1. Like Animals

Chapter One

LIKE ANIMALS

Indy

“ T his one.”

I pull my tattered blanket tighter around my shoulders, curling into myself as I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep.

Heavy footsteps slow a few stalls down, the counter’s voice gruff and low as he rattles off a number, he and the herder sharing a brief and hushed conversation.

“Her.”

They stop completely for a few moments, closer to me even though they’re on the other side of the room, pausing for another stern chat before they begin to move again.

I hate this.

Everything about Harden Ranch is terrible, it’s horrifying and fatal but actually listening to the men in charge decide who’s going to essentially live or die? It’s the worst part, and I hate it the most.

But I don’t know anything different.

I don’t know anything different from the fear and the hate, from our day in and day out but I’ve spent the better part of thirty-two years trying not to let them consume me.

Trying in vain.

“That’s four, sir.”

The herder mumbles a few obscenities before blowing out a frustrated breath. “One stable, one row. He’s going to be pissed. How many more are there?”

“Not many,” the counter says as they stop across from my stall. “We moved most of them into this building when we realized there was a pattern present, specifically within a group from Generation K.”

My generation.

I was one of the ones they moved, me and maybe a handful of others. Ripped from what little comfort we had in the middle of the night, taken from our familiar stalls and thrown into new ones. Ones that smelled like other girls, stale sweat, and dry semen.

The entire building smells like that, honestly, but it’s an abrupt and rude awakening when you’re yanked from what is mostly your own scent and tossed into something that isn’t.

It makes every inch of my skin crawl, smelling the girls who were here before me, imagining what they went through while they were sitting where I am now. I’ve had to stop myself so many times from envisioning their last days, from digging deeper to pick up the fear that is no doubt saturating the remnants of their scent. Knowing the girl that had this very stall before me is gone in one way or another is enough to have me on edge but if I allow myself to think about what happened to her, I’ll go crazy.

Considering my anxiety is at an all-time high from simply living in a space that smells like someone else, I can’t do that. Especially since the reason I was yanked from my old stall is something that could give me a panic attack on its own.

I’ve been fortunate to avoid it as long as I have but I knew it was coming. I’d be stupid to think I could put it off forever, that I’d be special for some reason and while I might be a lot of things, stupid isn’t one of them. Especially in this place.

Being stupid gets you killed.

But the herder and the counter—we don’t get to know their names—don’t care about that, no one here does. They don’t care about anything except what we are and even that’s brief. We’re numbered omegas, inventoried and branded at birth or arrival, and after that we aren’t seen as anything other than a body to rut. No names, no faces, no thoughts or feelings. We’re just forced heat and manufactured perfume, and a hole full of phony slick.

We spend all of our time praying that we do what they want and keep them happy no matter how much we hate it, or at least I do, and when the terrifying reality of not doing that sinks in, our prayers turn to pleas.

Begging and pleading with God and the universe that my number doesn’t get called.

Then it did.

I still wasn’t prepared, and that almost makes it harder to accept the inevitable along with being ripped from my safe space and thrown into the unknown.

The stall I had before wasn’t much, but it was mine.

It smelled like me, it felt like mine. I did what I could to make it comfortable; I moved the straw into one corner, tried padding it with the two pillows I’d inherited. The comforter I had was big enough to tear into two pieces, one I would wrap up in, the other I managed to hook onto slivers of wood to form a canopy of sorts.

It was the closest I could get to having my own space in a stall I was transferred to when…

I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and shake my head.

Don’t think about that.

Don’t think about her.

Pulling my knees closer to my chest, I try to push those memories down, to hide them away so I don’t keep reliving that moment.

The moment my entire world was turned upside down then taken from me.

“Here, this one next.”

My eyes snap open and dart to the door of my stall as the lock begins to turn, as the chains rattle and clank against wood. It rolls along the track slowly, the rusted iron screeching and scraping as the tiny wheels turn.

I press my back into the corner as I curl into myself tighter than before, quickly closing my eyes in hopes that maybe if they think I’m asleep they’ll leave me alone.

I know they won’t.

“Nice try,” the herder says as he steps into my stall. “I saw you looking at us. Not that it matters, I’ll do what I have to whether you’re awake or not.”

My stomach pitches at his words, the way I can practically feel them against my skin.

Which is when I remember I’m still bundled up.

I hurry to push my blanket off my shoulders, exposing everything from the waist up then brush my hair out of my face. Blinking a few times, I try to make myself a little more presentable, to show that maybe I’m not like some of the other girls.

I’m not used up.

The herder squats in front of me as the counter walks in. “Do you want me to get everything ready?”

“Probably should,” the herder says with a nod as he reaches out and grips my cheeks, tilting my head back and forth while he looks over my face. “This one has good genes, born and bred here. If we can figure out what her problem is I know Harden will want to keep her. Open.”

My jaw drops instinctively, more out of habit than anything else and as he examines my tongue and teeth, sticking some sort of metal stick and a flashlight in my mouth, I watch the counter do what we said he would and try like hell to keep my heart rate under control.

The counter brushes the straw and hay from the middle of the room, kicking as much to the side as possible in order to clear the hidden door. The door he crouches down to unlock, producing a large ring of keys from his hip before sticking one in and twisting it in sync with my insides. It opens with a pop and hiss, groaning in resistance as the counter gets to his feet and lifts before sliding it into the floor until it disappears.

A cuff goes around my arm as I continue to watch, squeezing tightly as the counter steps on a button and the short platform rises from underneath the floor. The stockade comes up through the wood like the undead, a ghoul entering my stall so these men can do whatever they want with me.

“BP is high,” the herder says with a chuckle as he glances over his shoulder then meets my eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s just a checkup tonight.”

That does very little to put me at ease, so I’ll worry all I want.

I’m used to these checkups , and to far worse than them, but this one feels different.

It’s the first one I’ve had since I transferred in here and I have a feeling that holds some sort of significance.

After rattling off my vital signs and the status of my teeth to the counter, the man in front of me stands, grabbing my arm and jerking me up with him. “On the platform.”

With a deep breath, I do what I’m told and walk my completely naked body onto the short platform.

They stand side by side in front of me, the herder’s shrewd eyes scanning me slowly from head to toe while the counter scribbles on his clipboard.

“Posture is good.” The herder pushes my shoulders back, so my spine is straight. “Balance is good.” He feels behind my ears and along the sides of my neck, under my jaw and down toward my collarbones, nodding and mumbling to the counter the entire time.

I barely fight my gasp as he roughly gropes my left breast, his fingers poking and prodding my flesh, squeezing where its fullest before pinching and twisting my nipple. I hold my breath as he does the same to my right, lingering a little too long over that nipple, almost brushing it in a way that would be intimate if it was almost any other scenario.

The Herder smirks at me as he makes eye contact. “No abnormalities in either breast.” He follows the curve of them as his hands move up toward my armpits, lifting my arms above my head before pressing along the sides of my breasts again.

I try to focus on the wall above his shoulder as he gropes me under the guise of an exam, calming my racing heart as he follows my sides down to the curve of my hips. He watches my face as he reaches around me, flattening one hand above my butt as the other moves to my stomach.

He watches me the entire time he palpitates my abdomen, as he slowly lowers his hand to my pubic bone then drags it back up between my breasts, repeating it a few times as if he’s teasing me, as if I actually like him touching me.

I could never like that or anything about this horrible place.

The herder moves down my body, his grimy hands rubbing and squeezing under my butt all the way down to my feet then back up again and as he reaches out to brace himself on the platform, he leans in until his nose is almost level with my vagina, and he breathes in so deeply, I flinch.

“Everything seems to be on the up and up,” the herder says as he gets to his feet. “So far, anyway.”

Before he has to ask, I turn around and face the stockade, taking two steps toward it at the same time the counter lifts the top. My hands start to shake as I place my wrists in the lower half of the small holes, my pulse pounding in my ears as I bend at the waist and rest my throat in the bottom of the larger hole in between them.

The top of the stockade comes down with a clap, the lock snapping into place before the counter disappears completely. I hear the rickety gears above me start to turn, clicking as each one brings the leather strap closer and as soon as I feel it touch my lower back, my legs are spread, and my butt is lifted just enough for them to loop it around my pelvis and clasp it into place.

“A little higher, I think,” the herder says as I’m presented to him and the counter, no shred of dignity left for me to cling to while they put me in prime rutting position. The cuffs go around my ankles as soon as they’re done and after a few agonizingly slow seconds go by, the herder shoves his cold and sticky fingers inside me all the way to his knuckles.

He twists them, spreading and scissoring them a few times before he adds a third. They widen repeatedly, moving in and out of my vagina until he can add a fourth. My body resisting the abrupt entry, desperately trying to force him out as my flesh stings and burns around his fingers.

My guts lurch with each of his movements, bile creeping up my throat while my heart slams against my ribs. I don’t close my eyes, though. No, I keep staring at the bit of wall and floor in front of me, clenching my jaw as the herder probes and moves inside my body, shoving his hand in as far as it allows, touching me in the most disgusting way possible.

Tears form along my lower lashes as he slaps my butt and yanks his hand from my vagina, wiping the gel on the other cheek before smacking that one, too. “Give it to her, she’s not ready.”

Fear slices through my chest, burying itself deep, its roots wrapping so tightly around my heart my vision starts to blur. I jump as the cold wet alcohol swab wipes away some of the gel then brace myself as the counter pinches a chunk of my butt cheek before stabbing a needle into it.

He pushes the plunger down slowly, forcing what feels like razor blades coated in lava into my veins, the horrible serum immediately racing through my body. It hits me so fast that I get lightheaded, and the room starts to spin but I keep telling myself this part is temporary.

Once the serum settles, I won’t feel so bad and I might have a few days of peace before things get worse. It usually takes three or four for it to fully work, for this terrible cocktail of garbage to force a heat more brutal than any I could imagine and I’ll try to rest as much as I can before…

A second needle pierces my flesh and muscle, more of the liquid fire being shot into my body and I can’t quiet the yelp of pain that escapes me as it’s emptied then pulled free.

“No choice, red,” the herder says as he slaps my ass right over where they gave me the shots, laughing a little when I whimper. “This is your last chance and if you don’t produce any results this time.” He tisks as one finger traces my ass then barely pushes inside my vagina before sliding to my clit. “Well, you know what happens.” The herder presses down on it, and I gag, the man laughing again as he pulls his hand away. “And I would absolutely hate to see such a perfect specimen end up just like her mommy.”

One single tear rolls down my cheek at his words, at the memory they bring racing to the forefront of my mind and as he finishes dictating his findings to the counter, a wave of doom crashes into me and steals my breath.

My breath I pray never comes back because I’d rather suffocate right here, right now than experience what my mother went through.

Somehow, I know I’m not that lucky.