Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"But you meet the Collector's guidelines for female humans, especially in response to sexual stimulation," the alien explained. "I will keep you, for now."

"Gee, that's awesome," I responded, simultaneously glad I wasn't being disposed of, irritated that I was about to be trafficked, and mortified that pussy juices were dripping down my leg.

"You sound vexed."

"You think?"

"I do not understand. You meet the Collector's guidelines."

"Sex trafficking is bad, you do realize."

"You may get dressed," the alien said, instead of answering my sarcastically asked question.

I kneeled to grab my discarded articles of clothing. The first item that resumed its position was my underwear. It was amazing how much more secure I felt with panties on, even if it was a complete fucking illusion.

"How did you come to be on this ship?"

Oh right, he thinks we're on a ship. I could keep up the charade. "It was an accident," I mumbled through the tank top I was pulling back over my head. "My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend— lost a bunch of money. He thought I stole it. Except I didn't," I added, as if the alien's opinion of me mattered. "I was running from him when I hid in there." I crooked my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the interior of the shipping container.

"That was a poor choice."

"No fucking shit, man." I drew my jeans up over my hips, fastening them. "What's your name?" I wanted to call him something besides alien, if only in my mind.

"Krake Qask."

I paused with one shoe half on. "I'm sorry, what?"

He enunciated the words. "Krake Qask."

Okay, another tick in the we-were-really-on-a-spaceship column. "Are you a merman?" I blurted out, waving my hands at the neck slashes that resembled fish gills.

His bright green eyes darkened, and not in a good way. "What is a merman?"

"You know, part-man, part-fish."

He glared at me. "That is crude but accurate enough."

"Do you breathe through those all the time? Or just when you're in the water? Do you have lungs too?" I rapid-fire asked my questions in part to keep him talking while I figured out how to get out of the damn shipping container, but also genuine curiosity, since my only knowledge of mermaids and mermen came from the movies.

"They are only for underwater. Yes, I have lungs." He tilted his head, considering me.

"Your skin is pretty," I offered. Why not make nice with the man-fish who might be responsible for keeping me alive? Although, in truth, his smooth skin was gorgeous. Shades of blue, green, and purple swirled together, reflecting the light.

"Thank you." He turned. "Follow me."

I swallowed the bile that rose. "Where are we going?"

"To meet the Collector."

"Cool," I mumbled, before doing as he said and closing the shipping container door behind me. No reason to be discourteous to my new hosts, I thought, and barely contained a snort-laugh. As if I gave a shit. Well, I did, since I didn't want to die. But, given that I still wasn't convinced we were on a spaceship, I'd keep playing the part until I figured out a way back home.

Nervous chatter vomited from my mouth while we walked down gleaming metal hallways broken up periodically by empty computer workstations. It looked very much like every other metal spaceship shown on television, and unfortunately ticked another box in the I'm-on-a-spaceship-in-fucking-outer-space column. I definitely wasn't still in a warehouse of any kind.

"Where are all the people? Um, other beings?" I asked.

"This is an autonomous ship with minimal crew. Most guests are in their rooms or enjoying social activities."

"Sex traffickers have social activities?" Now I did snort-laugh.

Krake glanced over his shoulder at me but did not answer the question. Not that I expected an answer.

We entered what might be called a turbo-lift, as I'd learned from those sci fi shows. A fancy name for an elevator to another deck of the ship.

"Tronnalion," Krake told the computer.

"What's that?" I whispered, not wanting to confuse the computer.

"It is like the penthouse."

"Ooh, fancy. Sex trafficking pays well off-world too, I see." Although I didn't miss his use of the word penthouse. That seemed very Earth-specific. How much time had he spent there?

"Providing sexual entertainment is a very lucrative endeavor for all involved."

"I doubt for all," I countered in a low voice. "What planet are you from?" I asked, to cover my snippy comment.

"Klaxon." He spelled it for me in English, without my asking, which I begrudgingly appreciated.

The lift dinged and the door opened. I hadn't even felt movement. That was impressive. But now my vision wavered, and I was certain I'd die of a heart attack from the anxiety of the unknown beyond the door.

"Exit the lift," Krake instructed when I still hadn't moved.

I breathed a sigh of relief when we stepped into a metal-appearing hallway identical to the one we'd started in. Whatever unknown potential horrors would be delayed at least a little bit longer. And then I resumed my questioning. "You're not the captain or collector, and you said there's minimal crew. What's your role on the ship?"

No answer.

"What's a runner?"

No answer.

"Do you have a sex slave?"

He stopped his forward movement and turned to face me. "Do not be like this when you meet the Collector."

"Be like what?"

Krake thought for a moment. "Noisy like this. Do not do it."

"Are you saying I'm talking too much?" Of course I was, I knew that. But I was on my way to meet the kingpin of sex trafficking in outer space. Anybody would be nervous!

"Yes."

My face flushed and my embarrassment put me on the defensive. "You aren't answering any of my questions. Do you have a sex slave? Is that why you're on the ship? Why don't you want to answer my questions?" I placed my fisted hands on my hips and glared at him. Anger was always my safe space when uncomfortable emotions overwhelmed me. Like now. That didn't often endear me to others. Also like now.

He gaped at me. "You are making many assumptions."

"None of which you are disagreeing with."

"It is not your place to ask questions."

"Because I'm going to be a sex slave?"

"That is not how this works."

"Then tell me how it works," I begged, the anger no longer sufficient to bury the anxiety. "I'm terrified." I dropped my gaze with that admission, horrified that I'd shown that much weakness, but also hopeful that maybe it would convince him to give me more information. His fingers lifted my chin to meet his gaze.

"The Collector procures beings from around the known galaxy for sexual entertainment. The Collector is paid well for this service. The individuals procured are paid well when they first sign the contract, and then they negotiate their ongoing contract with their new employers who purchase them."

"Ah-ha!" I pointed at him. "The Collector is kidnapping and selling beings."

"No, it is not like what you think of on Earth." He began walking again, and I scurried to keep up.

"It sounds exactly like what I think of on Earth," I retorted.

We'd reached a set of red double doors. "Only speak when spoken to. Answer all questions honestly. You must pass the interview to be accepted by the Collector."

As if the Collector wouldn't just kidnap me—a thought at least this time I wisely didn't share with Krake.

The red double doors slid open noiselessly.