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Sex moans.
High, fake, pornstar cries that are so irritating, pure disgust wakes me from a near coma.
I clench my jaw to keep silent, slowly peeking from crusty eyes as I come back online, aches and pains checking in one-by-one.
Arm feels chewed.
My knees burn.
I’m folded up, legs tucked under my belly, and elbows braced on jagged ground—one arm extra bloody.
Wrists bound so tight I can’t feel my fingers.
Stiffness says I’ve been in the position for a while. But when I stealthily shift, there’s nowhere to go.
I’m in a fucking cage.
A dog crate, on hands and knees.
I risk opening my eyes.
I’m eye-level with a bed frame, and the rocking mattress is the source of the ongoing squeals and thumping I don’t want to know who’s creating.
Have to move while they’re busy.
Ignoring the instinct to panic—because this is really fucking bad—I shift my weight and try to loosen the rope binding my wrists.
The cage gives an angry creak so sharp, I freeze.
Mistake.
The bed stops rocking.
“She’s awake.” A familiar female voice hisses. Then a pair of legs slides down, and I taste chipotle bile.
It’s not my first time bleeding, staring down these bony ankles.
Noelle rattles my cage and laughs.
Two more feet thump to the floor, but these are new.
A man’s narrow, lightly hairy calves.
The room’s thick with omega sex, but when he stops in front of the cage, I’m blindsided in molted snake scale leather that stops my fucking lungs.
Dominik.
“Lilah Darling,” he purrs my name. “You’re a hard omega to catch.”
My heart jackhammers, but I keep my mouth shut and my eyes on the ground. Been here before.
I’ll only hurt worse if I speak up.
Need to wait.
Bide my time.
Let them think I’m broken.
