WARNING: Slightly Sensitive Content Ahead.
The supervisor kicked the side of my boot, laughing like the goddamn maniac he was. "Get up, gyal. No one's coming to save you here. The only thing deeper than these tunnels is the silence they keep."
I forced myself up, my legs shaking so violently I had to lean against the soot-stained wall. My ribs screamed with every breath thanks to Seraphina's bodyguards, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow, freezing void in my chest.
Drodd had done this. He'd looked me in the eye and handed me over for a few crumpled bills. He wasn't my blood, but he was the only father I'd ever known.
"Pia whispered in a broken voice. "Wave, he didn't just send us away. He threw us to the monsters. Why don't they love us? Why are we never enough?"
Because we're an orphan, Pia, I thought bitterly, wiping a smear of blood and pink nail polish from my forehead. We aren't family to those people. We're a source of income.
The supervisor led me into a cramped, windowless office at the edge of the male segment. The room smelled of sour sweat, cheap gin, and old oil.
"Clean it," he barked, pointing to the mess of papers and empty bottles. "And don't miss a spot, or I'll have to find... other ways for you to earn that double wage."
I grabbed a rag despite how fast and loud my heart was thudding. I started to wipe down the desk, but then, behind me, the heavy iron bolt of the door slid home with a sharp clack.
The sound echoed in the small room like a gunshot.
I whirled around, the rag falling from my numb fingers. "Why... why did you lock it?"
He didn't answer right away. He just stood there, leaning against the heavy iron with his eyes traveling over me with a disgusting, hungry greed.
"Focus on your work. I told you that you're going to be a very busy wolf, gyal. And I don't like to be interrupted while I'm enjoying my investment."
"I... I need to finish the desk," I stammered, backing away and forcing myself to turn back to the desk, my eyes blurring with tears.
He moved faster than his bloated frame suggested.
SMACK.
The slap was so hard that I hit the floor and my vision blurred. "Focus on your work, gutter-rat," he growled.
He didn't wait for me to get up. He stepped behind me, his heavy, greasy hands gripping my waist to haul me up. I felt the heat of him against my back, the rough fabric of his work pants scratching my skin.
"Drodd was right," he hissed into my ear, his breath smelling like the sewers. "You've got that Alpha-mate face, but a body made for the mines."
He then bent and let his wet mouth press against my collarbone. I squeezed my eyes shut, a sob rising in my throat.
He hooked a finger into the collar of my gran's old dress and yanked at it. The fabric groaned with a sickening rrripp as the silk tore enough to expose the curve of my shoulder and the top of my chest.
I gasped and my hands flew up instantly to cover myself, but he pinned my wrists against the damp rock wall with one hand. His face was now inches from mine, and I felt the wet heat of his breath.
He didn't kiss me—he didn't deserve that word. He pressed his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply, and then his mouth moved to the skin he'd exposed.
It was a wet, sloppy invasion that made my skin crawl with a thousand invisible insects as he suckled on the spot.
His teeth grazed the skin where the Prince had just been whispering threats.
The contrast was a mocking reality. One man wanted to ruin me with power; this one wanted to consume me with filth.
"Waverly, bite him!" Pia screamed, but her voice was shaking. "Bite him and run!"
But I couldn't move. I was paralyzed by the sheer filth of it. He began to drag his tongue across my collarbone, heading lower.
"Such pretty skin," he muttered, his voice husky with lust. "Shame to waste it on pack boys who might not even want a stinky Omega."
His hand reached around, clutching my breast with a bruising grip that made me cry out. He began to fumble with his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle aggravating my hysteria.
Panic finally fully blurred my thinking process. My eyes darted across the desk, searching for anything like a pen, a bottle, a rock. Any damn thing that could help me end this.
There, half-hidden under a stack of manifests, was a rusted letter opener. A dagger in everything but name.
I didn't think about the consequences. As he leaned in for another wet bite at my neck, I grabbed the hilt and drove the metal backward with every ounce of strength I had left.
The blade sank into something soft.
The supervisor let out a choked, gurgling sound. The weight of him vanished as he stumbled back, clutching his side. Dark and hot blood began to seep through his fingers, staining his grease-covered shirt.
I stood there, the rusted metal slick in my hand while my breath came in ragged gasps.
"You... you bitch," he wheezed, his face turning a sickly shade of gray as he slumped against the locked door.
I dropped the dagger. It hit the floor with a dull thud that sounded like the end of the world.
What had I done?
He was a supervisor. A pack official. I was an Omega from the shacks. If he died, they wouldn't just send me to the mines; they'd string me up in the square.
My mind raced to Drodd, to Imogen. They had delivered me to this. They had set the stage for my execution. The people who were supposed to protect me when my parents died had effectively sharpened the blade for my neck.
Cold horror paralyzed me. I wasn't made for being a Queen or a mate. I was a murderer in a torn dress.
My chest was heaving, my hands shaking so hard I thought they might shatter.
"Is he dead?" Pia shrieked. "Waverly, did we kill him? They'll hang us. They'll string us up in the square! We have to go! RUN!"