Page 30 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

“First catch,” she says, clapping her hands mockingly. “Look at you, Gary Irons, master angler.”

I grunt, unhooking the fish and tossing it back into the lake. “It’s a start.”

She laughs, leaning back in her seat. “A start? That’s the pinnacle of your fishing career right there. Don’t ruin it by catching something bigger.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling. She has a way of making even the most mundane moments feel… alive. We stay out on the water for a while longer, the sun dipping low on the horizon.

When we finally head back to shore, the laughter and shouting from Cold Slither’s bonfire reach us before we even step off the boat. I glance over, my eyes narrowing as I spotthe two teenagers—Boris and Barfbag, if Reily’s reaction is any indication.

“Oh no,” Reily mutters, her voice tightening. “They’re too dumb to know Cold Slither’s just messing with them. This is just torture.”

I don’t need her to explain. I see the setup—the boat, the fireworks, the cruel grins on the gang’s faces. Boneshaker’s booming voice carries across the sand.

“Come on, it’ll be cool,” he says, slapping Barfbag on the back hard enough to make him stumble. “If you pass the initiation, we’ll let you join the gang.”

Barfbag and Boris exchange looks, their faces lit with a mix of fear and excitement. They start chanting Cold Slither’s slogan, their voices shaky but determined.

“We’re Cold Slither, you’ll be joining us soon. A band of vipers, bringing your doom!”

Reily grabs my arm, her fingers digging in. “Gary, we have to stop this. They’re going to get hurt.”

I glance down at her, the fire in her eyes mirroring the anger building in my chest. “I’ll handle it.”

She nods, trusting me without hesitation. It’s a dangerous thing, that trust, but I don’t have time to dwell on it.

I stride toward the bonfire, my boots crunching on the sand. The gang notices me almost immediately, their laughter fading to a low murmur. Jack steps forward, his grin sharp and mocking.

“Well, well, look who decided to join the party,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Gary Irons, billionaire philanthropist. What brings you to our little gathering?”

I ignore him, my gaze locking on the two teenagers. “Get in the boat,” I tell them, my voice low but firm.

Boris blinks, his braces catching the firelight. “Uh… what?”

“Now,” I snap, and they scramble to obey, their earlier bravado evaporating. Jack steps into my path, his eyes narrowing. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on there, Mr. Irons. These boys are about to join Cold Slither. You’re interrupting a sacred tradition.”

I step closer, my height and bulk forcing him to tilt his head back to meet my gaze. “Funny,” I growl. “I don’t recall asking for your permission.”

Boneshaker moves to flank Jack, his massive frame looming. “You’re outnumbered, Irons. Why don’t you turn that fancy ass around and walk away before things get messy?”

I smile, slow and dangerous.

“Oh, I’m counting on it getting messy.”

Jack’s grin falters, but he tries to play it off. “You’ve got a real death wish, don’t you?”

Reily’s voice cuts through the tension, sharp and clear. “Leave him alone, Jack. He’s not the one you should be worried about.”

The gang’s eyes shift to her, their laughter returning. “What’s this?” Jack sneers. “Little Reily Dawson, playing hero? You’re out of your league, sweetheart.”

I don’t give him a chance to say more. My fist crashes into his jaw, sending him sprawling into the sand. The gang erupts, and I brace myself for the fight.

Finally, I think, a thrill running through me. It’s been too long.

“Stop!” Jack shouts from the sand, holding up a hand like some kind of dramatic soap opera actor. Cold Slither freezes mid-lunge, their faces twisted in confusion. Boneshaker looks like a dog denied its chew toy.

“Boss?” Crazzy Steve asks, his clown paint smeared from the heat of the bonfire. He tilts his head like a confused puppy, though I’m pretty sure he’s more rabid than innocent.

Jack gets to his feet, brushing sand off his leather jacket with theatrical slowness. He’s got blood on his chin where my fist connected, and he wipes it away with the back of his hand, smirking like he’s just won the lottery.

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