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They creep closer while I fight the chemicals begging me to let loose. To shatter their toothy smiles.
I won’t give in.
But I never give up.
“Come here, Darling,” the packleader barks, whipping out the dominance omegas can only obey.
Good thing I’m broken.
I don’t have to do shit.
To me, an alpha’s bark is just noise.
“What are you going to do to me?” I ask, dead-voiced.
“They sound the same,” one mutters.
“It’s not her,” the goatee whispers.
“Tell me.” I want to hear them say it.
Alphas like this, they all want the same thing.
“Make you take this knot.” He grabs the front of his pants. “Then we’re gonna take turns mauling that smooth fucking throa—”
I whip my scent the way he tried to whip me with his bark. “Don’t think about my throat.”
The big one swallows his tongue.
One, two, three, four, they drop to their knees.
Control, control, control, I chant.
But rage steamrolls the tinny voice of my conscience.
Redfang bastards.
Between the drug and years of frustration, of always holding back, I’m thiiiiiiiis close to finally saying screw it and dishing the punishment these assholes deserve.
“Good, good. Push your limits,” Brandon’s satisfied speaker voice is the ice bucket that yoinks me from the brink.
With superhuman willpower, I swallow the rage.
I’ll never give him what he wants.
But these ass-wipes don’t get to walk away that easy. I still have to subdue them to pass Brandon’s contrived little test.
So, I kick the packleader in the chest.
He topples, skull bouncing off concrete. I crouch to grip his neck, pinching his scent glands and overloading him with just enough pheromone to make his nose drip blood.
He whines—the high, pained sound so out of place on that big alpha body.
Bet the last omega he cornered made the same noise.
Men like him—men like them—they never stop.
They have to be stopped before they go after some innocent omega who’ll be handcuffed by their bark.
