BOOTY HUNTER Read online

But the only time you know they have two cocks is right after they come. Because one requires the other to emerge. Which means fucking an Akeelian is never quick or easy.

  “I was brought here,” I snarl at him, trying to pull off an attitude. But my eyes are stuck on his body. And even though I’ve already seen him shirtless, he was sweaty and dirty and now he’s clean, and smells like a fucking planet.

  For sun’s sake. Why? Why did I mouth off up in the harem room? Surely, if I had just kept my trap shut I’d have ended up somewhere better than here. With him.

  He slides his jaw to the side, gritting his teeth, clearly as irritated at my presence in his quarters as I am at being here. “Why were you brought here?”

  “I dunno. Maybe the note floating in front of my tits explains the situation. I’m a fucking slave, remember? And I’m magnetically bound to this… this stupid wall. Obviously I didn’t put myself here.”

  He and his little hovering bot walk towards me. Naked. Because of course he is. His two cocks swinging between his legs like… like a fucking alpha Akeelian who obviously just jerked off in his shower because that’s the only way both his stupid, super-long, super-hard, super-thick cocks would be visible.

  Gross.

  His hand swipes through the glowing green letters emblazoned in front of my breasts, dismissing it. Then he snatches the note from the ribbon and opens up what is not really a note, but more like a thick packet of printed papers.

  Paper. Who the hell uses paper?

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says, rubbing two fingers alongside his temple.

  He didn’t bother to shave, I notice, then internally chastise myself for noticing. But also because now that he’s had a shower and washed the blood off, the stubble is mostly… attractive.

  “What?” I ask. “What do they say?” I lean forward as far as I can, but a sharp sting shoots through my body, forcing me to recoil back. “Shock bracelets?” I say, so pissed off. “You’ve bound me in shock bracelets?”

  It’s not just bracelets, either. They are on my ankles and my legs are spread—not quite wide open, but near enough. So a second shock slides up my legs too.

  “Stop shocking me!”

  “You’re shocking yourself, princess.” Then he tilts his head a little and adds. “If you really are a princess.”

  “You have some nerve,” I say, then regret it. Maybe if I wasn’t a princess I could get out if here? Gain my freedom and go save Nyleena?

  I know for a fact that Harem Station only keeps Cygnian princesses as captive slaves. All the other harem rooms are filled with girls who get paid.

  There is no paycheck in my future, and no saving my sister, if I continue to tell the truth about what I am.

  “I was stolen,” I say, literally thinking on my feet. “Right from my bed. For no good reason.”

  He lifts his eyebrow at me, tilting his chin down, so he’s looking at me with one of those condescending expressions that say, You’re full of shit. “You glowed downstairs, princess. Not well, I admit.”

  Fuck him.

  “But a glow is a glow. You’re a half-breed at the very least.”

  Half-breed. As if there was such a thing.

  There is no way to be a half-breed Cygnian princess. You either are one, or you’re not. And I am one. But maybe I don’t have to be?

  I still have my disguise. And it’s still partially working. If I could just get another dose of palladium antagonist I could recharge it. I could make the glow disappear long enough to get the hell out of here.

  Palladium can be found in lots of things. Circuits, mostly. It’s all over ships. In the wires and just a little scrape off the outer coating of a hull could get me enough to make another dose of antagonist.

  In fact, what if… what if I could convince this moron that I’ve been pretending to be a Cygnian princess instead of the other way around?

  Oh, Lyra. Sometimes you’re a genius.

  So I say, “There’s no such thing as a half-breed princess.”

  He squints his eyes at me, understanding that this declaration comes with a ‘but.’

  “But one can… pretend to be a princess. If they have the right concoction. In fact,” I say, becoming braver as my lie fully forms in my head, “I bet half of those ‘Cygnian princesses’ up in that special harem room are fakes.” I do air quotes with my fingers as I say this. Even though my arms are spread wide so it’s kinda pointless.

  His eyes dart to each of my hands in quick succession, noting my futile attempt at air quotes, then he laughs. Loud. And says, “You’re full of shit. We do DNA tests, princess. And you can’t fake a glow.”

  He’s right. There is no way to fake a glow. You either have luminous flux or you don’t. DNA tests are easy. Everyone fakes those these days. Which is why they have that humiliating glow test in the first place.

  But lies are cool like that. Once you have a good one it’s easy to build on. “You can fake a glow. I know, because I did it. You noticed it, right? How dull it was? How… lackluster it was? How no one in that room paid any attention to me.”

  Except him, I don’t add.

  “I was trying to get into the Cygnian System and I thought it would be the perfect disguise.”

  He laughs again. Even louder. “Why the hell would you do that? Bunch of bloodthirsty, antisocial motherfuckers, they are.”

  Like he has any room to talk. Akeelians are known for their murderous ways. Not to mention their desire for sexual dominance. Bunch of alpha-assholes is what they are. So he’s got no room for his high-and-mighty attitude.

  “Because they stole my sister. That’s why.”

  It’s… a little bit of truth. Kinda.

  He huffs. And even though I don’t want to, I can’t help myself. I look down at his two cocks. Still very erect, still very ready. Because they are doing that tremble thing. That shaking thing they are known to do. Like they can sense a female and they are eager to be inside her.

  This makes him laugh. “See something you like, princess?”

  “I told you,” I say, forcing myself to look into his eyes. Deep, purple-violet eyes. I don’t understand why Akeelians have to be so damn attractive. Why do they get neon eyes in brilliant colors? Eyes that can transfix a girl in seconds and have her begging to be fucked by their two cocks?

  My gaze redirects over his shoulder so I don’t give him the satisfaction of catching me in a moment of weakness, and I continue. “I’m not a princess. I made a concoction out of palladium and took it. It doesn’t work very well, as you saw upstairs. But it works well enough to trick dumbasses like you Akeelians. Obviously.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “Am I? Then how do you explain my glow, or lack thereof? Hmmm?”

  “What is it made of, this concoction? Exactly?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

  He raises his eyebrows again. “You’re going to try to extort me?” He holds up the thick stack of papers. “When I’m holding your life in my hands?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean…” He stops to laugh. “I mean I own you now, Lyra. Crux and ALCOR signed you over to me. I quite literally hold your life in my hands.”

  “Ridiculous! You cannot own a person!”

  “And yet… it appears that I do.” He tosses the papers onto a nearby table and turns his back, flashing a set of perfectly sculpted shoulder muscles as he walks down the hallway. “Bot,” he calls. “Get her ready for me. And bring me that bottle of whiskey. I don’t need a glass.”

  The bot says, “Very well. Mr. Serpint. I will do that. Right away, sir!”

  But then the little bot hesitates, hovering. Turning its front side to me, then towards the hallway, like it has a question.

  “What?” I ask it.

  “Which do you think would make him happier? Fully restraining you first? Or delivering the bottle?”

  I roll my eyes. These 700 series bots aren’t the most clever. “Whiskey,” I say. “It’s always whisk
ey.”

  Which is another lie. It’s always sex with an Akeelian male. But I’m not in any hurry to add more restraints.

  I’m already bound by my feet and wrists.

  Where else could restraints go?

  CHAPTER FIVE - SERPINT

  The bot delivers the whiskey and I drink it straight from the bottle as I wait for my hard-on to ease up enough to pull on a pair of pants.

  Fucking curse of the Akeelian cocks. Always so goddamned demanding.

  Once that’s sorted I take the bottle over to my data station and pull on my boots, staring at the screen as I absently fasten them.

  “Come online, come online, come online, for fuck’s sake!”

  But the word OFFLINE just flashes at me in bright red letters.

  I hear the girl protesting as the bot gets her ready. Gasping and swearing once she realized what all that entails.

  I smile a little. Can’t help it. She’s a very bad princess.

  Is she a princess? Is she telling the truth about some crazy palladium concoction she whipped up to make herself glow?

  I tap the screen and pull up the galactic web, doing a search called: What makes Cygnian princesses glow?

  Several million responses pop up—must be a popular search—and I tap the first one and begin to read.

  Cygnian princesses require a constant supplement of palladium xenide in their system at all times in order to glow. Palladium xenide can be found in tushberries, passion limes, youthfruit, and sparkling wines made from these fruits.

  Huh. No wonder Crux is always shoving fruit and champagne down their throats. They need it.

  I should probably know this already since I’m a fucking shareholder in the only Cygnian princess harem in the galaxy outside their home system, but I’ve never been into them. They are all so… girly. So bright and beautiful. And honestly, who cares if they glow when they come? Ya know? So they get off for a long time. Doesn’t do anything for me.

  I like girls with a little spirit in them. Tough ones. Mouthy ones. Ones who can drink, and swear, and don’t need to eat passion limes all day long. I like a girl who can take care of herself and maybe, if I find myself in an uneven fight, help out a little.

  Like this one, I reluctantly admit. Maybe she’s not a real princess? Maybe she does have some secret concoction? And maybe there is some covert plan cooked up by women who think they can fool us?

  Crux will want to know about this. Our whole business could be at stake.

  Lyra is right about one thing. You can’t really own a person. And we don’t really own them up in the penthouse harem. We just… indenture them for five hundred spins once they get here.

  Yes, it’s shady on all kinds of levels, but the law is the law. If you find yourself on Harem Station without entry papers you must pay your way in through servitude. And since all these princesses came to us through unscrupulous bounty hunters—like myself—they all find themselves here under those conditions.

  We give them a choice, of course.

  They are welcome to go serve their sentences down on the lower levels. Harems, or restaurants, or whatever the hell job they want. But they won’t find conditions like this down there.

  There’s a very good reason outlaws come here for rest and respite. It’s because nobody fucks with us. The Prime Navy doesn’t even patrol here. Not even when they should. ALCOR might be annoying as hell, but he’s built himself a formidable security force over the past several thousand years. They patrol both sides of our gates and their motto is, “Shoot everyone unless they have the proper entrance signal.”

  We are probably better protected than the stupid Cygnians.

  Besides, we practice equal-opportunity entrapment. We indenture anyone who enters without permission, not just princesses and women. Hell, ALCOR even indentures the sentient ships. That’s how I ended up with Booty. And look, she’s happy.

  Isn’t she?

  I stare at the blinking OFFLINE message and sigh.

  But my point is… these princesses aren’t really slaves and they’re not really owned, either. It’s just the best deal they’re ever gonna get so why not make the most of it?

  Plus, Crux sweetens his pot to the point where they can’t refuse. Hell, they don’t want to refuse. The princess harem is pure luxury. And we don’t force them to have sex with the customers. We just encourage them to find one suitable to their tastes and have a good time while their every need is taken care of. Then, when their five hundred spins are up and they’ve paid their entrance fee, we let them indenture themselves to a new host. We take half the dowry, of course. But they still make out with millions of credits.

  Or they could stay with us. Take fifty percent of each customer and call this place home.

  And if they just want to walk away penniless, we let them do that too.

  None of them even consider that.

  It’s a good deal if you’re an outcast princess who can’t go home. There are far worse people in this galaxy than us.

  It’s wrong. I get it. But who cares? We’re a bunch of fucking outlaws, what do they expect?

  Besides, almost no one can afford these girls. It’s not like they have to deal with the riff-raff down on the lower levels. They only meet the best people. The richest outlaws. The smartest, most ruthless ones. And if any of those assholes—because they are all assholes—lays one meaty finger on them or hurts them in any way, ALCOR just blips them out of existence.

  Even after they leave us.

  ALCOR might be a dick but he’s one hell of a protector when it comes to these Cygnian girls. They are all fitted with neural devices with a direct link to the ultimate alpha male. He might not be able to personally leave the station but he can upload a copy of himself into any ship he wants and take care of business.

  And he has done that for them. Many times.

  So yeah, I’m not gonna feel guilty about what we do here. Not for one second.

  The bot appears in my bedroom doorway, bleeping out beeps and chirps that make no sense. But I get the feeling he’s saying something along the lines of, She’s ready.

  So I push away from the data center and stand up, my ribs still aching, my leg still weaker than it should be, but mostly feeling… better.

  I don’t deserve to feel better. Not when Draden is dead, Ceres was blown up, and fucking Booty, the only female in this entire galaxy who has never let me down, is down.

  And it’s all my fault.

  The bot chirps again, this time with more enthusiasm.

  “I’m coming,” I growl, pulling on a shirt. Because I am. I need to get up to the docking bay and take care of my ship.

  She’s the only thing I have left.

  CHAPTER SIX - LYRA

  OK. Note to self. Never presume that wrists and ankles are the only anatomical parts that can be restrained by an Akeelian alpha-asshole.

  “Ow! Ow!”

  “So sorry,” the little bot chirps. “It’s just a very tender spot.”

  “Which means,” I hiss through clenched teeth, “they’re not supposed to have magnetic bars clamped to them. This is—ow!—barbaric!”

  My poor nipples. Oh, they will never be the same. You wouldn’t think that two teeny-tiny magnetic bars could apply so much pressure, but holy mother of suns, these fucking things have some power behind them!

  “It’ll be over soon, don’t worry. It goes fast.”

  “What?” I blink three times. “What goes fast? This is it, right? This is the restraint?”

  “Oh, no.” The bot laughs in its little bleeping language. “This is just to prevent the blood.”

  “Blood?” I cringe.

  Look. I am one of those tough girls, ya know? I can shoot a target with a plasma pistol like a pro. I can kick, and I can flip, and I can punch. Hell, I even have better than basic knowledge of how to kill six different humanoid species with a single knife thrust.

  But… “Blood coming out of my nipples? What the fuck, bot?”

  “No, no, n
o,” he beeps. “The magnetic bars will prevent the blood.”

  “That’s not any better! What are you doing that you need to control the amount of blood that might gush out of my tits?”

  “Just…” He whirrs over to a chest of thin drawers on the far side of the living room and a little appendage emerges from his hovering spherical body to open one. He whirrs back to me, dangling pieces of metal in his little grippy hand. “These. A simple piercing, that’s all.”

  “Oh, hell no! Hell. The fuck. No. He is not piercing my nipples!”

  “I’m afraid he is, princess. It’s his standard procedure. I’ve taken all the classes the master cyborg has on Master Serpint and in no syllabus was there ever a scenario that didn’t involve piercing all the lady parts.”

  “All the lady parts?” I look down between my legs. “Surely he does not plan on—”

  “I’m afraid so. But don’t worry. I’m very good at this now. I completed my certification course a few dozen spins ago—”

  “What?”

  “—and I was top of the class.”

  “This isn’t happening!”

  But then he turns into a whirling blur and the next thing I know… “Holy. Mother. Fucking. Suns!”

  “There, there. The first one’s done. That went well, don’t you think?”

  I am crying. Like real fucking Cygnian princess tears. Which aren’t easy to produce under the inhibitor I’m taking, that’s how bad that shit hurt.

  He’s done the second one and I think I even faint for a moment. Because when I open my eyes, he’s hovering between my legs with yet another little piece of metal.

  “No! No, no, no, no, no… pleeeeeeease, no!”

  But it’s done. And this time I do pass out. Because I wake to the sound of a metal collar clamping around my neck.

  I wilt, my body exhausted. My head falls to my chest and I practically dangle from the wall.

  This place is not better than Bull Station. It’s just dressed in pretty clothes and fancy fruit drinks.

  When I look up I swear to the sun the bot is chuckling at me. “What the hell are you laughing about?”