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, no,” 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.”