Page 14 of I'm Not Your Pet

Terrifying, really.

As I pushed through the doors to the office, hope trembled deep, deep inside me. Because of all the times I’d seen slaves taken through the red doors, they’d never been clothed. Already this was an anomaly.

The room was as sterile as it always was, the desk at the back corner full of knick-knacks I didn’t understand, and a handful of tablets that were currently turned off. Even the wallpaper was bland. An odd greenish color that reminded me of being sick. Or maybe—that was because I felt sick right now. Either way, it was unappealing.

I could count on one hand the number of times I’d been in here.

The first had been when I was sold by A&R to the pleasure planet. The second had been the time I got a glowing commendation from four-thumb guy. And most recently, last night—when The Manager had told me to make the shark-alien guy happy.

Hope continued to blossom as I kept my head down and toward my slippers, not wanting to anger the man as he brushed past me to grab one of the abandoned tablets.

I wasn’t sure what I expected when one of the enforcers pushed the door open behind us, but it certainly wasn’t what I got. A sound rumbled from behind me, and against my better judgment, I twisted to see where the sound came from.

Bubblegum-dick dude was back—standing in the open doorway, his eyes on mine. It felt just like it had the nightbefore. That same magnetic pull as pale blue irises swirled in the overhead light and The Manager made a curious sound from his place beside his desk.

Shark-man said something in a low guttural tone. His own language, probably. I’d never heard anything like it. Like gargling rocks, it was rough and primal—though very obviously words. The Manager seemed to understand well enough because he made another sound, more annoyed this time, and made his way toward us. I pressed back against the wall to get out of the way as he pushed something into shark-dude’s hands, before side-stepping his massive body and heading back out into the lobby.

When the door shut again, the room was quiet.

Shark-guy cupped the things he held gingerly, before turning his palms toward me so that I could see what was inside them. Translator headsets. Two of them.

I was confused, to say the least.

But curious too, as I gingerly reached out to take one. In sync, we pulled them on, the soft whir of the overhead fan the only sound in the room. For such a big dude, he sure was quiet.

Why the hell did he come back?

Why didn’t he tell on me?

He should’ve.

Pink-dude moved deeper into the room, far away from me. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful or sad about the distance as he stood stock-still, his arms behind his back. It gave me a moment to admire him as I decided if I wanted to be the first to break the silence.

He was wearing the same pants he’d had on the night before and a sash that looked weirdly…formal? Like he’d gotten dressed up for this. Though, that didn’t make sense. Why the hell would he dress fancy to come here of all places? To seemeof all people?

More than likely I was simply an errand on his very important list.

Maybe he was here to admonish me in person?

Though…the longer we stood in silence the less likely that seemed.

Shark-guy’s broad back filled up what felt like half the room as he turned around to face me fully, those slate-blue eyes flashing with emotion I couldn’t understand. His spots turned pink again. Then gray. Then pink.

I swallowed the lump in my throat, oddly naked beneath his gaze despite the clothing I wore.

“Hi?” I tried, annoyed when my body began to shake all on its own.

He cocked his head at me, what looked to be a smile gracing his not-lips. It was kinda menacing-looking, if I’m being honest. Which was…genuinely unavoidable considering how many fucking teeth he had. I’d seenJaws. I couldn’t help but replay that scene with the shark chomping its way through the ship over and over again as he spoke.

“Ro-aarhk.” The sound was guttural and deep as he patted his chest, waiting patiently for me to reply.

Was that?…oh. That was his name.

“Oh.” I blinked. “We’re doing theTarzanthing.” I shook my head to clear it and slapped a hand against my own chest, because I didn’t want to get chomped if I was accidentally rude. Maybe the chest-tap thing was customary?

“Hugo.”

“Huu-goh?” Roark tried my name out carefully. He spoke…weird. In the light of day it was even more obvious. He was cultured, despite sounding like he was gargling nails. Kinda like a posh lord or something. Which…tracked, considering what I’d been expected to do for him, and the room I’d been given to service him in the night before.

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