Page 9 of Sawoots Story

“Stop!”

We all freeze.

“Backs against the wall. Now!”

I try not to tremble as I line up against the wall. Theme is to my left, shaking like a leaf. The three Aurelians share a look of contempt for him, then get started patting down the crew, left to the right. I’ll be the last.

Chris glares into the Aurelian’s eyes as he’s roughly searched. The Aurelian pulls a thick knife from Chris’s belt. “What were you planning to do with this?”

“Cut a Thanksgiving turkey,” he replies, until his voice is cut off in a gurgle as the Aurelian lifts him a foot in the air by the throat so he’s eye to eye with him. I can barely watch.

“Use that tongue again and I take it. Understand?” Chris just nods, gasping for air, and he stumbles as he’s dropped.

My heart pounds fast.

If Chris had one knife found…it wasn’t by accident. He likes to brag how he carries multiple blades. The first would have been a distraction.

I could tell the Aurelians. If I don’t…

My crew’s blood is on my hands when Chris uses a second or third hidden knife to try and escape.

Should I say something? He’ll never forgive me, but if he tries to rebel, we’re all dead.

I keep my mouth shut as Theme is searched. The poor boy’s eyes roll back in terror but he manages to stay upright.

I’m next.

The leader of the Aurelian is even more ferocious up close. He’s got a foul musk to him. He just smellswrong.Light armor covers his muscular physique, but his exposed forearms have patchwork scars from a hundred battles survived.

This triad has faced death over and over and made it out. The Aurelian’s nostrils flare again, and his eyes unfocus.

I shudder and try to press away from him, but my back is against the hard steel wall. His huge hands shake as he searches me, running his hands over my sides, when he growls low and deep. He gasps for air, and his fingers reach under the bottom of my shirt, his rough fingers against my skin,

Oh fuck.

This is bad. He’s losing control of his body to the Mating Rage. This is the moment of truth. If they’re Rogue, I’m going to have to fight off 500 pounds of muscled flesh and hope my crew comes to my aid. I tense my body, ready to knee him in the balls, hoping he doesn’t have armor protecting his sensitive area.

He leans in closer, and I feel the huge, hard rod of his cock, and I want to throw up.

I pull back my knee.

“Unhand her, Kit!”

A voice booms out and the leader of the triad, Kit, pulls away from me.

Kit snarls. The vein in his neck throbs. He wants to do nothing more than rip my clothes off, force me against the wall, and fuck me hard. There’s a stink from him, masculine but wrong, like my body is telling me he’s awful in a weird, sickly way.

“It’s my duty to search her, Garrick. Look what the other had.” He points to the knife in his second in command’s hand. “Back off, Garrick. You’re not needed here.”

Garrick.

He’s got a broad, honest face, with clear eyes without anger or remorse. He’s more handsome than I usually like, but he doesn’t have the same cocky energy as the Aurelians I hate. He’s stately and serious, with a short-cropped haircut that keeps his brown hair tamed. There’s no nonsense about him.

His triad looks like they’ve been in their share of fights.

The one on his right has broad-shoulders and biceps like bowling balls that strain against his light-armor. He’s got strong features, with a Romanesque nose and a jaw that looks like I’d break my fist on if I hit him. His head is shaved down to the stubble. He’s the tallest of the three, well over seven feet tall, and he licks his lips in anticipation.

He wants a fight.

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