Doppelgänger: Hidden Gems Dark Omegaverse Series Book One Read online

  Even after my parents died, I fought on. I gleaned any information I could from the aging library. Every day more of those assigned to the outpost died. The last person died a few days before my decision to escape. Launching the body into the stratosphere brought tears to my eyes, tears that I knew were wasted. At least the dead felt no pain. They did not experience the overwhelming sense of despair that grew within me knowing that Withershear Garrison was forsaken. Not just the Garrison, we all were forsaken. I refused to die.

  The search for employment began the day I arrived in the city. It was a tough market. The ID bracelet marked me as a Beta. As such, my needs were relegated to the end of the line in front of Alphas who easily stepped in front of me. That brings me to today, my desperate need for a job that would pay the rent and keep a little food on the table until I found a permanent income stream.

  The instant I arrived at TR Designs, Tanya whisked me into a room set aside for hair and makeup. There was no time to tour the luxurious high rise. The only opportunity I had to admire the building came when I stood on the sidewalk outside. With my eyes fixed on the upper reaches of the steel and mirrored glass of the skyscraper, I was in awe. Not once in my boring, humdrum life assigned to an outpost did I expect to visit—let alone work in—a building like this.

  A makeup artist drew my attention to the present. An area set up with a massive mirror, table, and chairs held everything it would take for the finishing touches needed prior to the photo shoot. Makeup. Hair. Wardrobe. When the crew, all Betas judging by their scent, completed their work, I glanced in the mirror with awe.

  Surely this could not be me. Not the poor girl struggling to find a way in the cold, heartless city with no pity for the unfortunate, for Betas who could not fight the status quo. The money I earned from this photoshoot would give me a place to live. It would feed me while I found a real job.

  The crowning glory came when a designer assisted me in donning a stunning sapphire evening gown encrusted with crystals. Everyone left the room when their tasks were done. It gave me a few minutes alone with Tanya to appreciate the beautiful dress. The evening gown and silver heels matched Tanya’s outfit. A second glance in the mirror made me question the reality of it all. Was this really me? This beautiful thing clad in an expensive gown that cost more than it would take for me to live for a year?

  I could only hope the bubble of ecstasy did not burst any time soon. I needed to feel like someone, even if only for a few hours. Someone that mattered. Even if only when pretending to be Tanya Russo for a couple of hours.

  I stood there for several minutes. Shaking hands smoothed the expensive dress over my hips. A glance in the mirror confirmed that Tanya and I were, for the moment at least, identical twins.

  “You’re stunning, Hailey. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you doing this for me,” Tanya emphasized with a grin. “Would you mind heading out to the patio? It’s through this door, all the way at the end of the corridor and to the right through another door. The photographer will be waiting to do some test shots. I’ll be out as soon as I take an important phone call.”

  I followed Tanya’s directions without question. The indicated path led me to a private patio. A security gate led to an alley between TR Designs and another high rise. All sparkling glass and metal, lights twinkling in the upper reaches. I wondered what the view would look like from that vantage point. The photographer must have been delayed. I stood on the patio alone, taking the time to calm the jitters that began to grow in my gut. Unaccustomed to walking in heels, I moved carefully to one end of the patio looking out over the city. More twinkling lights against a midnight sky brought a sense of peace to ease the nervousness.

  A shooting star overhead brought a smile. It was the first of its kind I can remember seeing in my twenty-one years in this world. The sight gave me hope. “I wish I may, I wish I might. I wish upon this star tonight. Please, let my boring, pathetic life get better. I’m tired of being a poor Beta all alone.” The lie concealing what I really was fell from my lips so convincingly that I believed it for a moment.

  No sooner had the words escaped than a hand clamped over my mouth. An arm pulled me tight against a body made of solid muscle. A hood smothered out the faint light. The sting of a needle in one arm followed by darkness came before I could struggle to be free.

  *****

  Blinking rapidly to clear my vision, I faded into awareness. The hood remained over my head, making it impossible to see anything other than darkness. A gag kept me from doing more than groaning. It was cold here, wherever that was. With a mounting sense of horror, I realized my arms stretched above my head. Something metal, cuffs perhaps, secured my ankles and wrists to something in the floor and ceiling. At least I assumed it was a ceiling. A brief struggle to be free assured me the metal cuffs would not give way.

  A sob of frustration mixed with fear burst free. I knew someone had kidnapped me. A hundred scattered thoughts raced through my mind. Trafficking in our world was common. Betas often fell into the hands of such traffickers. They were sold into prostitution or forced labor camps. The thought of being forced into prostitution horrified me. Tears poured down my face. It was hopeless. No one would come for me. There was no one to care. I would die in servitude, forced to give my body to strangers.

  At least I still wore the evening gown. Having my body covered gave me a weak sense of security. It wasn’t much, but I would hold onto it for as long as I could.

  A door opened, shoes clicking on the floor. I knew from the sound that the shoes belonged to a man. He walked close enough that I could smell his cologne. Oh, gods no! Not his scent. It was musky, mixed with something else. Alpha pheromones. Strong Alpha pheromones by the scent. And I was no expert, having only been around Betas at the outpost. I prayed the heat suppressant would continue to work until I could escape or convince the person who kidnapped me to let me go.

  Silence stretched interminably, drawing my nerves as taut as a violin string.

  The man spoke, a baritone rumble that came at my ear at the same moment as his hand touched the bare skin of my chest exposed by the evening gown’s neckline. “It’s good you’re awake, Tanya. I want you to know why you’re being punished. I know everything. Every dirty thing you’ve done. Richard has paid. It’s time you did as well.”

  The hand caught the front of the dress. A vicious yank tore it straight down the middle to my waist. My scream of terror was muffled by the gag. A scream of protest revealing my identity that failed to move past the barrier against my mouth. A protest to correct the horrible mistaken identity. Talking did no good. The words were garbled, indecipherable.

  His hand moved to the zipper of the dress, easing it down. The mutilated dress fell to the floor in a whispering puddle of fabric once the zipper was released.

  “White panties? That’s never been your style, Tanya. Wouldn’t whore red suit you better? You wore red for Richard, didn’t you? I have the photographs.”

  I could feel the warmth of his breath against my shoulder.

  “Perhaps I should claim you? That wouldn’t do any good, though, given the fact you’ve masqueraded as an Omega when you and I both know you’re a Beta. You’ll never have an estrus. I will never have the heir I so desperately desire.”

  He walked away, the shoes clicking on what I knew was a stone floor. A drawer opened, the distinctive sound of wood sliding against wood easily decipherable. He returned to stand by my side. Something caressed my breasts, moving downward to nudge between my thighs. Thin. Cool. Leathery. It was a whip of some kind. I knew he intended on punishing me. A punishment I did not deserve. One meant for Tanya Russo.

  The nudging brought an instinctive response. My legs clamped together. That action brought instant punishment. The hard bite of the whip on my thighs was painful, but not unbearable. His fingers curled in the lacy panties. Another brutal tug shredded the fabric. His brute strength brought another fear. Only a massive alpha could shred cloth that easily.

  Complete
ly naked and bound, unable to escape, I prayed for death. The prayer was unanswered. Forsaken by the gods, I sobbed. Molten tears streamed down my face. The first sting of the whip on my back brought another muffled scream. It hurt more than I could have imagined.

  “Your betrayal is extensive. Imagine how that morphs the punishment.”

  Another half dozen blows made my body twist instinctively to escape. None would be had. Regardless of how hard I cried, what muffled words I screamed behind the gag, he was intent on hurting me.

  Blood trickled down my back. My head sagged. My entire body was covered in perspiration. Tremors set in when another half dozen lashes of the whip nearly brought me to the brink of unconsciousness. I would not be given that reprieve. I paid for Tanya’s crimes. Crimes I knew nothing about.

  A pause came in the torment. I could hear his rapid breathing. I prayed he was done now.

  No. There would be no reprieve. Biting blows of the whip continued until I clung to consciousness. The click of shackles being released broke through the haze of pain. I fell into his arms, sagging with horror. He was huge. My feet dangled uselessly above the floor. Bulging muscles giving him the strength to handle me as a child would a doll. He carelessly tossed me onto a mattress.

  “Think about what you’ve done, Tanya. I’ll be back soon to see if your penance is sufficient.”

  Clicking shoes marked his steps. Each grew fainter, farther away. I allowed darkness to claim me only when the door opening and closing assured me that he was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Baron, Twenty Years Earlier

  “We must pack your things, Baron, your father will be here soon.”

  Instead of soothing me, easing the worries that wormed through my gut, my mother’s words increased the fear. My father, a man I remembered seeing only a few times in my ten years, would be here soon to take me away.

  “I don’t want to go!” I cried, fighting hard to hold back the tears that choked me. It was a losing battle.

  My mother held me in her arms, a hand cradling my head while the other stroked my back. She was the perfect Omega mother. Caring. Gentle. Devoted. The smell of her perfume comforted me. Gardenias mixed with something exotic. I knew it was expensive, the one luxury she permitted herself to own.

  “We cannot fight the way things are. The traditions are in place for a reason. One day you will be at the helm of the organization. Your father will be a bad memory.” She kissed my forehead before pulling away. “Cara mia, we must be ready when he comes. We do not want him to be angry.”

  “I don’t care if he’s angry. I hate him! He left us when we needed him. Why, mama? Why did he go without a word?”

  Hatred rose inside me thinking of that day. I was only five when my father left. There were no parting words. I remembered a muffled argument between my parents. My mother’s tears made the event excruciatingly painful for me. A faint memory came of my father walking out with a suitcase full of clothing.

  Since that day, not a single form of communication came from my father. There were no birthday cards, Christmas gifts, or father-son time. We struggled without my father’s financial support. My mother worked two jobs to keep food on the table. Even as her health declined, she continued to work. I knew she ignored problems that were serious.

  A knock came at the door. My mother rushed to pack the suitcase. I noted that she made sure to include my favorite jeans and shirts. Deep in my gut, I knew it was her way of saying goodbye. I would never see her again.

  The knock came again.

  My mother rushed to the front door to open it. Dark and foreboding in a black suit with a starched white shirt and black tie, my father came inside. A man with impressive physical stature and power on the island. He kept the black pea coat on, a message to my mother that he would not be staying long. Two other Alphas accompanied him. Men a head shorter than my father, but nonetheless powerful and deadly. Their presence alone filled the entryway with darkness.

  “Arturo, it’s good to see you. Baron is ready. Would you care for something to drink?” My mother motioned to the tiny living room where a threadbare couch and chair sat.

  “Where is my son, Calista?” Arturo demanded. Even his voice brooked no arguments. It was clad in steel, the undertones making me shiver as I hid behind the bedroom door listening.

  “I had hoped you would come in for a few minutes, perhaps talk. Baron barely knows who you are. He’s afraid to go with you. Please, Arturo, at least have mercy on your son,” my mother begged, her voice choked with tears.

  “Baron! Get in here now,” Arturo shouted, his voice alone a force to be reckoned with. “Don’t make me come get you.”

  My father’s voice filled my bowels with the icy grip of fear. At once I felt hopeless and nauseated, knowing that after today, things would change. Not for the better. No, things would be cold, hard, brutal. I would be forced to grow up before it was time. I took the suitcase in one hand before forcing myself to walk down the hallway to where my father stood.

  “Father, I’m ready to go.” My voice was much stronger than I felt. I swore in that moment to find a way to become more powerful than my father. I would never fear him again.

  It was the first lesson I learned. Never let the enemy know your emotions through your voice, especially not fear or grief. Keep emotions pushed down, always. Unless it was rage. Rage could be set free at any moment, at my will.

  Mother knelt in front of me, her arms holding me tight. One last time. I knew I would never see her again, at least not until I was an adult, or my father died. I prayed the old man’s death would come soon. It was a prayer to the gods I repeated nightly.

  “Be brave and strong, cara mia. I’ve always loved you. Come visit me if you can.” The kiss mother pressed against my cheek was the last I would experience.

  Arturo caught my arm, jerking me toward the door. “Let’s go, Baron. It’s time you learned how to be a man.”

  “Forgive me, Arturo. Please, one last chance,” my mother sobbed, fingers catching at the sleeve of my father’s pea coat.

  The slap rang out, so very loud in the small entryway. I swore it echoed through my ears. The red mark appeared on my mother’s cheek, tears increasing in earnest. I imagined what my mother felt. Embarrassment? Fear? Anger?

  The man who called himself my father grinned before speaking. “Had you not played the whore with Leonardo Quinn, Calista, there would be mercy in my heart. Perhaps willingness to take you back. When you chose to sleep with him instead of your husband, your mate, my love for you died. Baron will not be back. Make no effort to see him or interfere. You have been warned.”

  The scrape of Arturo’s leather dress shoes signaled our departure. Before the door closed, I called out, praying she would hear, “Goodbye, mama. I love you!”

  The sound of my mother’s sobs accompanied me to the limousine. Arturo made no effort to comfort me. An Alpha like my father would never comfort his child. I would never forgive my father for what he did. It did not matter. I soon learned how to hold back my emotions, to become the cold, hard man it took to run the organization. One day I swore I would rule the island.

  ****

  My transition into manhood came the very next day. Arturo called me to the study where he sat with half a dozen men wearing expensive suits and leather dress shoes. Some were Alphas, the others were Betas who chose to condone everything my father did. The study smelled of cigars.

  “Ah, here’s my boy!” Arturo grinned when I came through the door. With a wave of his hand, he beckoned for me to come to him. I obeyed without question. Failure would result in punishment, a punishment I was certain would be violent or degrading. Perhaps both. “What do you think, boys? Can we whip him into shape? His mother raised a pussy. Isn’t that right, Baron?”

  I knew to remain silent. Already in the twenty-four hours I lived with my father, I knew antagonizing the man resulted in the worst. “Yes, sir.”

  The crowd of men cackled, clapping one another on the back.
They took their enjoyment from my embarrassment.

  “Here, you wanna be a man, start with a cigar.” Arturo handed the cigar to me, motioning for me to take a puff. “Go on, be a man.”

  I took a puff of the cigar, shivering with revulsion to feel the end made moist by my father’s lips against mine. The fragrant smoke burned my lungs and eyes. I coughed, sputtered, and nearly became sick. The crowd of men only laughed louder.

  “You don’t look so good, Baron. Here, take a drink of whiskey. It’ll make you feel better.” Arturo’s grin reminded me of the devil’s teeth I once saw in a painting by Paul Klee. Jagged. Hungry. Merciless. That grin would be a nightmare for years to come.

  The whiskey burned going down. I gagged and sputtered, doing my best to keep the fiery liquid in my stomach. To throw up now would lead to more embarrassment, perhaps even punishment. As cruel as my father’s interactions were now, I could only imagine what punishment for vomiting would be like.

  By the time I left the study that evening, my head swirled drunkenly. My lungs and eyes burned. I held on, climbing the stairway to my room, praying I would not vomit on the polished stone floor, or worse yet, on the carpeted steps. I barely made it to the small bathroom beside my bedroom. I vomited miserably, head swimming, stomach aching. Sick from head to toe, I fell on the bed fully clothed. No one came to check on me. My mother would have spent the night sitting by my bed in a chair. Such was the level of devotion she gave to her only son. I would see no devotion from my father.

  The next day I began to plot methods of escaping or killing my father. Those were the only options available. My father’s death or escape. I was not certain which I found most appealing.