Page 1 of The Brooding Alpha’s Mate (Omegas of the Shifter Mafia #9)

Colson

Even on the days I did everything right, I was wrong.

In the wrong place. A sore thumb on a healthy hand. A wolf right in the middle of a lion pride.

I swayed on my feet while folding clothes. I lived on too little food and even less sleep. When I could, I snuck pieces of food here or there. A roll leftover from the table. A sliver of fat from a steak. Whatever I could get.

“Did you make another one of those pies, slave?” Slave was my name according to them. Sometimes wolf. Most of the time the former.

The gruff lion’s voice broke me out of yet another dissociative fantasy. One where my stepbrother hadn’t sold me as a slave to a lion pride. One where my father’s wishes were fulfilled after he died. Leaving me a share of the inheritance to buy myself a farm and lead a quiet life.

One where I’d found an alpha who didn’t treat me anything like the lion now stomping behind me.

“I did. Let me make you a plate.”

The lion scoffed, throwing a bit of spittle onto my thin shirt. “I’m going to eat the whole thing. Why would I need a plate?”

I nodded, knowing any words would only ignite some confrontation in which I would never be right no matter how much I was.

They were right. I was wrong.

Their wishes were my commands.

How did my life turn into this?

“Tonight is poker night. Are all the snacks ready? All the boys are coming over.”

“Yes. Everything is ready.”

Dean, the head beta of this wayward pride, passed by me, a fork and the pie balanced on one hand.

His eyes roamed my form. I didn’t know why.

They called me a filthy wolf any chance they got and the truth was, I was more skeleton than omega physically now.

“Better be.” Before I could sidestep him, he reached around with his free hand and slapped my ass—hard.

“If only you weren’t a wolf, omega. The things I would do to you. ”

To me.

Not with me.

To me.

And they said wolves were feral beasts.

I felt sorry for the omegas of this pride. They were treated almost as badly as me. A commodity. Property sold and bought based on their physical appearance or in my case, part of some bargaining chip.

I didn’t know why my brother had sold me.

I had a feeling it had something to do with a gambling debt since my brother was an obsessive poker player but even so, wasn’t any good at it.

He routinely lost and even when my father was alive, James was constantly begging our dad for loans.

Loans that would never be paid back. We all knew he wouldn’t pay back his debt and would probably need even more money the next time around.

Why my dad made James the executor of his will knowing he was reckless and irresponsible with money made no sense other than James was the elder brother and the alpha of the both of us.

Alpha sons always had the spotlight.

If I ever got out of here, I would never do that to my children. They would all be loved as equally as possible. Differently, but not one less than another.

I’d been the good, responsible son. James was the wild, golden child.

All that rule following and being well-behaved hadn’t worked out so well for me.

The rest of the afternoon, I folded their clothes.

They put on a front, this pride. They were ruthless in what I could tell from their dealings, but they didn’t handle money well.

I bet none of the players who would come here tonight would know that underneath their seven-hundred-dollar suits were boxers bought in a multipack from the general store that had holes and stains in them no matter how much stain remover I used.

The pretzels were from the dollar store.

The beer bought in a keg from one of the big warehouse stores and sold as premium.

The lions had scandalous dealings but the worst of the worst sense for handling their finances. No wonder James was drawn here. Birds of a feather.

As the last pair of jeans was folded and put away, the buzzer on the dryer went off.

Even the appliances were cut rate. The dryer took two cycles to get the clothes dry.

I’d tried everything to fix it, but it was simply an old machine.

And from what I could discern, they couldn’t afford to deal with it.

The gambling was the least of their crimes, from what I’d overheard from the other omegas.

“Are you done?” Chad, another omega came in. The laundry area was one of the few places on the pride lands where there were no cameras and no stealthy lions waiting to pounce on our whispers.

“Yeah. Last load just finished.”

I noticed Chad’s laundry basket was filled with baby clothes and blankets. The scent of soured infant formula filled the air. I’d seen him with baby clothes before.

“That’s a lot of baby clothes,” I said, focusing on taking all the shirts out of the dryer and emptying the lint filter.

“It is.” I turned around to see Chad’s shoulders slump as he stuffed onesies and tiny pairs of pants into the gold-colored washing machine with rusty edges.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He turned and shrugged one shoulder. The omega, much a slave like me, leaned against the machine as the water filled the tub.

“There’s so much we’re asked to ignore. To look the other way.

I haven’t seen any babies, but here I am washing clothes day in and day out.

I haven’t heard the cries of cubs, but I make at least fifty bottles of formula a day and put them in a refrigerator outside a house I’ve never been in.

When I go to the store with some of the lions, we buy diapers, wipes, and sometimes a portable crib or so, but after they are purchased, the only evidence of them being used is the trash we haul out. ”

“We’ve known they have babies somewhere,” I replied, taking a seat on a splintered bench. It was one of the few times during the day that I was allowed to sit. It was a little vacation if you asked my feet.

“I wish I could do something to help them. I don’t see them come in or leave. Do they ever leave? Maybe they eat them. Lions can be maneaters.”

Such a grisly thought. I shuddered, nearly dropping a cheap T-shirt. “No. I can’t…there has to be something else. Trafficking?”

Chad’s chin quivered. This place…no more than a shack with no insulation other than the warmth from the dryer vent that some omega had rerouted to come into the room, was a place where we could release the pent-up emotions we were otherwise not allowed to show. “I don’t know which one is worse.”

“Neither.”

The sound of incoming cars up the long gravel driveway made me perk up and fold faster than ever. The players were coming. I still had to get dressed in my waiter’s outfit and put on a smile. The last part was the worst.

The shirt and pants were scratchy, but the fake smile hurt my face. I wasn’t used to smiling anymore.

The groping from the players wasn’t my favorite either.

The worst were the lashes I got when I didn’t do something right. Didn’t jump to their attention fast enough. Walked when I should’ve run with their drink, their food, their demands.

Every day I went to sleep without fresh wounds on my body was a good one.

I double-stacked the laundry baskets and rushed out, knowing I left a crying Chad behind.

He would probably weep for the babies until the cycle of laundry was done and folded.

I didn’t envy his station, but every omega on these godsforsaken lands had a burden to bear.

None of it was ours to carry, but we had to all the same.

“You almost didn’t make it. We don’t want to lose out on the tips.” Dean slapped the table at the moment some of the players began to walk in. There was a separate part of the house for the poker nights. Fancy tables. Swanky furniture. Clean floors shined by my hands.

I’d rushed to my room and changed just in time to greet the players. My stomach turned at the thought of what they would say to me. Whisper in my ear. Things that no omega ever needed or wanted to hear.

They wanted to buy me like they did chips. Trade me. Slap me on the table as a bet.

I might’ve been sold as a slave by my brother, but I’d be damned if that evolved into prostitution.

Over my dead body.