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Age-gap, slow burn and family dynamics. Read Keepsake for an ugly cry
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Come to college and fall for your best friend. Read Love me, Maddie Mendoza today
A Brazilian living in Ireland, I'm a multi-genre romance author dedicated to writing about the two things you shouldn't skip on: therapy and smut.My leads are strong, flawed, and very open about their mental health struggles. And my heros are understanding, lovable, and often pierced. Omegaverse, paranormal, contemporary or dark. It all ends a delicious slow burn with a lot of heart and a lot of heat.For inquiries please refer to Angie at Lunar Literary Agency
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FLORIDA
CALIFORNIA
ILLINOIS
INDIANA
MICHIGAN
TENNESSEE
NEW YORK
TEXAS
GEORGIA
OKLAHOMA
ALASKA
The beforeWhen the first shot rang through the air, bringing all the hairs on the nape of my neck to stand, I told myself it was just another shitty car rolling down the road.
When the second shot came, it was accompanied by the whimpers and cries of the other women around me, their eyes wide in fear, but I said we were overreacting. We bundled together at the far side of the room, as far from the door as possible. I bit the side of my cheek when Manuela put the baby safely sleeping on a pillow inside the wardrobe, of all places, her hand trembling as she placed it over the worn wood.
As the third shot comes and I hear the masculine voices I don’t recognize, I can’t lie to myself anymore. We are under attack.Shit.Words fail me and pure unadulterated panic takes over. It’s always better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, and right now, the devil I don’t is knocking on our door. ’Cause sure, even if the shooting stops and the pack who keeps us in line are still here and alive, our lives are about to change. They will be stricter about security. We might not even be allowed to go outside.I like the outdoors. I like the sun on my skin. I like the smell of earth when I lie down on the grass. It’s the very little freedom I have, and I treasure it immensely. It’s the only joy I have in this goddamn life.
It was about thirty years ago when things started going south. Omegas weren’t being born anymore, and it slowly became obvious that we were an extinct designation. Packs dissolved and left their Alpha-Omega township in favor of trying their luck among Betas. Well, decent people did that. The other half started breeding Omegas through pain and rape to sell to the highest bidder.Yeah, that’s why we always need to keep an eye on what the other half is doing. As an Omega born in captivity, I have to tell you, it’s never good.Journey shifts closer to me. She’s trembling like a leaf, and through my own fear, I send her a smile, squeezing her hand in mine. I lost count of how many shots we hear and how many voices I don’t recognize mixed with the ones I do. My other hand reaches for Manuela, and the older woman sends me a watery smile. It’s full of lies, of course, just like the one I offered Journey.“Don’t be scared,” she whispers. “We are going to be fine.”They moved us between breeding houses frequently, afraid that we’d grow attached and try to fight back. It’s funny that it never occurred to me there was a way out of this until I met Manuela.They moved me here when I was fifteen, and I met her. She was an extremely lucrative breeding cow, having birthed more than five children at the time, and most of them were Omegas. I wonder if they put me close to her to learn the trade. Whatever their intention was, it backfired.She might have been fertile, but her spirit wasn’t broken. Manuela was born in Alpha-Omega township back in Brazil. She told us all who wanted to listen about life outside this place, about the divine inside each of us.Something changed within me as I took in her words. I grew angry at my situation and resentful of our fate. It hurt to see life beyond what was given to me, and almost at the same time my spirit grew, they started breeding me.I wonder if my body is just as rebellious as my mind because three pregnancies took root, yet I lost them all.The Alpha pack who rapes us started to call me the Poisonous Omega. My body killed everything inside, and fuck, I almost believed them if it wasn’t Manuela talking me back to reality.In the five years I lived under the same roof as her, I believed everything she ever told me.Not today.It doesn’t matter what she says. My body knows something is wrong. The ringing in my ears tells me my life will never be the same. I swallow the bile back, afraid I’m falling too deep into a panic. My eyes fan close, and I tell myself that it will be okay. If I don’t believe in fairy tales, at least I have to believe that I survived so much. I’ll survive whatever this is.Nothing can break me, right? That’s why I’m meaner than they are. I’m the Poisonous Omega. Shit. I wince even as the thought comes barreling through. It physically hurts me when they call me that, but now might be a great time to reclaim it.
I’m made of the hard stuff, I tell myself.The shooting and shouting quiet down, but their steps as they climb the stairs vibrate through the entire house. This place is falling apart. I can always hear people moving around. The whole house moans, and someone whimpers behind me.
I really despise the devil I know, but damn, I’m scared of this new development. I’m terrified.
My mind is so damn creative that it is ready to conjure scenarios worse than what we've already endured. Telling myself I’m a survivor usually helps, but this time I’m overwhelmed with images of physical harm. That’s the only thing they never did to us.Sure, they slap anyone around who talks back. Sometimes they chain one of us when they think we are getting too rowdy. But they never really hurt us, not us. We are merchandise. No one kills the moneymaker, but what if…The what-ifs are going to kill me.A fist slams against the door, and a man I’ve never heard before commands us to open. Well, fuck them. It’s not like we locked ourselves in. I glance at Manuela, hating the fear stamped on her face as she holds me with one hand and the wardrobe with the other. Fuck, I completely forgot we have to think about the baby. A baby who was dropped here and supposedly belongs to one of Manuela’s children, one of the babies she birthed only to be taken from her.
She says they are trying to torture her, to make her compliant. It must have worked because I’ve never seen her so scared as she holds on to the frail wardrobe door as if it’s her lifeline.My eyes squeeze shut, and I decide that this is the best time for turning religious. Maybe if I pray enough, they will go away. Maybe if I promise to be a good person from here on out, a miracle will happen and prevent all this goddamn pain. Maybe if I–They kick the door open.