Chapter 1 #2
Ren snatched the outfit from their hands and slipped it on himself.
It was a small piece of his dignity, but he was going to hold on to it.
The latex clung to his damp skin with an obscene sound, hugging his hips, his waist, his chest. It covered everything but hid nothing.
Every line of his body was exposed, on display.
One woman approached with a collar, soft leather with a silver ring in the center.
“Tilt your head.”
Ren closed his eyes. He felt the weight of the collar closing around his throat, snug but not tight. Comfortable enough to forget it. Present enough to remind him of what he would be after the auction.
Merchandise.
“Ready.” The woman took a step back, assessing him with that same clinical indifference. “Mr. Kovac will come to get you in ten minutes.”
They left without saying another word.
Ren remained alone in that white, sterile room, wrapped in latex and humiliation, anticipating being dragged onto the stage like a prize animal.
Standing in the center of that clinical room, devoid of any human warmth, covered in latex that made him sweat, with the collar tightening around his throat every time he swallowed, Ren tried not to think.
He tried to clear his mind of any images, any speculation about what kind of man would raise his hand for him, what he would do to him once he had him.
But the thoughts came anyway. Violent. Obscene. Each scenario worse than the last.
Would he be old? Brutal? Would he even care if Ren cried or begged? The omega instinct inside him, that damned instinct he’d always hated, writhed with animal panic, pumping adrenaline through his veins until his hands shook and his breathing became ragged.
Focus. Breathe.
But he couldn’t. Not when the invisible clock in his head was ticking away every second that brought him closer to becoming…
The door burst open.
Malachi strolled in with his characteristic casual confidence, making it seem like this was another in a series of profitable deals.
Because it probably was. His eyes scanned Ren from head to toe with clinical appreciation.
Not lust, but the satisfaction of a merchant appraising a well-prepared product.
“Perfect.” The word came out soft, almost affectionately. “I knew you’d look good in that suit.”
Ren didn’t respond. He didn’t trust his voice.
Following Malachi, another man emerged; he was young and muscular, possessing an unignorable aura that, paradoxically, went unobserved.
Short dark hair, a square jaw, eyes that took everything in without seeming to look at anything.
Dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, he possessed a remarkable ability to go unnoticed, moving with a stealth that belied his imposing, muscular six-foot-plus frame.
He failed to introduce himself. Wrapping his fingers around Ren’s forearm, he gripped it firmly but without pain.
“Rocco will take you to the room.” Malachi was already turning toward the door. “Behave yourself, honey. You’ll have a lot of eyes on you. Don’t let me down, and everything will go well for your father and for you.”
His throat tightened. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to plant his feet, but Rocco—that was his name—had begun guiding him forward with steady pressure. Not brutal. Not violent. Just inevitable.
They walked down a short hallway to a room that opened into an archway. Ren stopped in the doorway. He was unable to move.
The room opened up before him—dim lighting, soft music, the kind that gets under your skin and stays there. Leather sofas arranged in a semicircle. Glasses of amber liquor caught the subdued light. Men in expensive suits, relaxed, speaking in hushed tones as if it were just another night.
As if this were normal.
His stomach clenched. Then the scent hit him. Strong.
Many alphas were present at the gathering. Their overlapping pheromones—cedar, smoke, spices, something darker beneath. They filled his lungs before he could stop it, dense and suffocating. Civilized predators playing at being courteous.
His body reacted. His omega rose, panicked, confused, fear tangling with something worse. Something instinctive. His knees buckled.
He dug his nails into his palm, anchoring himself, forcing his breathing to slow. It helped a little.
A movement across the room caught his attention.
Another omega. He was being scrutinized by two alphas with the same attention they’d give a racehorse.
Shorter than Ren, dark-skinned, with dark curls falling over his forehead.
Dressed in a latex suit identical to his own, though blood-red instead of black.
His eyes were fixed on the floor, and his shoulders hunched in absolute submission.
I’m not the only one.
Realizing that hit him with a dull thud. Of course, he wasn’t alone in this. This was an operation. A business. How many omegas had passed through here? How many would keep coming after him?
The grip on his arm loosened.
Ren blinked, confused, and then felt Rocco’s hand slide down from his forearm to his hand and slip something small into his palm. A piece of paper. Folded. Ren closed his fist around the note. The paper crinkled between his fingers. His pulse raced. What the hell?
“When the lights go out, run,” Rocco whispered.
Then he vanished into the shadows as if he’d never been there.
Ren spun his head and could only see the back of the man’s head and the bodyguard who was in his care. What was going on?
But there was no time to process it because the music changed, becoming deeper, more rhythmic, and the conversations in the room faded away.
The alphas took their seats.
A voice emerged from somewhere hidden, amplified by invisible speakers, soft and seductive as velvet over steel:
“Good evening, gentlemen. Welcome to our exclusive soiree.” A calculated pause as the lights dimmed even further. “Tonight we have an exceptional selection of omegas. We’ll be starting with two top-quality, prepared and ready to please.”
Ren’s stomach twisted.
“The rules are simple: bidding starts at one hundred thousand. Minimum increments are ten thousand. The winner takes all; no returns, no refunds.” Low laughter echoed through the room. “And now… allow us to present our first item.”
A spotlight flashed onto the empty stage.
Ren watched in horror as two men guided the omega in red into the light. The boy climbed the steps with unsteady steps, staying upright only because they were gripping him by both arms.
“Twenty-three years old. Unmarked, obviously. Flexible…” The voice continued listing characteristics as if describing a real estate listing while the alphas leaned forward in their seats.
That will be me in a few minutes.
The paper in his hand burned like hot coals.