As if I’ve ever had a drink before. Zack mentioned vodka. I’ve never even tasted the stuff. Maybe I should. Maybe tonight is a good night to overindulge.
I shake my head as I lower my attention back to cutting the front of this dress. Other than the fact that it’s white, it remindsme of the curtains my grandmother had in the kitchen when I was a kid. Every time she opened the window, the thin tulle would blow in the breeze.
I miss her. Life was simple back then. Now life is a shitshow, and I don’t see a way out of the mess I’m in. It’s great that the women out front felt sorry for me and gave me cover long enough to convince the bouncer to let me in. It was very kind of them, and Lord knows I haven’t experienced a lot of kindness since my grandmother passed.
I was twelve at the time, and my world flipped upside down. I feel like I’ve been living inside a tornado ever since, spinning around in dizzying circles. Sometimes I get hit by debris, but I never get kicked out of the funnel cloud.
Cutting through the layers of silk and tulle is cathartic. I’ve had the urge to destroy this ugly dress ever since I first set eyes on it. It looks like the sort of prom dress girls wore in the mid-eighties. I know this from pictures. And it’s not surprising, since that was when my mother-in-law married my father-in-law. In this dress.
Well, it was sort of this dress. When the bitch pulled it out of storage for me to wear, she had to have it altered to fit me, which makes it even more hideous.
The seamstress who came to the house two weeks ago was told to simply take out the stitching on both sides of the dress and add several inches of taffeta so it would go around me.
I stood for an hour in my bra and panties while my future mother-in-law, the seventy-year-old seamstress, and two maids worked around me. The maids were relatively kind or at least silent. My mother-in-law commented on my fat rolls about a dozen times as if I weren’t even in the room. It was humiliating and insufferable. I had to hold back tears the entire time.
When they were done, I grabbed my robe, ran to my room, and cried into my pillow for the rest of the evening.
Fuck them. All of them.
Every memory of the past few weeks makes me cut faster. The progress is slow, though, since there are so many layers, and it’s hard for me to bend over far enough to reach. I end up lifting the end into the air in front of me. I don’t care about cutting in a straight line or how jagged my work is. I only care about being able to move better after removing it at least up to my knees. It’s not like I have a change of clothes. I’m going to have to make do with this mess for now.
I don’t even have a plan. Where will I go when I leave here? I assume I got away with ducking into the club and hiding. Surely John would have come into this office and told me if my asshole of a husband was milling around out front.
Fredrick Angelo.
I refer to him in my head as Dick because that’s what he is.
I’m still cutting away at the bottom foot of the dress when the door leading to the dance floor opens again. I glance up, expecting to find Zack returning. Instead, the air catches in my lungs.
Twonewmen step into the room. John, Zack, and Roger are tall and broad, but these men are much taller and larger. I know in an instant they aren’t human. They’re Eleadian.
My heart races as they shut the door behind them and come toward me. The scissors fall out of my hand and clang loudly against the floor. The funnel cloud I’ve been living in for weeks spins again, faster, harder, making me so dizzy I fear I might faint.
In fact, I’m lightheaded, and I lean to one side.
The tanned man with darker hair and green eyes rushes forward, squats down, and catches me in his arms before I manage to fall off the chair.
This can’t be happening.
The man with dark blond hair and blue eyes kneels at my other side and grabs my bicep.
I close my eyes and say a silent prayer to whatever god might be listening.
Please tell me these men are going to take me off this godforsaken planet. I don’t even care what they expect from me in return. A life of slavery digging in coal mines would be preferable to the one I’ve been living.
Chapter Two
Skarg
I reach my mate in two long strides, squatting down next to her and catching her right before she falls to the side. Her face is unnaturally white. I’m sure her skin is pale in general, but I doubt it’s as white as what I’m currently seeing.
Her eyes widen as I prop her up with one hand against her waist. Big brown orbs that I could get lost in. And I intend to.
Kafran drops to his knees at her other side, wrapping his hand around her bicep. “Are you okay, Little one?”
She shifts her attention back and forth between us. I’m sure she’s confused. Finally, she licks her full pink lips. “What are you doing?” Her voice is so sweet that my cock jumps in my suit pants.
I offer her what I hope is a winning smile. “You’re ours, Little one,” I inform her. There’s no sense beating around the bush.
