Chapter 2 – Lacey
Chapter Two
Lacey
Idon’t even make it to the check-in desk before Tommy flags me down in the hallway. He towers over me as I come to a stop at his side. My fuzzy slippers are warm and damn comfortable, but they don’t give me any additional height. I’m already on the shorter side for an omega at five-five.
“What’s up?” I ask the new security officer.
He’s only been here a few weeks, and it shows. He’s late twenties and big for a beta, but he always seems nervous, like he’s just waiting for something to go wrong.
“Your next client refused to be strapped down,” he says, glancing toward the door to my room. “I think you should cancel the appointment. I got bad vibes, Lacey.”
“Is it a first appointment? Like the first time he’s been seen here?”
The facility has a policy recommendation that all alphas should be restrained during their first three appointments.
Muzzles are also highly recommended.
After the third visit, there are no suggested protocols, and it’s left up to the omega on which safety precautions they want implemented.
Some of the employees require their clients to wear a muzzle and restraints during every visit, even after they get to know each other.
I don’t blame them a bit. Whatever makes the omega feel most at ease is what’s going to allow them to have a successful session.
I’m on the opposite end of the spectrum.
I don’t feel comfortable seeing anyone being restrained. It was a reaction I never could have expected, but it makes my skin crawl, especially seeing them locked in one place while being muzzled. The few times I tried, it left me so uncomfortable that the entire session was ruined.
Muzzles alone are a different story. I’m not opposed to them during the first couple of appointments, because it can prevent unwanted bites, but omegas can decline bonds, so sometimes even those seem unnecessary.
It’s not like if one of the alphas did manage to bite me that I would be forced into a lifelong connection.
That’s silly.
I’d have to heal from a bite wound, but that would be the extent of my suffering, while the alpha would experience declined-bite backlash.
It’s Mother Nature’s way of ensuring that all bonds are consensual. I can’t even imagine a world where every bite formed a bond. To form that kind of connection, there has to be intent when the alpha bites and acceptance from the omega to forge a link.
Technically speaking, it could be an omega, beta, or another alpha on the receiving end of the bite, but no matter their designation, they would have to accept the connection for the bond to snap into place.
Once that bond is present, nothing can break it. They can’t be dissolved or wished away. Although they can be chemically eased. The point is, these people are here for help. They want to get better—to prevent the decay from worsening. So, I do everything I can to put them at ease.
“Nah. He’s been here before,” Tommy says, shaking his head as he answers my earlier question. “This will be your ninth visit, but I’m telling you. He’s dangerous. You need to be vigilant.”
My head tilts.
Nine visits.
That has to be Grim. I’m sure that’s a nickname or alias, but it’s not unusual for customers to be hesitant to give us their real names. Although, that was more prevalent when I was dancing. The front desk has all their legal information, so I’m not bothered by calling them whatever they prefer.
“He came in and stomped over to the cabinet with your scent cards. He then growled and pointed until the receptionist popped it open to give him one. He snatched it out of her hand, huffed the shit out of it, and paid for a ninety-minute session by dropping cash on the desk.” Tommy plants his hands on his hips, shaking his head.
“When I brought him back to your room, he straight-up refused to let me strap down his hands. He snarled in my face and slapped my hand away. He’s in there just wandering around your room. ”
I smile tightly.
Out of all my clients, Grim is the closest to slipping over the line from feral to rabid. I’ve seen him every Friday night for two months, and after each appointment, I worry that it’ll be the last time he comes in.
He’s huge, even for an alpha, and I know his size makes the security guys nervous, but he’s never been aggressive with me.
I like him a lot—more than I probably should—and I worry that I’m not doing enough to stop the decay.
It could be a financial issue. This place isn’t cheap, but I’ve mentioned multiple times that I thought he should come in two or three times a week.
Once-a-week visits aren’t helping him seem any clearer, and that scares the shit out of me.
If he loses touch with reality, he could hurt someone, and if that happens, he’ll end up in a rabid alpha facility or prison.
If his crimes are especially terrible, they could deem him too great of a threat to society and put him down.
The thought sends an uncomfortable prickle through my system.
“I’ll have the front desk refund his money and escort him out. All you have to do is say the word.” The look on Tommy’s face seems almost pleading.
“Grim growls a lot, but he’s not dangerous.” I offer the security guard a reassuring smile.
His job is all about keeping me and the other omegas safe. I don’t want to make him feel bad about honoring his responsibilities, but it almost seems like the more anxious the security team is, the more hyped up the alphas are once we make it into the treatment rooms.
Is that a thing?
It feels like they feed off each other’s energy.
“I appreciate the offer, but please don’t stress. I have Grim under control.” I pat his arm and head off down the hallway.
I have a client to soothe.
I step inside the room and slap the green button on the wall.
It starts the timer and notifies the front desk that I’m now in the treatment room.
There is another emergency switch next to the bed and one under the arm of the couch.
It gives us multiple locations to click if we need immediate assistance.
I’ve never needed to hit the button, and I don’t plan on starting today.
The door clicks closed behind me, and I lean against the doorframe.
Tommy was wrong.
Grim isn’t pacing the room; he’s sitting on one end of the love seat.
I frown at the cut above his eyebrow and another deep gash on his cheek. “What in the world happened?”
His head whips in my direction, making his shaggy dark hair fall around his face. “Omega.” It comes out as a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine.
He raises a hand and crooks a tattooed finger at me.
Dammit.
Something about how dominant he is really does it for me.
I’ve done a lot of research about why alphas and omegas work so well together. Nature designed our compatibility perfectly.
Alphas are inclined to lead, and they don’t hesitate to make the tough calls. In turn, omegas thrive under that gentle guidance, soaking up the feeling of safety that comes from no longer needing to be in control.
Soft Doms and Daddy Doms intrigue me the most. There’s something about the praise and care they offer while still being completely dominant and in control.
I’ll be devastated if I don’t get to experience that dynamic at least once in my lifetime, and everything in me says Grim would be the perfect partner.
But I’m also worried about what went down to give him those cuts and bruises. Fighting or general aggression are signs the decay is worsening.
“You know my name,” I say teasingly in an attempt to keep the mood light. “You could use it for a change.”
It’s like this sometimes.
The alphas tend to be grunty, growly, and bossy, at least the ones that are closer to rabid than feral.
I keep my steps measured and a smile on my face to show I’m not scared of him.
I think I have a false sense of safety since I’ve never had a man raise a hand to me.
If that ever happens, I’m sure I’ll never have this level of confidence again.
I know what could go down if I’m not careful, but something deep inside my chest says Grim isn’t a threat to me.
Oh, I’m sure he could do some serious damage in a fight. It kinda makes me wonder what the other guy he tussled with looks like.
Honestly, I probably should be concerned by Grim’s size. It’s just hard to muster fear when I know how gentle he is when it comes to me.
If he was physically aggressive, I wouldn’t see him again, or I’d ask for him to be restrained.
His arms are covered in tattoos, much like his hands. They stretch out, and his palms land on my hips as soon as I’m within reach. “Mine,” he growls, tugging me between his spread thighs.
I’d be lying if I said the word didn’t cause my insides to light up.
Grim and I are highly compatible. It’s likely why he chooses to spend his sessions with me. I’d like to believe it’s my lovely personality that has won him over, but truthfully? My system yearns for him in the same way it feels like his aches for me.
He’s one hundred percent, without a doubt, a scent match. They’re rare, though not unheard of. I read somewhere that an omega will meet on average five to seven scent matches in their lifetime.
While finding a scent match can indicate compatibility, there’s always an aspect of free will.
We’re not animals.
It’s more like nature saying, hey, here’s someone you might click with. However, it’s still up to us to decide if that person is really what we’re looking for in a partner.
I never thought I’d be attracted to the whole mountain-man look, but Grim pulls off a fluffy beard like nobody’s business.
His long dark hair falls around the tops of his shoulders as he tugs me closer. “Mine.” It’s impressive how much he can convey with a single word. It’s also a little ridiculous what that particular word does to my insides.
I smile, climbing onto his lap. “You’re bossy tonight.”
He grunts in response as I get comfortable, and I laugh. He’s always surly at the beginning of a session, but that settles the more time we spend together.
I always feel tiny in comparison to his massive frame, and I wrap my arms under his, planting my hands on the tops of his shoulders.
Grim nuzzles his cheek to my temple and sighs. “I needed this.”