ONE
The nauseating stench of the Petrika colony filled Devix’s nostrils when he stepped out from the vessel bay.It was a solid tangible wall of cloying greed, shit, bile, and the familiar scent of whores’ desperate arousal.
It was something he’d wished never to smell again.Yet, there he was, breathing in the same atmosphere as criminals, rapists, and degenerates from all species across the Quadrants.
I am no better than they are,Devix reminded himself silently, observing his surroundings with training that had long been ingrained within him.He had lived on Petrika once, after all, for two full rotations after his exile.Two rotations that he hardly remembered, as consumed as he’d been by rage and betrayal and self-hatred and strong Brew.
Petrika was a winding maze for such a small colony.Filth-covered roads wound around crooked housing stacks and seedy brothels, leading towards darkened alleys and stairs covered in piss that concealed hidden underground fighting rings, where Devix had made most of his coins for Brew.The colony was surprisingly quiet for that time of the span, but the few species that milled around cut Devix a wide berth.
For good reason.He was a Luxirian warrior—or at least, he had been—the most feared, brutal, and well-trained mercenaries in all the Quadrants.Their battles were legendary, their training program intense, their skills highly sought after by warring factions of races.
What made Devix even more fearsome was his shorn hair, cut close to his scalp, baring his black, curving horns that protected his hard skull.A weathered Krevorag accidentally stepped in his path, looked up, and hissed in surprise before darting away.Shorn hair on a Luxirian warrior meant only one thing: exile.
And an exiled Luxirian equalled unpredictability.An exiled Luxirian meant danger and questionable morals.
It was why he’d been paid good coin to fight in the underground rings when he’d lived there.Different species wanted the exciting show of an unpredictable, possiblyunhingedLuxirian fight.And Devix had shown them just how dirty he could be.
The tavern tucked behind atevvaxden was his destination.It was the meeting point for a hand-off.His strong strides ate up the distance quickly.This would be his last job for his employer, the same employer that had taken him from Petrika, who had seen him fighting in the underground one night and had offered him a second chance.
The debt owed to Sarkon hung heavy over Devix’s head, but it was almost fully repaid.Once he picked up and delivered Sarkon’s newly bought pleasure slave to add to his harem, he would be free.
The tavern door appeared when Devix turned the corner.Through it, he could hear the sounds of drunks, of mating, of loud, sickening jeers.Devix closed his eyes.
One more job, he reminded himself.One more and I can live in peace on Rozun.
Opening his eyes, he steeled himself and then walked into the tavern.
* * *
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Cara obeyed her own silent commands.One moment to the next, connected only by her breaths…that was her focus.Just one moment to the next.
It was her reality.Ever since she’d woken up, naked and caged, it had been her reality.Ever since she’d realized her captors weren’thuman, that she’d been taken from her own bed by fuckingaliens, it had been her reality.Although during her imprisonment, she’d certainly questioned her own sanity.
Breathe in.
Cara took another steady pull of air, but the horrible stench made her want to retch.She sat, frozen, on a hard wooden bench, next to the alien that had taken her from her steel cage, that had hauled her onto a spaceship before bringing her to this planet, to this disgusting place.Her wrists were bound in heavy metal chains and her entire body, from head-to-toe, was cloaked in a brown fabric that smelled like piss.A large hood shrouded her face, concealing her features in shadow, allowing none to see her.
Cara was partially thankful for that.Her alien captor had brought her to a bar of some kind.Cara had seen her far share of bars, but none quite likethat.Aliens, of all different species, milled around, sloshing a foul-smelling bronze-colored alcohol over the rims of their silver goblets, becoming more inebriated by the second, her captor included.Cara recognized certain species.She’d seen them during her imprisonment, at the Pit.The bar was small, made even smaller by the press of strange bodies and the constant buzzing drone of languages and sounds she didn’t understand.
Sweat beaded down her forehead from the suffocating heat, from the sickening roil in her stomach.Her eyes constantly flickered from one alien to the next.She was always aware, always watching, always breathing.
Her captor’s gaze kept straying to the steel door that opened every now and again to allow another alien entry.Cara already suspected he was waiting for someone.She already knew it had something to do withher.Why else would he win her from the fights at the Pit, drag her all the way to that planet, and make her sit next to him in a bar for seeminglyhours, watching him get drunker and drunker?
Cara’s throat felt like she’d swallowed glue when she asked him the same question again, for the fifth time since he’d won her.Each time she’d asked it, she’d gotten a slap across the face that rattled her brain.
But she always kept trying.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked right then, keeping her voice quiet.Perhaps he was drunk enough that he would actually answer that time.
Cara knew he spoke English.All the aliens she’d come into contact with at the Pit had all spoken English.None had told herhowthey learned to speak it, however, and she, nor any of the other captive human women, had asked.
“Keep your mouth shut, human whore,” her captor slurred, leering down at her from his towering height.He craned his neck and his rancid breath was hot as it lingered in her hood.“Or I will stuff it full with my cock.”
Breathe out.
