Page 10 of The Violence of Love (The Black Market Omega #2)

Autry

I’m so thankful Charlie is with me.

Everything about this place is scary and weird. The sights, the smells, even the distant voices of the alphas right outside the tent. Despite not being able to see them, I feel like I’m surrounded.

“It’s okay,” Charlie whispers from somewhere behind me. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

I nod, fighting the urge to turn and look at him. To lean into his soft presence and soak up his calming scent.

Instead, I focus on the fairy lights strung along the ceiling. They’re wrapped around all the tent poles, throwing off a dreamy, orange glow. I stare at them, watching the light pulse and shimmer like I’m looking through a kaleidoscope.

How long will these drugs stay in my system?

“5221?” A stiff beta in a tight black dress calls out the next number. She’s making sure we’re all here. She looks at the dozen or so omegas around me, waiting patiently for someone to respond.

“Here.” A tiny red-haired omega raises her hand. She shivers as she lowers it, hugging herself tight. Her pale pink nightie pulls, riding up in the back and showing off half her bottom. I glance away, ashamed of looking.

Everything about this feels so wrong.

When I was attending the academy, I went to many meet-and-greets with potential packs, but this is so different. Those events were like garden parties. This is absolutely scary.

The air is tense, filled with the faint trace of fear and distress.

Instead of bubbling over with excitement, the omegas around me tug at their thick, leather collars and pull at the hem of their nighties.

Some rest their hands on their chests to hide their cleavage.

I don’t bother to hide mine. There’s no point.

I’ve been a DD since I was sixteen. Even when I was on the run, and lost a ton of weight, my boobs refused to get any smaller.

“Autry,” Charlie whispers in my ear. His voice is so deep and warm, fanning over my exposed shoulder. “That’s you.”

I glance at him over my shoulder, looking up at his handsome face. The tiny lights dance in his dark brown eyes, making my heart quicken. My goodness, he’s beautiful.

“Autry,” he says my name even softer, then gives a pointed look past me.

“5223?” The stiff beta practically yells, making me jerk.

“Here.” I raise my hand, and her eyes snap to my face.

“5223?” She glances at her clipboard, then back at me.

“Yes.” I try to nod, but the stiff collar around my neck makes it difficult. “That’s me.” I wrap my hand around the plastic bracelet on my wrist, trying to hide the number Charlie changed. I hope they don’t check it.

“This way.” A blonde beta appears next to me. She has a tight, polite look on her face as she struggles to tuck a stack of papers under her arm.

I turn to follow her, moving a little too fast. The room tilts sideways for a moment, and my knees go weak, but I catch myself on the back of the chair. The blonde beta doesn’t even blink. She grips my elbow and guides me forward, like she’s done this a hundred times. Maybe she has.

I wish Charlie could stay with me. But I know he can’t. He snuck in with me, claiming to be additional medical staff for the event. It would look weird if he stayed glued to my side. But I can feel the heat of his gaze on my back, and that’s enough. He promised. He said we’d pull this off.

That I’d find an alpha. The right kind. And then Charlie would make sure the rest happens. We’re a team.

“Right over here.” The blonde beta guides me to the other side of the tent.

Her voice is sharp but not unkind. She leads me through a small opening in the tent wall, past another cluster of fairy lights that feel like stars dripping from the ceiling.

My fingers twitch again—God, I’d love to reach up and touch one.

Everything feels so soft here. So bright and quiet and wrong. Like a lullaby that hides a monster under the bed.

“This is your station.” The beta walks me to a little sitting area. It’s cozy, like one of those vintage reading rooms I always dreamed about when I was a kid. There’s a fat green velvet armchair and a little table with a stack of brochures and a vase of fake white roses.

I eye the armchair and start to sit—my legs are tired—but the beta stops me with a hand on my wrist.

“Oh, no, sweetie.” The beta takes my hand, forcing me to stand back up. “You can lean on the arm of the chair, but you can’t sit in it.”

Well, that’s stupid.

“Why not?” I blink, confused.

“You’ll want to show off your curves.” She helps position me on the arm of the chair, placing my hands in my lap, then moving my feet so my legs are slightly bent and on full display.

“Stick your chest out a bit.” She places her hand on the small of my back, making my body move the way she wants.

“Okay.” She takes a step back, looking me up and down. “You’re perfect.” She beams.

I smile faintly. My body hums with warmth—maybe from the drugs, maybe from her praise. It’s stupid how good it feels.

Then her face turns serious again. “Now remember, if you find a pack you like?—”

“I don’t want a pack,” I whisper, sharper than I meant to. “Just one alpha.” Wait. I think that was a secret.

“Okay, sweetie.” She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask why. “If you find one you like, encourage him to bid. Make eye contact. Lean forward a little. Smile.”

I nod, barely hearing her anymore.

Because all I’m thinking is: Find a single alpha. Charlie will do the rest.

I don’t know what “the rest” is. I probably should’ve asked. But my brain was full of glitter and syrup earlier when he explained it, and all I could do was nod and trust him.

I still do.

Even if the lights are melting a little now. Even if my hands feel far away from my arms. Even if my chest is tight with nerves, and my pulse is trying to fly out of my skin .

I’ll do this.

For Charlie.

Because we deserve to be together.

The stiff beta appears again, checking the lineup of girls one last time. She adjusts the angle of a few lamps, moves an omega’s chin slightly, then turns and opens the flap of the tent.

Several shadows move outside—tall, broad shapes. The scent of them floods the tent, musk and mint and pine, sharp and overwhelming.

I freeze.

But then I remember Charlie’s voice: “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

So I do.

And when the first alpha steps through the tent flap, I start looking.

One by one.

Focus, Autry. Find a single alpha. Get his number. Make Charlie proud.

The next few alphas filter in slowly—some are older, some young and cocky. Some make eye contact with me, then quickly look away, clearly unsure what to do with the girl parked like a decorative pillow on the edge of a chair.

That’s fine. I’m not looking for the most confident or the richest.

I’m looking for the most alone.

“Single alphas only,” I mutter under my breath like a chant. “Single. Alpha. Only.” The words taste like cotton candy in my mouth—sweet and stupid—but I keep repeating them anyway. They help keep me tethered.

My fingers twitch where they rest on my lap, itching to move. I want to reach back and feel Charlie’s hand in mine, or maybe grab the brochure and hold it up like a sign that says “No Pack? Come talk to me!” I chuckle softly at that thought, then straighten my shoulders.

This is not the academy, I remind myself. This is not a garden party. This is a strategy. One that ends with me, in Charlie’s arms, safe and owned and claimed.

I can do this.

Soft voices fill the tent as alphas move from one girl to the next. Two stroll past me, their eyes dragging across my body before drifting elsewhere. They don’t stop. They don’t even pretend to be interested.

A flicker of rejection stings my chest. Do I not look nice?

I tug at the hem of my nightie, smoothing it down, and lift my chin. I try to look unbothered. Poised. Desirable.

Around me, omegas bat their lashes and laugh politely, but it all feels like a performance underwater. The scents in the air—sharp, sweet, bitter, heavy—tangle around me like vines, suffocating. And my head pounds.

Then a voice cuts through it. Deep. Clear. Not part of the background noise.

“What’s your name?”

I snap to attention, the haze in my mind instantly burned away like fog in sunlight. My blood rushes, hot and sharp.

“Autry,” I say, back straight, shoulders drawn.

The alpha in front of me is tall, striking.

Red hair swept back from a smooth forehead, blue eyes the color of a winter lake.

He studies me, his eyes lingering on my exposed cleavage.

“That’s a lovely name,” he says, but it feels rehearsed.

His gaze flicks up and down like he’s inspecting something—not someone.

“Thank you,” I murmur, ducking my head. The collar digs into my skin as I move, stiff and too tight. I wince.

“Dom,” he offers, pressing a hand to his chest like he’s giving a fake little bow. His white polo stretches across thick pecs that twitch on cue.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I try to catch his scent, to anchor myself to something in this space, but there’s too much in the air. It’s all muddled.

“How old are you?” Dom asks, but before I can answer, he leans down and grabs one of the papers off the little table.

I squint at the writing, trying to read it.

It’s the one-sheet the nurses filled out when I first got here.

The paper lists my age, health and general physical characteristics.

It’s like a resale tag on a refurbished appliance.

I should be offended to be put on display like furniture, but they did the same thing at my old academy.

They called our one-sheets “accolades,” but they were the same thing: Age, weight, height, health, and a list of all the class certifications we acquired.

It was amazing how many alphas were impressed by ballroom dancing.

“You’re twenty-six?” Dom blurts out as his eyes snap to my face. He looks me up and down, almost as if shocked that an omega could live that long.