Page 91 of Scent to the Feral Cowboys

Forehead Vein took my silence as acquiescence. He moved slowly around me and towards the back of the plane. I followed closely, tail between my legs in defeat. When I’d relieved myself, I opened the door to find the large Beta standing in the same spot I’d left him, eyes trained at exactly the right height to lock gazes with me when I exited. I shiver ran up my body, from thesoles of my feet to the top of my head. Part of me wondered what this man would do to me, if he wasn’t paid to keep me safe.

When I was back in the seat, belt brutally tightened around my waist, Spider Tattoo came back. He held a compact black zip case. He waved it gently in the air before speaking. “We’ll be in the air in twenty. You will remain seated and compliant during the flight. If you don’t want to cooperate,” he shrugged, unzipping the case and pulling the sides apart to reveal a row of four syringes, all filled with a pale blue liquid, “it’s lights out, no discussion. Just to be on the safe side though…” his voice trailed off. He secured the case, tucked it under his arm, and then pushed back his jacket to reveal a gun and handcuffs.

I thought I might vomit as I saw his hand slowly reach for the gun.

And I didn’t feel any calmer when his fingers closed around the cuffs instead.

“Do the honors, Fridge?” He asked, handing Forehead Vein the restraints.

“My pleasure.”

Forehead Vein was no gentler with the cuffs than he had been when yanking the seatbelt tight to cut into my stomach. The metal bit into my wrists, making my fingers instantly tingle. I didn’t complain. I knew it wouldn’t do any good.

“Now, we got a real surprise for you. Most products just get a letter with their match information. Your buyers wanted you to get a real cinematic introduction to your new home.” Spider tattoo sidled away, towards a button the wall. When he pressed it, a movie screen began lifting into view.

I shifted in the seat, wincing against both the discomfort of the cuffs and the belt.

"Don't you ever get tired of referring to people as products?”

“That’s what you are, darling. And we’re your friendly neighborhood delivery service.” Forehead Vein moved over toa seat across the walkway, collapsing his bulk down against the cushion. He seemed pleased with himself, like he’d said something clever.

“Friendly delivery? You are human traffickers,” I scoffed, not believing these Betas could really think this was just normal business.

“The Eros Institute provides a valuable service matching Alphas and Omegas with exceptional compatibility ratings. Deserves a goddamn world peace prize if you ask me.”

"I would never have consented to this if Eros hadn’t used dirty tricks," I hissed, pulling against my restraints again despite the futility. "Who the hell would say yes to being drugged, kidnapped, and fucking sold?”

He waved away my objections like annoying flies. "The fact that you're an unmatched Omega of breeding age, doing nothing gainful with your life to secure exemption, is consent enough under the Omega Protection Act."

My stomach twisted. The Omega Protection Act had been controversial when it passed five years ago. Supposedly designed to ensure Omegas found suitable matches for their health and well-being, critics had called it legalized trafficking from the beginning. Whilst there were no implicit punishments for Omegas willfully avoiding mating, enough cases had set precedence which made it perfectly legal to force unmatched Omegas into bonding.

I opened my mouth to protest, but Spider Tattoo held up a hand.

“Cooperation now includes keeping your mouth shut,” he said flatly, “I’m not spending an entire flight listening to you bitch and moan.”

A scream pushed up my body, and I had to clamp my teeth together to keep it inside.

“Fantastic,” he nodded, “Good to see you’re trainable.”

Another scream rose, joining forces with the first which I was barely containing.

The lights suddenly lowered. I glanced around quickly, finding Forehead Vein holding a remote. Now everything was dimmed to a soft amber glow, making the cabin dreamlike. Only I knew this wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare.

“Now sit back, stay pretty, and meet your buyers.” Spider Tattoo fiddled with something, and suddenly the screen came to life.

An aerial view filled the display. The camera panned slowly. Sprawling acres of green pastures bordered by fence. Shadowed mountains in the distance, their peaks snow-capped. Peaceful lakes.

Cattle grazing in organized herds and horses running in their paddocks. There were brick red stables, an older one-story home, and glass hothouses reflecting sunlight. The tour terminated at a larger home clad in stone and shaker shingles.

Bold letters scrolled slowly as the perspective lifted to take in the sky, which was almost too blue to be real, dotted with wispy clouds.

‘Sagebrush Ranch in Pinedale, Wyoming welcomes you.’

A deep, warm narrator's voice flowed from hidden speakers. "As one of Wyoming's premier cattle operations, Sagebrush Ranch offers idyllic scenery. Your new home is situated approximately thirty-two miles from the quaint city of Pinedale. Despite its size and rural location, Pinedale boosts international cuisine, comfortable accommodations, and elevated entertainment.”

I began to tune out the video as soon as the narrator said, ‘your new home.’

If I could, I’d clench my hands into fists again. But the cuffs were too tight.