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Knotty reading!
I curl my toes out of the reach of the grimy, seeking fingers and tighten my grip on the bars above me for better balance as I avoid the arms reaching through my cage. After hours of maintaining my awkward pose, my entire body aches, but I ignore my burning muscles and tingling fingers and focus on the dark thunderclouds gathering on the horizon. Although the sea looks calm near the boat, white-capped waves crash in the distance.
The sun beats down on the tarp stretched over the top of my cage. My knuckles brush against the rough material as it flaps in the hot breeze. Even in the shade, my pale skin throbs as though on the verge of sunburn. The scent of fear, alpha aggression, and death clogs my sinuses.
Sweat runs down my sides, plastering my skimpy dress to my skin. Barely long enough to reach my upper thighs, the thin material offers little protection from the sun and even less from the crowd's leering eyes. My skin crawls as fingers inch closer to my legs. If my cage weren't on a pedestal, I'd have no way to avoid the crazed alphas' hands.
I shift my gaze to the small gathering of people on the upper deck, but avert my eyes when fear skitters down my spine.
The Head Sister, who leads an organization of beta females so expansive yet secretive no one knows their true numbers, watches the proceedings with calculating eyes. Even without direct eye contact, her disapproval spears into my chest.
The bruise around my ankle throbs. I didn't move fast enough earlier, and a man grabbed me. She'll never forgive me, which means I'll feel her wrath after she sells my first heat.
Her instructions were clear: remain untouched and unmarred to bring the highest price.
I failed.
Tears sting the back of my eyes.
Even though my soul aches from loneliness, I hold no hope of filling the void. The Sisters may sell my body time and time again, but the disgusting men swarming the cage solidify what they've told me my entire life: I will not survive underneath an alpha without their protection.
Alphas are too self-centered. Too brutal. Too animalistic.
At least with The Sisters looking over me, I won't die a gruesome death.
I wish the storm would roll in faster.
The pile of dead bodies underneath my cage grows as the crazed, half-starved alphas fight over the chance to reach through the bars. At least the wind and rain of a storm would wash away the worst of the smell.
I don't want to do this anymore. Nausea grips me as fingertips graze my heel.
The ship jerks. Vibrations well up from the bowels of the ship. Violent, white-capped waves smash against the hull on the port side.
Untethered cages topple and slide against the floorboards. Bodies fly. Snarls and screams batter my eardrums.
My knees bash against the side of the cage, but I keep hold of the top bars as the deck swings in the opposite direction.
YOU ARE READING
Stolen by the Submarine
Romance"Beg me. Worship me. Curse me. It's all the same down here in my hell, angel." -Port As the first omega for sale at the slave auction in over a decade, I stand on my pedestal and thank the protective bars of my cage as snarling, half-crazed males le...
