Page 8 of Her Broken Alpha
Fisting the drone girl's ponytail, he dragged her away and pushed her face-down into his seat, bending her so that he could flip up her dress and shove his hardening member into her stiff body.
Small muffled noises escaped her as her face flushed, her mouth open in an “O” of pain and disgust.
The beta used her. Working himself to a frenzy, his hips jerked, his expression ugly and determined while he raped the poor girl. Grunts and snorts preceded some sharp pumping of his hips. Then he was throwing the girl away from him, ordering her back to work as if she’d offended him.
Naya smelled blood. Fear and humiliation were a sour taste on her tongue. Her stomach rolled with bitter, helpless heat. She had done nothing to help. She hadn’t said a word. Her fingers twitched, but she couldn’t lift them from her sides.
She wondered why she wasn't screaming, clawing, and fighting. The horror of it floated around her, misty and untouchable.
She would not live like this—could not live like these drones. She wondered if she grabbed the strigil, would its blunt edge be enough to pierce her throat? Did she have it in her to do that to herself?
The drones patted her down with cloths and put a clean dress on her while Tenbel watched from the corner. It was a gaudy red and purple affair made for a beta woman with a bodice far too small. The fabric was abrasive against her newly scraped, sensitive skin.
She was without undergarments and still damp when the drones slipped a pair of heels on her feet. Tipping to the side when they accidently upset her precarious balance, Naya scooped up the discarded scraper from the wet floor. No one noticed.
The black-robed freaks took up her care again, leading her outside. When they threw her to into a waiting cart, the tool clattered from her weak fingers. Handled like a sack of vegetables and propped up in a seat, she glared at her only weapon on the floor.
One of them, who might have been handsome in the way some young beta males were if his face hadn't been half-covered and his mouth twisted in a sneer, poked at her breasts with it, scraping the edge across her nipple. Even through the fabric of the dress, she felt it. She arched away with a cry, drawing Tenbel's attention.
He smacked the beta hard on the side of his head. "She's not for the likes of you, fool, and if you get your scent on her, he will know. Do you really want to draw his attention?"
Watching, Naya saw the male shrink in fear. What he? Who was this frightening man they spoke of?
The cart jerked into motion, traveling down a street Naya didn't recognize. Tall, dark, and crooked shapes lined the road. She had trouble making them out. Buildings?
An unusually warm sun shone down on her head, drying her loose black waves into a snarled mane of curls. Grateful, she hid behind the familiar curtain.
She peeked through the strands, but recognized only vague shapes and colors. She couldn't focus. The moving cart made her dizzy, her vision blurring once again.
Decay hung in the air, surrounding collections of indistinct figures. She picked out the raw, earthy scent of unwashed alpha, a reminder of her younger brothers. There was shouting, curses. Some of those foul-smelling alphas had caught her scent—something Tenbel had been so keen to preserve and hadn't bothered to disguise in the open cart.
Tenbel, she learned, wasn't a total idiot.
From the head of the open cart, he pressed the button on a mechanical device in his lap. Noise shrieked from the thing. The lust-driven males all fell to their knees, the cart passing by them as they writhed on the ground, toppled where they stood.
Naya covered her ears; the noise made her eyes throb and her teeth hurt. It was much worse for the alphas, but it only slowed them down.
But she’d moved—her body had moved under her command. Whatever was in her system seemed to be wearing off.
She hoped Tenbel planned to get where they were going soon, or Naya wouldn't have to kill herself—this pack of alphas would tear her apart themselves.
The cart stopped in the shade of a big building. Naya wanted to take it in, but they yanked her out. On the stairway she stumbled, and someone threw her over their shoulder instead of dragging her.
Gasping, she tried to squirm away from the wedge right under her ribs. To the beta she must have weighed no more than a sack of flour, which was exactly how he treated her. He bounced and jostled her without any regard for her comfort.
Naya wished she could trip him and took pleasure in the idea of him falling down the stairs and busting his head on the flagstones below.
She wanted to fight, but could not move her arms or fingers to push against the man holding her. Still, the drugs they’d given her—shine and lady's maid, according to the betas who’d come to her cell—were wearing off.
In her family, Naya was the quiet, agreeable, peaceful daughter. She sat in her chair and knitted scarves and sweaters. Mother argued about everything. Her older sister had won awards for her debate technique. Her alpha brothers constantly picked fights.
But today she contemplated death and wished harm on others.
The jarring motion stopped. They’d gone up ten flights of stairs, she thought, or maybe more. Her head had pounded out a painful echo on each step.
She smelled more alphas here, the spicy pepper of their testosterone making her nose twitch. A chill tumbled down her spine and gripped her ribs in a merciless vise.
Her skin felt raw and all the movement gave her that sick, light-headed feeling. And now, suddenly, a prickling heat added to her physical misery. Naya wanted her nest more than anything.
