Chapter 25 – RAVEN #2
I'm so furious at him, it shouldn't bother me, but it does. I clench my jaw, gritting the next words out like my throat is made of sandpaper. "It's not… it wasn't you. It's me. I'm the one who's fucked up. It wasn't your job to fix me."
"I said I would all the same." There's a bite in his voice again, but somehow, I can tell it's not directed at me. "And I failed you. But that's not gonna happen again. I don't give my word often, but when I do, I follow it through. We'll just have to figure something else out."
I feel a surge of panic as I realize what he's getting at. "You can't do this," I hiss. "You can't keep me prisoner in the name of unbrainwashing me, Geo! That's not what this is about."
"I'll send a doctor down soon," he mutters, ignoring me. "To patch you both up and take off the tape. Once you've settled down a bit."
And then he's gone, the heavy door slamming shut behind him with a resounding thud.
For a long moment, I just sit there, staring at the closed door in disbelief.
This can't be happening.
It has to be some kind of fucked up nightmare.
Maybe I hit my head during the chaos at the airfield.
Maybe I'm still unconscious, and any minute now I'll wake up...
But the cold metal of the collar around my neck is all too real. The ache in my shoulders from having my arms bound for so long. The throb of bruises I don't remember getting, courtesy of that monster batting the tank around like a cat with a damn ball of string.
This is real.
And I'm fucked.
So is Nikolai if that doctor doesn't get here sooner than later. I find my gaze darting over to his corner more often than I'd like.
He's still breathing. For now.
That realization brings me more relief than it has any right to.
Maybe Geo is right about that, too. Maybe I'm still just that brainwashed whelp Nikolai plucked out of the brothel all those years ago.
My head drops back against the wall as the silence wraps around me like a vice, forcing me face to face with the one old nemesis I'll do anything in my power to avoid.
My memories.
The hazy scent of cigar smoke fills my nostrils as Madame takes another long drag, her ruby red lips pursed around the expensive cigar smuggled in from Reinmich. Her eyes, cold and calculating behind perfectly winged eyeliner, bore into me.
"Kneel," she commands, her voice like velvet over steel.
I drop to my knees without hesitation, the polished hardwood floor unforgiving against my bones.
I'm vaguely aware of eyes on me, the quiet murmur of conversation from the gathered crowd watching from the shadows, but my focus is solely on her.
Even though she's not using her bark at the moment, my ears are still ringing from the last command she gave me, ensuring I'd be good for her little demonstration.
As if I need more than the metal collar around my neck as a constant reminder of my place here.
"Look up," Madame orders, and I obey instantly.
She places one stiletto boot on the low table in front of me, the patent leather gleaming under the chandelier's light. A perfect match for the tattered leather pants I'm wearing, paired with nothing more than the chains dangling from my collar to form a loose mantle over my shoulders. "Clean it."
Without question or pause, I lean forward and start licking her boot. The taste of leather and polish fills my mouth, but I don't stop. I can't stop. Not until she tells me to.
Chuckles ripple through the crowd of wealthy alphas, omegas, and betas gathered to watch Madame show off the training of her favorite "pet." I hear footsteps approach, and a man's voice speaks up, tinged with awe and a hint of disgust.
"Remarkable," he says. "I've never seen a submissive alpha before."
Madame's laugh is like broken glass. "He's my finest project," she purrs, and I can hear the pride in her voice. It makes my chest ache with a desperate need for her approval. "He responds to alpha commands just like an omega would."
I bristle at the reminder that while she's my whole world, I'm nothing more than an object to her. A toy to show off. But I don't stop licking her boot. She hasn't told me to stop, and I know well what the consequences are for even the most accidental disobedience.
She finally gives a snap of her fingers and I stop, sitting back in a kneeling position with my hands on my thighs and my head downcast, awaiting her next command.
"I saw his potential in the rough years ago," Madame continues, her voice taking on that bragging tone she uses when discussing her "projects.
" "Now he's been molded into a diamond. He can't do anything without my permission.
Eating, sleeping... I even tell him when to piss," she adds with a chuckle.
More laughter from the crowd. I squeeze my eyes shut, shame burning through me, but I keep my expression neutral, my gaze on the floor.
"Is he submissive to betas and omegas too?" a woman's voice asks, curiosity evident in her tone.
"Oh yes," Madame replies. I can hear the smirk in her voice. "But you have to watch out. He gets a bit jealous when he's not the center of attention."
More laughter. I want to crawl into the hole in the baseboard across the room and live there like the rats do.
"Even his ruts are unusual," Madame goes on, as casually as if she were discussing the weather. "He gets needy, and sometimes he even tries to nest. Like an omega in heat."
As she speaks, I feel her fingers card through my hair. Despite everything, I lean into her touch, craving any scrap of affection she'll give me. I hate myself for it. For melting at her touch the way I do. For being so pathetically grateful for even the smallest bit of attention.
"Fascinating," another voice chimes in. Male, alpha. "May I give him a command?"
There's a pause, and I tense, waiting for Madame's response. "Of course," she says finally. "Be my guest."
I look up warily as footsteps approach. The alpha who steps into view isn't particularly large, but there's a cruel glint in his eyes that makes my stomach churn. I've gotten good at reading people over the years. It's a survival skill in this place.
And everything about this man screams danger.
He grabs my face roughly, fingers digging into my jaw. "Look at me," he demands.
I meet his gaze, but it's a struggle. I've never been able to hold eye contact with alphas for long. It feels wrong, like I'm challenging them. When I try to look away, the alpha's voice drops into that resonant tone that bypasses all rational thought.
" Keep looking at me. "
The bark hits me like a physical blow. I feel bile rising in my throat as I'm forced to maintain eye contact. The alpha reaches into his pocket, pulling something out, but I can't look away to see what it is. Soft gasps ripple through the room.
"Hold out your hand," the alpha commands.
I do, and feel something heavy and cold pressed into my palm. Metal. My heart starts racing, but I still can't look away from those cruel eyes.
"Look down."
The moment the words leave his lips, my gaze drops to my hand. My breath catches in my throat as I see what I'm holding.
A gun.
I freeze, unable to move, unable to breathe. The weapon feels impossibly heavy in my trembling hand.
The alpha's voice is taunting when he speaks again. "Ever seen one of those before, boy?"
I manage to stutter out a response. "N-no."
He chuckles, the sound sending ice through my veins. "Well, you're going to learn to shoot today. This'll be fun."
Panic claws at my chest. I tear my gaze away from the gun, looking desperately to Madame for help. But even though there's a flicker of unease in her eyes, she just smirks, her red lips curving cruelly.
"Don't embarrass me in front of my guests, pet," she says coolly.
I swallow hard, my throat tight. I know what happens when I embarrass her. The punishments are... creative. And always, always painful.
"Point the gun at yourself," the alpha orders.
I hesitate, my hand shaking so badly I can barely keep hold of the weapon. The alpha's eyes narrow, and his voice drops into that commanding tone again.
" Point it at your lips. Now. "
My arm moves of its own accord, the barrel of the gun coming to rest against my temple. Tears blur my vision, but I can't wipe them away. I can't move at all unless he tells me to.
"Good boy," the alpha croons. "Now, lick it."
A whimper escapes me as I obey, my tongue sliding along the cold metal of the barrel. The taste makes me gag, but I can't stop.
"Put your finger on the trigger."
Tears are streaming down my face now. The instinct to obey wars with the instinct to survive that, until this very moment, I wasn't sure was still there.
The conflict makes my hands tremble so violently, I can barely hold onto the gun, but no matter how much I wish it would, it never quite slips from my hand.
I want to scream, to run, to do anything but obey.
But I can't.
I can't .
I look to Madame again, silently begging her to put a stop to this. For a moment, I think I see conflict in her eyes. But then she nods, her voice cold when she speaks.
"Do as he says."
My finger slides onto the trigger.
I can smell the excitement coming off the other alpha. This is a show for him. A game. I always knew the men and women who came through these doors saw me as less than human.
But this is new.
"Put the gun in your mouth," the alpha commands, his voice dripping with sadistic glee. "And pull the trigger."
Oh, gods.
I'm going to die.
The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. I'm going to die here, on my knees, with a gun in my mouth and a room full of strangers watching. I'm going to die without ever having lived a day of my own life.
And the worst part?
The most fucked up, twisted part of it all?
My only wish isn't for freedom. Freedom is terrifying, more frightening than anything that happens within these walls.
Even this.
No, my only wish, my only regret is that I never got the chance to belong to someone who sees me as worth something.
Anything.