Page 30 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

I remember how he’d unlocked the other two – and the Toad doesn’t deviate from that. He starts with the cuffs around my wrists, then sucks in his breath as he prepared to bend over and unshackle my ankles.

When he does, I’ll haveonemoment in which my hands are free and his back is turned.

This is your chance, the echo of Ling’s voice hisses.

I glance around. Is the leader of the Toads – the one with that electro-rod – close enough for me to grab it from him? Could I use it to get away?

But, then what?

Even if I make it off this walkway, I’ll still be trapped in a ship full of slave-trading, Toad scum. I won’t last a minute before one of them grabs me – and, when they do, who knows what the consequences will be.

Knowing the sadistic nature of Toads, they might torture me – perhaps even in front of their Bullfrog customers, as entertainment.

That’s a best-case scenario. They might simply throw me out of the chute and into empty space – too rebellious and troublesome to offload on some greedy buyer.

Maybe they’ll just toss me as defective merchandise – giving me as a gift to one of the Bullfrog elite to win his favor; a toy he can break and dispose of without a thought.

The endless, nightmarish scenarios play out in my head and leave me frozen to the spot. As I stand there, the Toad bends over to free my legs, while the leader of the Toads tightens his grip on the electro-rod and peers with disdain at his comrades clumsy work.

I look down – at the flabby, undefended back of the Toad guard. I could wrap my fingers together and ball both my hands up into a giant fist – bringing them crashing down between the Toad’s fleshy shoulder blades…

…but, instead, I freeze up.

I can’t do it.

I hesitate – and by the time I even realize I’m hesitating, it’s too late. The shackles around my ankles fall free, and suddenly I feel the webbed foot of the Toad guard slap wetly across my bare stomach. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, and sends me flying off the walkway.

For what seems like forever, I plummet downward – until I hit the surface of the water, and it stuns me just as brutally as the kick from that Toad did.

I plunge into the chill, sinking deeper and deeper – and that’s when I finally get a clear look through the glass viewscreens beneath the water…

…at the fate that awaits me when I’m sold.

Through the glass, I see a huge auction room full of bickering, jeering, slobbering Bullfrogs. I feel my stomach lurch the moment I do.

Toads are cunning, smarmy and skittish – but Bullfrogs? They’re like the worst of Toads, without the characteristic weaknesses of the species. Where Toads are craven, Bullfrogs are confrontational. Where Toads are cowardly, Bullfrogs thrill at danger.

The contrast is most apparent in their physicality – with Bullfrogs towering over the Toads, and swollen with hundreds of pounds of warty, sinewy muscle sheathed by rubbery, armor-like flab.

If my lungs weren’t already burning, I’d have been left breathless. As I try to kick my legs and stop my descent, I can’t help but stare at the disgusting creatures.

If any of those Bullfrogs buy me, it’s over.

And I don’t mean that melodramatically – I mean it literally. Toads are cruel and sadistic owners, but Bullfrogs are brutal and dangerous. That’s why they always need new slaves. The elite of the Toad species go through their slaves quickly – either crushing them during their frenzied rutting, or torturing and brutalizing them afterward; to satisfy what cruel urges weren’t sated when the Bullfrogs emptied their seed.

A single Bullfrog is terrifying – and as I float beneath the water, I see a room stuffed with the huge, glistening creatures.

They’re all staring at me – perhaps because I’m the first of the captives to be thrown into this pool with her breasts exposed. I can’t hear the noise beneath the water – but I can see their flabby jowls jiggling and their necks distending as they croak and warble in excitement.

But there’s also a different kind of heat on me – the burning gaze of three creatures who are the absolute opposite of the Bullfrogs.

Aurelians.

At the back of the room sit those same three Aurelians we’d encountered in the corridor.

They’re not joining in the raucous jeers or gurgling laughter. They sit almost like statues – cold, aloof, straight-spined and with their chins forward as they observe me.

I’m not a good swimmer, but before I panic, the water buoys me upward and I break the surface and take a grateful whoop of air.

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