BOOTY HUNTER
Contents
Booty Hunter
DESCRIPTION
FREE PREQUEL
CHAPTER ONE - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWO - LYRA
CHAPTER THREE - SERPINT
CHAPTER FOUR - LYRA
CHAPTER FIVE - SERPINT
CHAPTER SIX - LYRA
CHAPTER SEVEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER EIGHT - LYRA
CHAPTER NINE - SERPINT
CHAPTER TEN - LYRA
CHAPTER ELEVEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWLEVE - LYRA
CHAPTER THIRTEEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER FOURTEEN - LYRA
CHAPTER FIFTEEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - LYRA
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - LYRA
CHAPTER NINETEEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWENTY - LYRA
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - LYRA
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR - LYRA
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - LYRA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT - LYRA
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE - SERPINT
CHAPTER THIRTY - LYRA
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE - SERPINT
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO - LYRA
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE - SERPINT
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR - LYRA
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - SERPINT
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX - LYRA
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - SERPINT
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT - LYRA
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE - SERPINT
CHAPTER FORTY - LYRA
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE - SERPINT
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO - LYRA
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE - SERPINT
EPILOGUE - REAL ALCOR
END OF BOOK SHIT
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Edited by RJ Locksley
Cover Design: JA Huss
Cover Photo Sara Eirew
Copyright © 2019 by JA Huss
All rights reserved.
ISBN-978-1-944475-96-3
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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DESCRIPTION
KC Cross is the pen name of New York Times bestselling author, JA Huss.
Welcome to Harem Station where every perversion is for sale and pleasure is the only objective.
Bounty hunter, Serpint, has just returned to Harem Station with a prize addition to his brother’s elite collection of Cygnian princesses. But Serpint sacrificed a lot to bring this little gift home and now all he wants is some no-strings sex with a simple, obedient girl and a bottle of whiskey.
Enter Princess Lyra. She’s any filthy-minded rebel’s one-night-stand erotic dream. If you don’t mind her bad attitude and lack of… luster.
Not quite the obedient girl Serpint was craving. But Cygnian princesses are hard to pass up. Even one with dark secrets. Because they have a very special, very specific, sexual talent.
They glow when they climax.
Lyra thinks she’s one of the strong ones. If anyone can resist an overzealous alpha like Serpint, it’s her. But his touch makes her light up like the sun. And she has never been with an Akeelian before…
They have two—yes two—super big, super thick, super long… *****
How long can she resist that?
Booty Hunter is the first book in Harem Station standalone series bursting with outlaw alien alphas with extra appendages, runaway princesses with erotic surprises, and a whole new world of secrets, mystery, and sex. Each book is about 80,000 words and *comes* with a glowing HEA.
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Twenty years before Serpint brought Queen Corla home to Harem Station she met Crux for the very first time. They were destined to be soul mates but could never be together. All they had was just one night.
This is the story of Crux and Corla and how all the outlaw brothers came to reside on Harem Station. Meant to be read after Booty Hunter and before Big Dicker, it contains a star-crossed love story and secrets that are as deep and dark as space itself.
CHAPTER ONE - SERPINT
As soon as we exit the gate there is nothing to see but the unimaginable beauty of Harem Station. Backlit by a reddish-purple nebula when entering from gate one and the Seven Sisters from gate two, it looks like a piece of Heaven no matter how you get here.
Hundreds of spacecraft orbit, waiting for clearance to dock on the lowest levels of the spinning ring. Thousands of outlaws, assassins, and hunters inside losing and winning money in the casinos, or fucking girls in one of the many harems, or drinking themselves stupid as they forget their recent losses or celebrate their wins.
But it wasn’t always that way.
When we first found the place it was an abandoned mystery left over from some long-ago golden age of people who have since all disappeared. We weren’t the first to come along and take notice of the empty station. The gates were already here. But everyone knew better than to try and travel through them.
It was owned and operated by a single artificial intelligence that claimed to be tens of thousands of years old. The discovery team who first noticed the AI’s station hundreds of years ago were able to send back a single report warning others to stay away before they disappeared, never to be heard from again.
When we first arrived it was nothing but servo bots whirring about in eerie, dark silence. No sound except the continuous clicking and humming of the cleaning bots as they polished and re-polished the gleaming obsidian floors.
In other words… it was creepy as fuck.
It wasn’t that we were particularly brave when we arrived, we were just desperate. And just kids. Crux was the oldest at sixteen and Draden and I were the youngest at twelve. The rest were somewhere in between.
We’d done something horrible. Something unforgivable. We had to go somewhere because we couldn’t go home to the Akeelian System ever again. From what I remember of that trip, we had an invitation of sorts. Some code that would get us through the aggressive security system on the far side of the gate and allow us to dock.
The AI was charismatic and cordial. But we’d read the report of the first contact team and were expecting that.
We weren’t expecting what came next.
Apparently even an AI can get bored after a few millennia. He—ALCOR is his name—had been alone for too long and was craving interaction, so we made a deal. We could stay if we connected him to the galactic web and let him rejoin civilization.
We didn’t ask anyone if it was a good idea, we just said yes. Tray—resident evil genius of our depraved gang of seven—happily obliged and several hundred spins later the AI was content and happy and we had a new home.
He was the one who really built this place, but we w
ere the ones who benefitted.
Call it luck, call it fate, call it whatever the fuck you want.
Point is, it’s ours now.
And it’s magnificent.
There are millions of people on the station at any given time. Most live here full-time, working in the service industry or as AI enforcers. But we get tourists. Not families with kids looking for a beach. No. We get the outlaws. Gunslingers passing through, femme fatales who need a little break, ownerless bots and cyborgs who maybe can’t go home anymore because they had an accident with their defense systems… people like that. In fact, the Draco Assassin Association had its headquarters here.
So yeah. We’re that kind of place.
But it’s a helluva nice city with ALCOR in charge. A mile-wide city center along the entire perimeter of the ring filled with parks, and buildings, and there’s even several rollercoasters.
And every time I come out one of those gates and see this place… well, my heart just fills with happiness. We all feel that way.
Except for today.
Because there is no we on my ship as I pilot towards my private lower-level docking bay and ease the Booty Hunter inside.
Draden is dead. Our bot, Ceres, blown up. Even my ship is damaged. So damaged that there is no autopilot right now and I have to concentrate so I don’t kill any of the dock workers floating around inside my bay as I bring the Booty to rest.
And even though my cargo on ice is none other than the Cygnian princess Corla herself, a princess Crux has been desperate to get his hands all over for the better part of two Akeelian decades, I just can’t make myself care.
Draden is dead. Ceres, blown up. Booty is damaged.
I will join the many who drink themselves stupid over recent losses tonight.
Crux and Tray wait for me on the other side of the airlock. I stare at them through Booty’s side window as I pull on my helmet, pressurize it, and wait for the door to open and the stairs to unfold.
Booty says, “Sa-a-a-a-fe to exit-t-t-t,” in a damaged, stuttering female voice that just… hurts me inside.
“Don’t worry, Boots. Crux has a team to fix you up good as new. I’ll stop by in a few hours and make sure they’re treating you right.”
“Th-a-a-ank you, Serpint-t-t-t,” she replies.
“It’s the least I can do,” I say into the helmet mic. The very least I can do.
I descend, limping from the damage I took back in Cetus System, and enter the first of two airlocks, then take off my helmet once it’s pressurized. I smell like sweat and battle. Dried blood caked on my head, plastering my dark blond hair to my skull.
Crux immediately brings me in for one of those brotherly half-hugs that remind me of our early days when he handed them out too often in the wake of our many losses.
He says nothing and neither do I.
Tray just stares at me. Frowning.
He doesn’t say anything either.
There is nothing to say. The seven of us made it all these years—hundreds of thousands of spins around this station for two decades—intact. And now one of us is gone.
And it’s my fault.
Crux claps me on the shoulder as we leave the airlock and take the elevator up to his residential floor at the top of the station. He’s murmuring orders under his breath, sub-vocalizing for people to extract the princess from the medical cell inside Booty and bring her up to the princess harem.
We exit the elevator and a few bots float up next to me, pulling on the tabs and seals that hold my suit together. One of them takes my helmet. Less than a minute later I’m out of the suit, standing shirtless and bruised inside the medical scanner.
“Two broken ribs, hairline fracture in your left femur, and a concussion,” ALCOR states in his matter-of-fact omnipresent voice. “You need a recovery pod.”
“Fuck that,” I say, stepping out of the scanner. “I need a fucking shower, a bottle of whiskey, and a girl.”
“I do not recommend—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what you recommend, AL.” He hates it when I call him AL. “Draden is dead. Ceres was blown up. And Booty can barely talk. I don’t even deserve a sun-damned medical pod.”
“OK,” Crux says to a bot floating by his shoulder. “Stay with him, 749. Make sure he doesn’t die on us.”
The bot bleeps out a litany of chirps and whistles, a reply that I don’t understand, and then dutifully follows me past the training session going on in the harem room.
Crux keeps about a dozen Cygnian princesses here at any one time. Reserved for those who pass through Harem Station on a high note. Most of the rebels who stop here will never be able to afford one hour with these girls, let alone a full night. But for those who can—for those who pull off that big job and come back drowning in credits—they’re here. Ready and waiting like perfect little dolls dressed up like queens.
Each one has a brilliant tiara on her head. Sparkling with jewels that match her skimpy lingerie. Each one reclines on velvet pillows and bots hover around them offering bubbly drinks and exotic fruit that comes from distant planets in far-away systems.
There are about half a dozen men here now. Plus one woman, who seems to have found a good match in the princess in blue with sapphires sparkling on her neck, and the cyborg harem master, ready to show these potential customers just what these Cygnian girls can do and why they’re worth the price.
I recognize most of the girls but there are some new faces. Every now and then a trillionaire comes through and makes a purchase. Which is why we have me and the Booty Hunter. Got to replace those princesses somehow.
But there’s a new girl bound to the punishment wall on the far side of the harem room. She is naked, filthy, and gleaming with sweat. Bright pink welts criss-cross her thighs from the cyborg master’s whip.
She’s been a bad, bad girl.
Some take to their new lives easily. Some are even happy. Let’s face it, if you’re a Cygnian princess and you end up at Harem Station it’s because you were thrown out of your castle back home. There is no possible way for anyone to get past the security in the Cygnian system. They are outcasts.
Bad, bad girls and this is just the place for them.
But this one doesn’t seem to feel that way.
She glares at me as I pass by, then tugs on her bindings. I lock eyes with her and she spits in my direction.
I almost laugh, but look over my shoulder instead. Just to make sure the master has seen this.
He has. And he’s coming this way, his cyborg face blank. The only indication he’s upset is his single vision sensor—just a slash of red light across his forehead—quickly scanning back and forth. And his fingers are transforming into a whip.
I stop and wait, hating myself for the pleasure I’ll get watching her be punished, but then again, who gives a fuck about this reluctant princess?
Draden is dead. Ceres, blown up. Booty, damaged.
And she tried to spit on me.
I didn’t do a single goddamned thing to this girl and she wanted to spit on me.
So you know what? Fuck her.
She asked for this.
CHAPTER TWO - LYRA
The infamous bounty hunter, Serpint.
I’ve heard of him. Hell, every Cygnian princess has heard of him. His is the one face we never want to see.
I haven’t. Until now.
So ironic that I’m here, captive in the penthouse of Harem Station, and Serpint wasn’t the bounty hunter who brought me in.
It was a nobody. Not even an Akeelian. Just some dirty old hunter who was long past his day.
How did things go so wrong?
Forget that, Lyra. The only question needing an answer is… How will you get out of here?
I really fucked up. I really, really, really fucked things up.
I don’t even know if my sister, Nyleena, is still alive. She has no clue I’ve been taken. She’s stuck back on Bull Station, which, I have come to realize, is far, far worse than anything Har
em Station will hand me.
This is luxury. Cygnian princesses are treated like the royalty we are.
Were. Since anyone outside Cygnian System is an outcast, Nyleena and I included.
Still. I could do worse than this place.
When we arrived on Bull I had a specific directive. Just one fucking task, Lyra, and you had to go all rogue. Now Nyleena is stuck there and I’m here. I knew I should not have trusted that old pirate. I knew it, but I did it anyway. And somehow I was stuck inside a cryogenic pod, transported here, and I woke up with the cyborg harem master standing over me, frowning.
“You don’t look like a Cygnian princess,” he’d said. Which is true. I don’t look anything like a Cygnian princess. But there’s a reason for that.
My eyes rolled up in disgust at the cyborg master as he made his doubts clear. As if this machine-man had any right to judge me.
So then I was hauled out of the capsule and dragged to the medical station where they poked and prodded me and did the “royal test.”
I’m so humiliated. So, so, so fucking humiliated.
He did it in front of the whole harem. And the customers!
Bastard.
I put up a good fight, of course. I am bound to the wall now because I have a bad attitude and a filthy mouth. I’ve already struck a curious customer who’d never seen the “royal test” in person, kicked the cyborg master in his groin as he came at me with his vibrating fingers, and spit on the infamous Serpint after all that degradation was over.
What the hell was I thinking?
I could play along. I should play along. Just be one of those pampered girls sitting on velvet cushions being fed bubbly wine and pink tushfruit.
But I am not the kind of former princess who just gives up and goes along. I am bound to this wall without clothing because I simply cannot allow myself to forget that my little sister is stuck back on Bull and I must get out of here at all costs and save her!
I don’t think anyone here gives a shit that me saving her is the only thing that matters in this whole galaxy right now, but it’s true.