by Lisa Lace
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Auctioned to the Alpha
By Lisa Lace
The innovative TerraMates business has been a runaway success. Who wouldn't want to marry an alien?
Seeking to expand, TerraMates has opened new locations with different business models.
Eden is looking for a fresh start and is one of the first mail-order brides from New York City. As soon as she signs the paperwork and collects her credits, she blacks out.
When Eden wakes up, she's been married to an alien bounty hunter. She's ready for a new beginning, but all she knows about her alien husband is that he's handsome and dangerous. Eden never dreamed she'd be chasing criminals through space!
* * *
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Chapter 1
"Hybrids, galaxy passport holders, and gentlemen of all species. Welcome to the Intergalactic Femme Matrona Exchange!"
As Thiago Arris swirled a golden liquid in his goblet, his ears perked up at the sound of the nasal voice behind him. He craned his neck towards the makeshift stage centered in the underground tavern. A single shaft of blue light illuminated the Mercurian standing at the podium.
The speaker was too small for the platform; his three-foot frame stood on a tower of stone slabs. The diminutive creature's row of beady, red eyes blinked sluggishly in turns. He had the bored expression of someone who spent innumerable hours working at a dead-end job. With his stumpy, trumpet-like ears twitching, his spindly fingers pressed down on the button of his choker, amplifying his voice across the seedy space.
"Please lower your ocular appendages to your screens and ensure your have preloaded your account with the 10,000 credit starting fee. The bidding will proceed in precisely five minutes."
The room of bidders had crowded into booths and segregated by choice into clusters of single species. Thiago's nose wrinkled in disgust. He counted about three dozen sleazy lowlifes assembled on the floor. They had traveled to this sleazy event from all corners of the Cassiopeia Galaxy. Most of the clients had a similar profile - wealthy older alien males looking for a good time.
Grunts of approval rumbled around the room. A few men fidgeted with the translation devices strapped around their ears. They were obvious first-timers, here to pop their bidding cherry. The ones that sat slumped in their seats with hands hovering over their screens, gazes narrowed and minds ready to bid....those were the clear veterans.
In the front of the room, Thiago recognized Admiral Izra. The Noxx were one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Izra was a high-ranking official with an incurable gambling addiction and a penchant for squandering his dirty money at intergalactic brothels. Though several other intimidating parties surrounded the mighty creature, including a table of twelve-foot grumpy Gigan businesspeople with their heads awkwardly tilted against the ceiling, he stood out like a hungover soldier reporting for duty.
With his pierced snout, a gnarled crown of feathers surrounding his head, and slippery, ghost-white scales covering his entire body, he was an impossible sight to overlook. Coupled with the retractable webbed wings of the Noxx, Izra looked like an evolutionary mistake.
"Please refrain from resting your tentacles against the cushions. Bodily slime is a nasty stain difficult to remove!" the auctioneer yelled, glaring at a group of Thesbians in the back row. Turning to the curtains behind him, he called out to an unseen subordinate. "Maliah. Bring out the items from Batch 799!"
A stout Mercurian hobbled out from behind the curtains, dragging a line of nude women shackled together in heavy iron chains. In single file, they stumbled onto the stage behind him, sickly and shivering. Thiago winced, finding it almost unbearable to look at them. But he kept his face a stoic slate.
He didn't flinch as bidders erupted in chaotic slurs around him, catcalling and propositioning the women in their native languages. Deep scrapes and infected gashes adorned their joints and limbs from nonstop hard labor. The women appeared resigned to their fates, blinking at the boisterous crowd with glazed, unfocused eyes.
"First, we have number 28749," the auctioneer announced, slamming his fist down and pushing a button on the control pad of the podium.
The woman on the far left yelped in pain. She jumped when the collar around her neck started to emit sparks. Her scraggly, dishwater-blonde hair shielded her face as she rubbed helplessly at her throat. The woman didn't look up; her deadened eyes stared at the ground. Metallic sounds echoed around the room as creatures pounded on their screens. The prices were accelerating at an alarming rate.
"43,000 credits is currently the highest bid," the auctioneer declared rapidly, retrieving a set of spectacles that accommodated all his eyes. "44,000 – going once, going twice...sold to the gentleman in Booth 14."
The bidders in Booth 14 broke out in celebratory whoops; the rest of the crowd moaned in disgust. A pair of Noxx guards ushered the blonde woman down the steps towards her new husband, a southern Vishyan flaunting flashy jewelry and thick patches of chest hair. The gravity of her situation finally registered in her mind. She shook with fear. With a wobbling bottom lip, she sandwiched herself between the blue-fleshed, four-armed creatures.
One by one, the women onstage were swiftly auctioned off. When every woman in the first group had a buyer, the auctioneer introduced the Special Collection. The only thing special about the collection was the price. The opening bid was a hefty 750,000 credits. A large screen descended from behind him, stopping short of the floor. A projector opposite the room noisily crackled as it turned on and displayed the profiles of the new imports.
Files were transferred containing physical descriptions and photographs of Earth women from different countries. The Company treated the Special Collection women differently. Their pictures showed carefully arranged hairstyles and beautiful faces painted with make-up. They appeared cheerful, blissfully unaware of their impending fates.
Thiago swigged down the rest of his lunar brandy and slid his empty goblet back to the bartender, paying for his drink. He made it halfway toward the back exit when he caught sight of one of the women on someone else's computer. He stopped abruptly, clutching a throbbing mark on his forehead.
He had to have her.
He turned back towards the bidding pit. He paused, studying the woman shown on the screen. She had untamed, coppery-red hair and vivid green eyes. Her pouting lips were slightly parted. Thiago cracked his knuckles and pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, concealing his features in the shadows. Grumbling under his breath, he moved undetected into an empty booth in the back row.
Izra would be the only competition for his mate. The creature bared a set of gritted, jagged teeth as he tapped on his screen intently. Logging in, Thiago pressed the bid button on his screen. He watched with a satisfied smirk as Izra's wings flapped out in rage, knocking his goons onto the floor on either side of him. Izra whirled around, snarling furiously with a maddened look in
his eyes as he tried to figure out who was bidding against him. Thiago used Izra's distraction to his advantage, finalizing the bid on the girl.
"950,000...no...one million credits going once, going twice...sold to the gentleman in Booth 33. Congratulations, sir! We will deliver your bride in three to five business days."
Izra sprang up from his seat, a deafening roar erupting from his throat and rocking the tavern. He moved around wildly in a blind rage, causing dust and rock particles from the roof to come down on the other bidders. His eyes narrowed to threatening slits as he looked at Booth 33. It was empty now, but he caught a glimpse of a figure slipping through the swinging back exit. His hands curled into fists, plowing into an innocent bystander.
Chapter 2
24 HOURS EARLIER
"You know this isn't fair, Peter."
Eden's middle-aged employer fingered the edges of his grease-spattered apron. Staring uneasily at the grimy floors of the kitchen, he purposely avoided looking in the eyes of his employee. Her back-and-forth pacing was beginning to make him a little queasy. Scratching at the back of his neck and flicking away the guilty sweat trickling down, he tried to reason with her.
"Eden, I'm sorry, but my decision's final," he began. His bushy mustache wiggled under his bulbous nose as he sniffed. "I gave you a couple of chances after you came in late a few times. You acted up the other night. We can't afford to have you scaring away any more of our customers."
"Acting up? I don't care how regular of a client Mr. Paisley is. That creep grabbed a handful of my left tit! All I did was defend myself and knock him on his ass. I could have done a lot worse. Besides, someone got it on camera. The video's going viral. If anything, I'm bringing you publicity and deserve a bonus."
To make her point, the woman yanked open the door to the dining area. Jabbing a finger at the bustling atmosphere of the fully-occupied diner, she finished bitterly, "I would appreciate it if you didn't give me any of your crap."
"Don't start with me, Eden. You're a good waitress, but you're too tense. You need to learn how to go with the flow a little more. I'm sure you'll find something else soon enough."
"That was textbook sexual harassment! You know what? I could sue you for this," she blurted. Her face instantly blushed when she saw the smug expression on her employer's face.
It was an unspoken understanding. Both knew perfectly well it was an empty threat. She wasn't about to take anyone to court over a waitress job that barely dished out the state of New York's minimum wage. She swallowed her smart remarks, doing her best to ignore the shaking heads of the line cooks.
They had their backs turned away from her. They pretended not to listen and continued their duties amidst the drama. Hanging her head in defeat, she marched towards the employee lockers and began to empty out her belongings. She pulled on an old jacket and slid her purse onto her shoulder, stomping towards the exit.
"Eden, wait."
"Yes?"
She spun around, her round eyes glimmering with hope.
"Do you want to bring home one of the cornbread muffins you like so much? This one's on the house, free of charge."
Fuming, she rolled her eyes and stormed out the rear door of the diner.
"You know what, Peter, you keep that muffin to yourself. Do me a favor and shove it up your ass."
The door slammed shut in her face, inches from her nose.
"Your muffin was dry and bland as hell!" she barked at the closed door. "I've had better!"
As Eden held her jacket close to her body, a cloud of fluffy stuffing wheezed out from the parka. She trudged across the slushy snow coating the sidewalks of Bedford Avenue. It was taking everything in her to stay stable. The struggle to stay warm was the only thing preventing her from shattering. Crying wouldn't have made her feel better. The gusty winds of the harsh Brooklyn winter would have frozen her tears solid.
Eden stopped in front of an elderly vendor with a toothy smile. The fragrant steam wafting from his cart grabbed her attention. She decided to treat herself to a falafel pita sandwich and plopped down on a ledge across the mobile eatery. Her mouth was watering, and she greedily bit into her food. The sandwich was too hot, and she finally lost control. Eden's eyes welled up with tears. The flavor of the Middle Eastern dish was lost on her scorched taste buds as she angrily threw the meal away from her.
"Great," she muttered sarcastically, scowling at her sandwich. She had scattered it across the pavement.
"Is it okay if I sit here?"
Eden inched aside, smiling weakly at a dark-haired woman rolling up next to her, pushing a grocery cart filled with junk.
"Of course."
The stranger raked a hand through her brusquely chopped pixie cut as she settled next to Eden. She stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flimsy windbreaker, producing a half-crushed box of Newports. Slipping a cigarette between her chapped lips, she offered one to Eden.
"Want one? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you had a rough day."
Eden hadn't smoked since high school, and even then, she only blackened her young lungs to fit in with the cool kids. But with her life going to hell at this point, she desperately needed a vice to keep her head from imploding. Shrugging, she gladly accepted a cigarette, allowing the stranger to light up for her.
"Thanks. Are you hungry?"
"Always. Anything helps."
Eden handed her a crumpled five-dollar bill as a slight wave of smoke drifted out of her lips.
"Thanks, I appreciate that. You know, if you need to vent or anything, I'm all ears."
"Um, that's all right."
"You don't have to be uncomfortable about my situation. We've all got problems. Let me guess. It's around two in the afternoon now, and you're cruising the streets with a bunch of your stuff. Did you just get canned?"
"You must be a detective," Eden quipped, nodding. "I won't miss getting boils on my arms from the deep fryer or scrubbing vomit off the countertops. It was a shitty job, but it paid money."
"I understand. I worked in telemarketing for a while, but I was let go. Long story short, I lived paycheck to paycheck and student loans were killing me. Next thing you know, here I am."
"That's tough."
"Wait a second. I know you. You're that girl from that video, aren't you? One of my friends showed it to me when I crashed at his place yesterday. You made the front page of World Star. With good reason – that dude sailed! Where'd you learn to fight like that?"
"The martial arts club I joined back in high school paid off, I guess. I took some free self-defense classes at Hard Knocks Gym down at 5th too," said Eden pointedly, crushing the cigarette stub under her sneakers. "It ended up with me getting fired. I keep waiting to feel some remorse, but I don't. You know what? If I could rewind time to that day, I'd do the same thing. The only difference is, this time, we'd both get locked up."
"That's why you got fired?" the stranger asked, tutting disapprovingly. "That's low. I'm sorry, you want another cig?"
"No, I'm good, thanks," Eden declined, her shoulders sagging. "It wouldn't be so bad if I were on my own. You know me. Well, I guess you don't, but I'm the queen of bouncing back. It's tough this time, though. Dad's cancer has spread to his stomach. His medical bills are piling up. My sister Janine's tuition fees are due in two weeks."
The stranger listened to her quietly, inserting appropriate "mms" and "ahs" at the correct moments as Eden unloaded her thoughts.
"I moonlight as a cleaner at a department store. I babysit for one of my neighbors too, but that's just on Tuesdays and weekends. The job at the diner was our main bread and butter."
"Do you ever sleep? I wouldn't want to be in your shoes, either. I wish there were something I could do to help you, but I've only got good vibes to spread around."
"Thanks for listening. I feel a little better, I suppose," mumbled Eden, exhaling glumly. She reached into her purse for her thermos and began wrestling with the busted lid. "It's just been...ah, crap."
; She'd yanked a little too hard. Coffee spurted out of her thermos, spraying onto her clothes. The stranger frowned and began rummaging through her cart. She handed Eden a crumpled flier to mop up the coffee bleeding onto her jeans.
"I think I pissed off a god of fortune today or something."
Eden flattened the flier between her fingertips, but just as she began sweeping it against her damp thigh, something caught her eye. As she reread the obscure wording on the flier, a single, inquisitive eyebrow began rising.
"Where'd you get this? Can I keep it?"
"Sure. A man was handing them out at Empire Boulevard." The stranger snorted. "I'm pretty sure that thing's a..."
"Hey, thanks for everything. I have to go now. Take care!"
"...scam." By the time the stranger completed her sentence, Eden had already disappeared around the corner.
* * *
Eden hopped off the bus and looked thoughtfully at a flier she must have read over a hundred times. She walked toward a narrow, four-story building wedged between two lofty skyscrapers. With all the upscale boutiques and modern office towers lining Hawthorne Road, the building appeared strikingly ordinary. An old, hand-painted sign bore a single word in faded crimson – TerraMates.
Eden supposed they were going for function over style. As she crept closer to the building and peeked through the sealed blinds of a window, beads of perspiration collected on her forehead.
Part of her wanted to turn around and walk back to the bus stop without even going into the building. Another part that dominated her thinking urged her to stay. It wasn't like she was born yesterday. In this part of town, matchmaking was nothing like reality television.
Candidates weren't paired up based on mutual hobbies and interests. You were filed into separate categories based on your physical description, the size of your chest, and you were shipped off to the highest bidder. Her head spun thinking about the danger.
At the same time, an image of her father appeared in her mind's eye. They had said their goodbyes before she left for work that morning.