsome, isn’t he? He can fix it. He can make it up to you.

“If I refuse…”

“You will not survive for long.” Malachi took a threatening step forward. “Someone will come looking for you. Not with fancy invitations or clean deals. You’ll end up in some basement serving anyone willing to pay a few coins for your mouth.”

Ren felt bile rising in his throat.

“The decision is yours.” Malachi held out a hand toward the door at the end of the hallway. “Controlled auction, elite buyer, temporary contract. Or the other.”

Temporary.

Ren clung to that word.

“How long?”

Malachi’s eyes flickered with what might have been triumph. Or satisfaction.

“One year.”

The world tilted.

A full year. Three hundred sixty-five days.

Twelve entire months belonging to someone who would see him as an object, as a thing to take out their frustrations on, something to do with as they pleased.

Ren had endured nights—long, humiliating hours, yes—but never more than that.

Never a contract. Never actual ownership.

“I can’t…”

“You can.” Malachi had already started walking again. “And you will.”

Ren’s legs moved by themselves. He didn’t remember giving them the order, but he was following those measured steps, walking through the door, entering a part of the casino that seemed to exist outside of time.

The lights were dimmer here. Everything smelled of antiseptic mixed with expensive perfume, a nauseating combination that turned his stomach.

Malachi stopped in front of another door, this one marked only with a number: 7.

“Go in.”

Ren hesitated. A second. Two. Then he pushed the handle and went inside.

The room was clinical in its efficiency.

White tiles on the walls, halogen lights that left no room for shadows.

A padded stretcher occupied the center, flanked by metal tables laden with products that Ren preferred not to examine.

Two beta women waited by the corner shower, dressed in immaculate uniforms, their faces neutral.

Neither looked him in the eye.

“Undress.” The one closest to him spoke with no inflection, as if reciting instructions from a manual. “Leave your clothes in the basket.”

Ren didn’t move.

“Excuse me?”

“Undress.”

The second woman had already turned on the shower. The water ran with a steady hiss that filled the silence.

“I can do it myself.”

“No.” The first one stepped closer, and though her tone remained flat, there was something definitive about it. “We have protocols. We’ll waste less time if you cooperate.”

Ren looked for Malachi, but the man had already disappeared. The door was closed. There was no lock on the inside.

Ren’s hands trembled as he brought his fingers to the top button of his shirt.

He forced himself to keep them steady. Don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you broke.

Not yet. He unbuttoned them one by one with mechanical movements, letting the fabric fall to the floor. His pants followed. His underwear.

The women didn’t react. Not a single extra glance, not a single comment. They waited until he was naked before gesturing toward the shower. When they finished washing him, they handed him a towel without ceremony and motioned for him to dry off.

“Sit down.”

Ren hesitated. For a second. Then he sat down. Not because he wanted to, but because, for the moment, he saw no other way out. The stretcher was cold beneath his bare thighs. One woman pulled a hair removal machine from the side table and turned it on. The hum filled the room.

“Spread your legs.”

Something snapped inside him, something small but essential. Ren spread his legs. Then they presented him with the suit. Ren stared at it. Black. Latex. A one-piece with an extra-long zipper in the back that would hug every curve of his body like a second skin.

“No.”

The word sounded weak. Even he found it unbelievable.

“Put it on, or we’ll do it for you.”