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The echo of my footsteps ring through the quiet space, but instead of sounding like a death toll, they sound like my first steps toward freedom. My own freedom march.
The front of each bus has an LED screen with a city name lit on it.
I peek at the ticket I'm holding in a crushing grip.
Big breath in.
Slow breath out.
Here goes everything.
One
Summer
"Can I get a vodka cranberry?"a young beta with an indecently short checkered green dress screams at me over the music. The pub I work nights and weekends at as a second job—The Hog's Head—isn't usually as loud as it is right now. But it's St. Patty's Day, and it's a Saturday, so the place is crawling with people. Ava’s bar is one of the stops on today’s pub crawl. It's mostly betas, since sixty percent of the population is beta, but I'm still overwhelmed with the heady scents of alphas and omegas. I've been breathing through my mouth the whole shift to avoid the overwhelming cocktail of designation scents.
A job as a bartender isn't typically what an omega would choose for themself since being so sought after can be dangerous when mixed with alcohol, but I didn't have a ton of options. Three months ago, I hopped on a bus headed for Minneapolis. Then I hopped on three more buses, just to be safe, and landed in Chicago.
I had zero professional work experience. Being an omega, I was only expected to keep house in my old pack. The other three worked and provided while I made sure they had a clean house to come home to and food on the table every night.
It never used to bother me. I was happy to play the dutiful omega. That's what I am, after all. It's all I was raised to be.
Then I ran and realized I have no credentials. No qualifications for anything. Not only that, but I can't even use my real name in case they care enough to come looking, so I had to find jobs that would take me on without a birth certificate or social security card. It took a month of interviews and pleading. I had to have taken interviews for dozens of different jobs, begging someone to accept an omega with no verification, no questions asked.
I got this bar job first, and my boss is amazing. A female omega entrepreneur that is an advocate for omega and beta rights. Ava hired me almost immediately once I told her I couldn't provide her any documentation. She loves a good charity case. Though, if I called myself a charity case in front of her, she'd kick my ass.
I swear it wasn't even twenty-four hours after Ava gave me this job that I got a call about my current nine to five.
Pen2Paper Press is the publishing house I work for as an administrative assistant to my boss, Jerrick Price. At first, I was confused why a publishing house, literally my dream company, would hire a packless omega with no qualifications. Then I realized they're getting the deal here. I'm paid in cash by the hour. Which isperfectfor my situation. Until it hit me that I had no PTO, no benefits or insurance, and I get paid just barely above minimum wage.
Meaning I had to keep my job at the pub, too, in order to be able to pay the ridiculous rent at my shitty, four hundred square foot, studio apartment and still be able to eat. Ava was incredibly understanding and willing to work around my new schedule. She’s become a really good friend since taking a chance on me.
Which is why I'm breathing through my mouth working as a bartender and flirting with patrons for better tips. I don’t usually mind it, necessarily. I'd spent several years being a glorified housewife, but now that I'm working myself to exhaustion at two different jobs, I realize I was complacent in my role as house omega.
Now I go home every night, worked to the ground, and with a bone-deep tiredness that never seems to go away, and Ilove it.
The freedom and independence. Two things I've never felt before.
"Excuse me?" A deep timbre breaks me out of my thoughts, and I look around the bar top to see where the sound came from. There are at least a dozen people crowded around the bar, almost all of them already have drinks in their hand and are talking to friends instead of trying to flag me down. Then my eyes snag on a man leaning into the bar slightly with his hand half raised.
I start walking the few steps down the bar to take his order, and my heart races a little faster as I take him in. He looks like the physical embodiment of sex. Like if you looked up the wordsexin the dictionary, it would just be a picture of this man. His short brown hair is slightly longer on the top and expertly styled. His beard is neatly trimmed, but thick and dark, and he's got golden brown eyes that draw me right in. He's dressed in black, head-to-toe, but is wearing a green pin buttoned to his black Henley t-shirt that says, "Kiss me, I'm Irish."
I manage not to roll my eyes at it and instead address the sinfully sexy man. "What can I get you, handsome?" I put a little purr behind my words and grin as seductively as I can like I’ve done all day to try to help my tips out.
He stares at me with so much intensity that I resist the urge to squirm, but he doesn't say anything. He just stares at me.What is his deal?I'd swear I see hunger in his eyes, but then he's looking at me like he's confused about something.
"Erm... Uh, I'll just take three more of your green beers," he stutters. Our 'green beers' are just a cheap draft that Ava put green dye in to make it more festive. They are a crowd pleaser though. This man, however, seems to say his order like a question.
"You sure?" I shoot back, squinting at him and wondering why he looks pained all of a sudden. He nods his head, and I turn around to start making his order.Weird.
Certainly not the weirdest patron I've served though. Last weekend, I had a guy ask if he could pay for a pedicure and then take pictures of my feet. There is no limit to the weirdos that come into a bar and have a little liquid courage to loosen their tongues.
I carry all three over at once, balancing them in a triangle between my two hands, not spilling a drop.
"That'll be fifteen," I say as he hands me a black card. My brows shoot up, not expecting someone rich enough to carry a black amex to be at this shitty little dive bar on St. Patty's Day.
"You can keep it open," his deep rumble travels through my body, making me shiver. Even if he's acting strange, he's got the sexiest voice I've ever heard. Soothing and deep that sends flutters through my core.
