Good Girl by Sam Hall
Chapter 2
“Punch, punch, kick. Good, good, Cyn. Keep going. Feel the burn and push past it.”
Kai was my trainer, a female alpha standing at over six foot two, with the kind of spare, muscular frame my mother had wanted me to develop. She was a picture of confidence as she walked around me, unable to take the prowl from her step, even in a professional setting like this. Her pale blue eyes took in my every strike of the boxing bag, saw that I was flagging, that the meagre muscle and low testosterone of an omega couldn’t carry me through the workout, but she didn’t relent. No pampering, no coddling the little omega. Well, not so little. I’d kept my mother’s height—not six foot, but close—but my bones, my muscles, my ligaments were all omega and I pushed them hard.
My arms and legs burned with a fire that outmatched the bite of a heat, because there was no pleasure to be had here. We lacked the necessary endorphins that carried a beta or an alpha through a vigorous routine. Instead, it just fucking hurt. I felt the reverberations of the bag down my arms and into my shoulders, felt each thump like a counterattack. But I danced and moved and kept on fighting.
“Good. Very good.”
That faint praise, that alpha growl, just a little, it crept into Kai’s voice as she paced. In some ways, this was as hard for her as it was for me, but we got something out of it. The stupid hard-wired part of me that just bloomed under her encouragement took that tiny bit of a growl and spun it exponentially into something so much bigger… It carried me through the workout, until finally, she said I could stop.
I collapsed into myself, wanting to drop to the floor but knowing how bad that was for my body. Kai rushed over with a towel and some water. She would not budge on that part of the aftercare, that was too much for her nature to bear otherwise, but she pulled away, not patting me down, wiping away the sweat, talking me through my cool down until I was settled again like most alpha trainers tried to do. She knew I had this, but she watched me closely, observing every mouthful of water, every pant of breath until it evened out.
“Omegas have power too,” my therapist insisted, and it was right about now I could see that. This killed Kai, to see me like this, to see an omega like this, but she did it and I paid her well for the privilege.
“So what are we working towards now?” she asked me when I’d caught my breath. “I’m thinking you’re not the ‘get into shape for the Omega Ball’ kinda girl.”
She asked this as she crossed her arms, biceps flexing in a way that pulled my eye. I wasn’t attracted to Kai, hadn’t felt drawn to women ever, but…there was something about strength, an easy competence, confidence that made me sit up and take notice.
“I want to be strong,” I replied, then cracked open another bottle, skolling that.
“But you—”
She stopped herself with a hiss, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, you told me. I guess I wasn’t sure you were serious. An omega…” Her eyes slid up and down me in the proprietorial way alphas did, like you were a possession for them to pick up or set down at will. By the time my teeth tightened, she’d forced her eyes down and to the side. Damn, that was positively servile. But she recovered quickly, her eyes meeting mine head-on.
“So what are you going to do about the Omega Ball? Any luck on getting that dispensation?”
I shook my head, feeling the tension I’d just displaced start to ratchet up again.
“Only due to physical or mental disabilities that impair consent. I’m sure my psychologist would come at the latter, but that means institutionalisation.” I glanced around at the big empty training space. Kai had to clear the place out when I trained, since the scent of an omega was enough to fill the place and drive the largely alpha clientele mad. Part of the prohibitive costs of hiring her went towards the cleaning that had to be done after each session. “I think I’ll stick with the current bullshit. More freedom. So are you going?”
Fuck, why the hell did I say that?
She stiffened slightly, those pretty blue eyes becoming more heavily lidded. “Why do you ask, little omega?”
Always with the ‘little.’ I wasn’t even little, though I guessed compared to their hulking frames, I was, but I stood head-to-head with most betas. I practised what she’d told me, tipping my chin up, holding her gaze, and not looking away, even though every fucking instinct screamed at me to do so.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” she said when she realised, raking her hand through her hair.
“No, don’t be. Always putting my foot in my mouth,” I replied. “Yeah, I’m going. Yes, it’s gonna be a disaster. I’ll end up mated to some mouth breather, even though I just asked where the loo was.”
She snorted at that and then laughed, the tension dropping away to my relief. Keep ’em laughing, trick number two forty-four in my book, 5000 Ways to Keep an Alpha at Bay, yet to be published.
“Hit the showers, omega. I put a new de-scenter in there.”
“Other stuff not hitting the spot?” I asked, walking towards the communal bathroom.
“Oh, it hit the spot, all right. Had a bunch of alphas charging into the women’s change rooms, noses working. The alpha girls put them on their arses, but y’know.”
Fuck, I looked down at my hands, unwinding my wraps, and wondered what the hell I was doing with my life.
“Bill Mum at a higher rate.”
“What? No, it’s fine. I’m already charging her three times my normal rate. The boys, they just need to get some chill or some suppressors.” Kai reached out slowly, knowing what it would do to me and giving me time to pull away. Her hand landed on my shoulder, a comforting weight.
See, it doesn’t have to be that bad, I told myself, even as I listened to my heart rate stampede.
“You’re doing really well, omega.” There, that warm, commanding tone became something else, something affirming, rather than pushing me down on my knees to— “Better than half of my beta ladies, so go and have a shower and I’ll catch you the same time next week. Unless you’ve been swept away by some dashing alpha at a party.”
“God, I hope not,” I snapped back, but I think even Kai heard the lie there.
“It’s your ambivalence that’s the problem,” my therapist had said. “If you truly didn’t want this, you could just keep popping suppressants and find yourself a secure place and live. Instead, you’re caught on the horns of two conflicting desires. That’s what we need to work on.”