Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart (16 page)
Read Captured Boxed Set: 9 Alpha Bad-Boys Who Will Capture Your Heart Online
Authors: Pepper Winters S. E. Smith Mandy Rosko Sharon Page Teresa Morgan T. J. Michaels Eve Langlais Cathryn Fox Opal Carew
Tags: #new adult, #pirate, #sheikh, #billionaire, #shapeshifter, #dominant, #alpha, #sensual, #bad boy
Eve Langlais
Fall in love? Never! An
alien assassin turned pirate has no use for an emotion he can't sell, but that
doesn't stop him from falling for the human he captures.
Copyright 2014 Eve Langlais
Table of Contents
Chapter
One
Maybe drowning won’t be so
bad.
Megan’s numb arms and legs agreed. Yet,
despite the fact her whole body wanted her to stop moving—screamed it
actually—she kept fluttering, moving her hands and feet just enough to keep her
face above the waves. Every now and then she got a mouthful of salty water that
made her choke and did nothing to cure her thirst. At least she didn’t have to
contend with the burning sun. Chances were she’d succumb to fatigue before the
dawn arrived with its warming rays. Her sarcastic side—which was begging for a
slap—piped in that she should also show thanks that she’d stopped shivering a
while ago, her body acclimatizing itself to the Pacific waters she floated in.
Megan never intended to go for a
swim when she set out for an evening cruise. She had her boyfriend—
stupid,
freaking jerk
—to thank for her situation. And to think, she’d thought
Cameron was "the one." He’d certainly said and done the right things
in his wooing of her and she’d enjoyed his company well enough, most of the
time anyway, a rarity for her where men were concerned. She should have smelt
something fishy when he’d immediately pushed for them to make everything joint
soon after they moved in together—the whole cohabiting thing again, his idea.
His claimed, "Don’t you trust me?" should have rung warning bells.
There was nothing as foolish as a
woman in love, though, or in her case, like. She’d fallen into the trap he
laid, and not just the trap of a con man, but a death trap.
I wonder if my
grave stone will say "Here lies Megan, screwed by a man, yet again."
In her defense, no woman ever
expected the man she loved—or liked—to betray them—even if in her case, her
track record with men should have provided a clue. She’d blithely agreed to go
on a nocturnal jaunt with him, the moonlight cruise a celebration of sorts, the
anniversary of their six month dating mark. A record for her. It would now also
mark the date of her death. At least the bastard toasted her with champagne
before hip checking her off the boat with an exaggerated "Oops."
Then, he’d had the nerve to laugh when she’d asked him for help as she tread
water, incredulity not making her see the obvious at first.
It didn’t take her long to clue in,
and then she unleashed a litany of curses that would have made most seamen
blush. Of course, the way she screamed in glaring detail the way she’d maim him
when she got her hands on him might have factored in Cameron’s decision to go
through with his deadly plan—or precipitated it? She should have probably left
off the gruesome details about how she’d emasculate him. But still, what other
reaction did he expect given his action?
Megan heard his derisive laughter
for a long time after he steered the yacht away in the dark with only the stars
to guide him. Hours later—or so she assumed given the numerous scenarios she’d
had time to run through her mind where she survived and got her revenge—she
floated at the ends of her endurance and strength, fighting to live even though
she knew she had no hope of surviving.
A large wave rolled over her head
and she floundered under the water for a moment, almost giving up, too tired to
care. Then she saw it.
A light!
Disbelief made her stare under the
water at the bright beacon hovering just above her head.
Rescue?
She
didn’t question the improbability of it, just strained toward the brilliance
using her last ounce of strength. Her head broke the surface of the ocean and
she blinked in the bright glare, then blinked again as her body began to rise
out of the water.
Did I die? Is this how my journey to heaven begins?
Sopping wet and pissed?
Not to mention she’d always expected a much,
much
warmer reception when she finally did kick it. A poster child for pure living
she wasn’t.
A flopping fish lifted from the
water in front of her and rose rapidly, slapping her in the face with its
thrashing tail in passing.
What the hell?
Hell had nothing to do with it,
though, she surmised. She peered around in slack jawed disbelief as she and a
football field of fish, along with other denizens of the ocean, rose out of the
water, caught in some weird anti-gravitational field. And no she wasn’t some
kind of science geek for thinking that. She’d recently watched a marathon of
Star
Trek
films because of Cameron, a true Trekkie fan. She’d never expected the
inane fiction of the screen to ever relate to her life, but what else could
explain why she and thousands of sea critters were floating as if weightless,
drawn toward an illuminated maw whose edges she could barely make out.
It occurred to her to scream for
help, but seriously, she wasn’t an idiot even if she sucked in her choice of
boyfriends. Besides, exactly who did she expect to save her from an obvious
alien extraction? In her current situation, abduction sure beat drowning any
day.
Excitement replaced her exhaustion
and resignation of her fate. She was about to meet extra-terrestrial life.
Would they be green? Short or tall? Would they appear like a wrinkled E.T. or
humanoid like her?
On top of these curious inner
musings, doubt suddenly piled on. What if they were violent? Ate humans as a
delicacy? Or—
gasp
—sold human females as sex slaves? Megan looked down at
her plump frame and her lips twisted ruefully.
I’m more likely to end up
someone’s main course than a sex slave.
While she didn’t mind her plentiful
curves, they didn’t appeal to everyone; although, she’d had more than one
boyfriend claim it wasn’t her body that turned them off, but her mouth. She
didn’t believe in keeping her opinions and criticisms to herself.
The slow aerial ascent took forever
it seemed to reach the gaping hole in the bottom of the craft and about time,
too, because out of the water, she shivered with cold, her damp sundress
clinging to her. She hugged her arms around her body, but it didn’t help her
chattering teeth.
What are the chances I’ll be
greeted with a towel?
Looking around at the
wide-eyed fish with their mouths gaping open and shut soundlessly, she didn’t
count on it.
The bright light she’d mistaken for
Heaven’s doorway didn’t diminish until she and her fellow aquatic abductees
went past the lip of the ship. Then she goggled in astonishment because ringing
the area on all sides were huge vats filled with liquid, oversized fish tanks
if she wasn’t mistaken—and not all of them from Earth. A purplish fluid in one
certainly didn’t resemble anything she’d ever seen and displayed the occasional
black tentacle. Cool, although she wouldn’t plan on going for a swim with
whatever resided inside.
As the beam she found herself
caught in angled up over the lip of an open vat, she noted something
disturbing. All the other tanks were sealed shut. Her mind quickly came to an
unwelcome conclusion. If she allowed herself to get dropped into the
approaching aquarium, she’d find herself right back in the same spot; drowning.
"Not again," she
muttered. She twisted herself to look around and noted a network of beams
holding narrow walkways running above and around the vats. She needed to get
onto one of those. Using her arms and legs, she kicked and pulled, much like
she would if she were in water, if water were a thick molasses that fought her
every inch of the way. Sweat beaded on her brow as she struggled against the
beams inertia, her progress slow, slower than the tractor beams implacable
movement.
She brushed against other captives,
their wet slimy skin icky against hers, their lidless eyes watching her
passage—
and I swear they’re praying I don’t make it
. Revenge for her
regular Friday night sushi she’d bet. She almost didn’t make it in time, the
plopping sound of tumbling fish hitting water taunting her before her fingers
grasped a cold edge of metal. She wrapped her hands tight around the beam and
heaved herself over, cursing the fact she owned a gym membership she never
used. Muscles straining, she brought her legs up to wrap around the metal
support, the sudden loss of the anti-gravitational field’s support making her
almost fall as she suddenly held her full weight. Her aching muscles screamed
in protest, but she held on for dear life.
The raining plop of objects hitting
water made her turn her head to watch as the fish and other sea population
caught in the tractor beam were deposited in the huge tank. As soon as the
last one hit the liquid surface, the beam shut off and she blinked her eyes at
the sudden loss of light. She could still see, albeit not as clearly, as dim
circular lights surrounding the chamber provided only faint illumination. Dim
vision didn’t prevent her from hearing the whirring sound of machinery and the
soft snick of the aquarium sealing shut followed by a larger thunk which she
assumed meant the bottom portal had also closed.
Then it was silent except for a
distant hum and her panting breath. Her arms trembled with the strain of
holding herself, and it occurred to her that her first order of business should
involve getting her feet onto firm ground.
Exhaustion brought her close to the
point of hysteria at her inadvertent pun and she giggled. Okay, maybe not firm
ground but at least a surface she could stand upright on. Hanging like a
monkey, she looked around and saw a walkway not far away if she could only make
her way over to it.
"Just like monkey bars,"
she reminded herself as she swung her body towards the next strut. Her hands
caught the beam and she let her legs go so her body could follow. She hadn’t
counted on the fatigue in her arms or how heavy her body would drag. Not to
mention, she’d assumed a lack of or lesser gravity in space.
Wrong!
Her
hands slipped from the beam and she plummeted, her short scream of fright cut
off as she landed in an ungraceful heap on something unforgivingly hard and
blacked out.
Chapter
Two
Tren, his feet propped on his main
console, cursed as an alarm went off.
"What the frukx is going on
now?" he mumbled under his breath as he punched in a sequence of
keystrokes on the armrest of his seat, forcing the screen in front of him to
bring up the video for the transport bay. More than likely, one of his
specimens had gotten free of the tractor beam, not a huge worry with this
latest batch. The planet Earth wasn’t known for its deadly denizens. On the
contrary, their creatures tended toward the docile side, especially the liquid faring
variety.
The bay, with its huge vats,
appeared in his view screen and he scanned the room, panning the camera in
several directions. He didn’t see anything, but then again, some of the
critters he’d captured were quite small. Not like the knovakian’s with their
forty astrometric long tentacles.
Those he’d had to sedate before
capturing them for transport.
With a sigh of annoyance, he stood
from his chair and stretched his bulky frame before stomping to the elevator
that would take him to the lower level. He stopped just before entering and
barked a command. "Proceed to the seventh planet in the quadrant and then
drop into hyperspeed. Heading, the Jifnarian galaxy, third planet."
"Course locked." The
smooth voice of his computer confirmed his orders. He grunted as he swung into
the elevator and jabbed the button for the transport bay.
Going to wrestle a fish.
The thought made him sigh. He’d come a long way from his career as
a mercenary. His new life as a wrangler and transporter for rare species from
undeveloped galaxies might bore the frukx out of him, but it sure beat getting
his ass shot off every time he turned around. Of course, nothing could compare
to the rush of a mission where he outsmarted security systems, pitted his
skills against deadly guards and came out ahead. But the life of a warrior for
hire wasn’t a long one hence his career change.
However, no one warned him that
retirement would mean he’d end up bored out of his mind. He’d tried the life of
leisure for a while, he’d certainly amassed enough credits to do so, but a male
could only get drunk so many times and plow so many females before everything
turned stagnant. So he bought a ship and started a new career—acquisitions
specialist.
At least with his new business, he
got to travel, fight the occasional reticent species and kill off pirates.
Those still stupid enough to engage him that was. His reputation preceded him
and now even the scum of the universe avoided him.
Time to change ships perhaps and
fool them into thinking I’m new.
He chuckled at the
thought and made a mental note to have his business manager look into it. He
could use the sport, and it always paid to keep one’s skills sharp.
The door to the elevator slid open,
disrupting his mental plan to fool pirates into playing and he strode into the
large transport bay.
"Lights," he barked.
The dim cavern immediately
illuminated and he strode through the tanks heading toward the newest one to
see what caused his alarm to still ring shrilly. He didn’t bother masking the
sound of his arrival, the heavy thump of his combat boots loud in the cargo
bay. It wasn’t like the specimens he’d caught could grow legs and run away.
What
a shame.
He wouldn’t have minded some form of entertainment.
Arriving at the recently filled
vat, he peered around on the floor but found nothing around the base of the
tank. He clambered up a ladder to reach the catwalks. He no sooner set foot on
the metal grate than he saw a prone, wet lump.
"What the frukx is that?"
It didn’t look like the illustrations he’d seen of Earth’s aquatic species. He
wrinkled his nose at the stench, a briny, wet fish odor. Toeing the pale
creature, he whipped his pistol out when it grunted.
What he’d mistaken for seaweed
moved, and then, lifted until he found himself face to face with a face, a pale
humanoid one. Big, brown eyes shot with red streaks blinked at him and blue
lips parted on a gasp.
"Holy shit. You’re like Han
Solo on crack," croaked the human. And with those strange words, the
Earthling he’d accidentally abducted, slumped forward again. Its eyes rolled
back in its head and its forehead smacked into the grated flooring.
"Ah, frukxn’ crap." Tren
braced his hands on his hips and grimaced down at the sodden mess. Kill the
Earthling or keep it? He got the impression it was female, although given its
contorted position and bedraggled state, it could have also been an effeminate
male. Either way, he didn’t want it. There wasn’t a large market for
Earthlings, not given their temperament. The females especially tended to cry
all the time and descend into hysterics, especially when introduced to their
new masters. Apparently, they took issue with the whole sold as a sex slave
thing. It was why Tren stuck to creatures. They couldn’t talk back.
I wonder if I can just drop her
off somewhere on her planet.
He discounted that
idea almost immediately. One, he couldn’t be bothered. And two, medical
expeditions learned their lesson after the Earthlings who came back after an
abduction freaked, telling all who would listen about probes and needles.
Like
we’d use such archaic forms of technology.
It made him sneer. Most of the
civilized worlds considered Earth a barbarian planet, one bent on destroying
its natural resources. It was why he’d made a trip to pick up specimens. At the
rate they currently destroyed their oceans, he figured it wouldn’t be long now
before the whole planet expired, making what he’d grabbed a possible rarity.
Not that he cared about their fate.
The galaxy had more than enough viable planets and sentient races. They wouldn’t
miss the loss of one backwards planet out in the far reaches.
But what to do about the
Earthling?
He raised his pistol to end the human’s
life, but hesitated. What had it meant when it called him Han Solo on crack?
His translator didn’t know what to make of it, and dammit, now he found himself
curious.
I’ll kill it after I find out.
Decided, he holstered his gun and then crouched to grab the limp
body. He rolled the human onto its back and that’s when he noticed the damage
done to the female. And female she certainly was with her plentiful bosom
spilling from the top of a soaking rag—only two breasts, though, instead of a
lush four or five. He ignored her feminine attributes as he took in her twisted
leg, broken in at least three places he’d wager.
I’m surprised she didn’t scream
her head off when she woke there for a moment.
Probably
shock kept her from noticing her injury. She’d certainly have plenty to say
when she woke again—blubbering and gushing tears he couldn’t abide. For a
moment, he again debated just shooting her now before he had to put up with
lunatic raving, but stopped at the sight of her looking so utterly helpless. He
cursed as he holstered his gun. He, the coldest killer in the known galaxies,
couldn’t kill her.
That’s it. I need to go on a mission before I turn into a
complete frukxning softy.
He’d let his contacts know he was back in
business as soon as he got rid of his cargo, including one sure-to-be-annoying
female.
He slid his hands under her plump
frame and drew her toward him before standing with her cradled in his arms.
With no effort on his part—he kept himself in impeccable shape—he carried her
to the end of the walkway and the equipment lift. A short elevator ride later,
he spilled onto an upper level where he kept his room and the medical chamber.
Curiosity made him peek at her
while he carried her. Her skin appeared pale, extremely so and beneath its
surface he could see a fragile network of veins. He would have called her
unblemished but noticed her skin appeared marred by a strange line of pale dots
across the bridge of her nose.
That’ll decrease her value.
She sported
dark lashes and brows at odds with her pale colored hair that streaked from a
light gold to a dark brown. Her lips, an odd blue color, were full, and through
their parted seam he could see white teeth, flat edged, making him wonder if
perhaps her kind were herbivores. Her body filled his arms, opulent and soft,
yet not obscenely so. The wet fabric she wore molded to the round fullness of
her breasts and clung to her prominent nipples.
To his disbelief, his groin
tightened at the sight. Apparently, he’d waited too long between brothel visits
if this pale, sodden female could incite lust, especially considering she only
owned two breasts—a common trait among her kind or a genetic abnormality?
Disgusted with himself and his
interest in her as a copulating partner, he dumped her onto the diagnostic
table in his medical room. The repair and diagnostic unit descended from the
ceiling with a whir. Tren punched in a few commands on the device and then
walked away, only to return a moment later when the machine beeped.
"Stupid machine. It can heal
anything, but it can’t stand wet clothes," he grumbled. He grasped the
damp fabric adorning her frame and tore it in half before peeling it from her
body. Womanly curves greeted him and, despite her dual mounds, he hungrily
drank the sight of her in from the dark blush of her nipples to the brown
thatch between her legs. His hand couldn’t help but trace the round softness of
her belly with its intriguing hole in the middle. He wondered what it was for,
and had to admit it made her body intriguing to behold, a fact his hardening
cock agreed with.
With a curse at his lack of
control, he whirled and stomped out of the chamber, letting the unit do its
work. His clothes, damp and stinking of the Earth’s ocean, required changing
and he proceeded to his chambers to do so. He dropped his soiled garments in
the ship’s cleansing unit before dressing in a clean and dry outfit. It was as
he tucked his shirt into his pants that it occurred to him he’d have to clothe
the female.
Or let her run around naked
, his mind whispered with a dirty chuckle. His cock twitched at the
thought. Tren tightened his lips into a thin line.
I am definitely visiting
a brothel at my next stop.
Not owning any feminine garments,
he snagged a spare shirt and pants of his. He’d pick her up some clothes in one
of his docking ports. Or he’d sell her naked, whichever he thought would fetch
him a better price.
Knowing the medical unit would
require a few more galactic units to complete its work, he went back to the
command center, the spare clothes bundles under his arm. He wanted to do more
research on Earthling females and discover ways of muzzling them, because with
his luck, she’d probably end up the noisy, wailing type.
And all males know the only time
a woman should speak is during sex when she screams our name.
