Page 8 of Bound to the Alien Orc (Alien Gambits #1)

Chapter 8

I t feels as though I’ve only closed my eyes when my cell door rattles, the sound jolting me awake. I blink into the harsh light, the unfamiliarity of my surroundings hitting me with full force.

“Get up Williams! Your advocate is here! Stand by the wall and put your hands out where I can see ‘em,” a deep voice growls as jeers from my neighboring inmates erupt, no doubt excited by the thought of a new face.

The door slides open, revealing the burly figure of a different Juntarian guard, his face twisted in a scowl. His gaze sweeps the cell, landing on me, the only occupant. I’ll call you Frownzilla.

As I push off the thin dirty mattress, the cold floor bites into my feet. My flimsy bed covers left crumpled as I make my way to the wall, my body stiff and sore from the hard bed. My mind races, wondering who has come to visit. Is it a lawyer? Or is Kyor here to bail me out?

The door opens, the guard, Frownzilla, steps aside to reveal a tall, thin blue figure standing behind him. Frownzilla gives him the nod, and he walks into my cell. He looks greasy and mean. His eyes are sunken and his face is gaunt. His clothes, a stained gray suit, hang loosely off his skeletal frame. He’s a Corsairian, and there’s a hard edge to him, a cruelty in his eyes. He looks more like an ex-convict than a lawyer. The thought makes me shudder, but I swallow the dread, trying to appear unruffled.

The door slides shut, leaving us alone.

His gaze sweeps the room, his lip curling with distaste. He pulls a datapad from his pocket, his fingers swiping over the screen.

“So, you’re the infamous Tasha Williams,” he drawls, his voice slithering through the cold, sterile air of the cell, slick and oily like the lubricant we use on the ships.

My back hits the cold, metallic wall as I take a step away, my mind reeling in confusion. “What are you talking about? Infamous?” my voice echoing off the stark, bare walls.

He laughs then, a harsh, grating sound that seems to bounce off the cell’s steel confines, amplifying its alarming effect. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You’re the human who tried to kill High Chieftain Garrox. The entire galaxy is talking about it.”

An icy dread seeps into my bones, chilling me from the inside out. My heart plummets, a heavy stone sinking in the pit of my stomach. “No, no. I didn’t try anything of the sort. Aren’t you supposed to be on my side?” I protest, my voice barely above a whisper.

The Corsairian shrugs. “I’m just here to represent you at trial. That’s all. My name is Trexton Humbrage,” he replies, his expression as neutral and cold as the stark lighting casts harsh shadows around us.

“Look,” I implore, desperation tingeing my voice, “I didn’t do it. You need to get me out of here and find who did.”

But he shakes his head, his face an impassive mask, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off his polished suit. “You can’t lie to me, human,” he counters, his voice as cold as the metal bench I’m forced to sit on.

My heart pounds in my chest, the blood rushing in my ears. This can’t be happening. It can’t be. There’s no way I’m going to be convicted of something I didn’t do. Is everyone against me?

“You’ve got the wrong person,” I insist, my voice shaking with fear and desperation. “I didn’t do it. I would never hurt anyone. Someone must be doing an investigation... something to find the real culprit!”

But Trexton ignores me, his attention focused on his datapad, the glow reflecting in his beady eyes.

“Let’s get down to business. You’re being charged with attempted assassination,” Trexton pronounces, his voice flat and unemotional as if he were discussing the weather, not my imminent doom.

“You’ll be tried in a court of law and if found guilty, you’ll be executed.” He doesn’t look at me, instead focusing on the datapad that seems glued to his hands.

My knees buckle under the weight of his proclamation. I crumple onto the hard, steel floor, my body echoing the cold dread that grips my heart.

Executed .

The word rings in my ears, a harsh reality that steals the air from my lungs.

Tears carve hot, salty trails down my cheeks, the shock numbing my senses. I can’t breathe.

“You can’t let this happen,” I gasp, my voice a strangled sob. “Please, you have to believe me. I’m innocent.”

Trexton swipes along his datapad before presenting it to me. His movements are precise and devoid of any empathy. “There is, of course, a fee for my services. I need you to sign this waiver. It’s an agreement for me, your court-appointed advocate, to represent you for a fee. If you don’t sign, you’ll have to represent yourself.”

The ludicrousness of the situation sparks a flare of anger, momentarily pushing aside the overwhelming fear. “I can’t afford an advocate,” I retort, my voice echoing off the cell walls in a bitter mockery. “How the hell am I supposed to represent myself?”

The lawyer shrugs, his gaze as cold and detached as the sterile light illuminating the cell. “My fee should be the least of your worries, human. Those are your choices. But,” he adds, a predatory gleam in his eyes, “I can be open to... alternative arrangements.”

“What... kind of arrangements?” I echo, my voice barely a whisper, as my heart pounds a frantic rhythm against my rib cage.

Trexton smiles, a wicked twist of his lips. “Well,” he drawls. “I’ll take the case if you provide certain me with some services.”

My heart skips a beat, the fear rising again in my chest. His implications are obvious. A human female in a jail cell with an unscrupulous lawyer? Only one type of service comes to mind.

“Are you kidding me?” I hiss, my voice dripping with contempt. “You want me to sell myself for a chance to stay alive? What kind of advocate are you?”

“A pragmatic one,” he counters, his expression never changing. “You’re a pretty human,” he murmurs, his tone oozing with malevolent glee. “And I can make sure the jury finds you... not completely guilty, at least. Sometimes I need a little extra motivation to do my job well.”

His words are a knife in my chest, twisting the blade of fear and hopelessness even further.

“No,” I retort, my voice gaining strength from my indignation. “I won’t be used like that.”

“Your choice,” Trexton shrugs nonchalantly, as if he had merely suggested a change in the dinner menu and not asked me to sell my soul.

I clench my jaw, my hands balling into fists at my sides. This Corsairian, this... monster, will not use me. I refuse to be a pawn in his twisted game.

“You’re despicable,” I spit out, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. Anger courses through me, hot and potent, burning away the fear.

Trexton laughs, the sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Spare me the moralizing,” he sneers. “I’m not the one accused of attempted assassination. Now, are you going to sign the waiver or not?”

“I don’t need your help,” I declare, my voice ringing with defiance.

Trexton raises a brow, his expression smug. “Oh really? Your case might be a lost cause, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help you. I can get your charges reduced, maybe even get you off with exile instead of execution. All you have to do is sign this waiver and agree to my terms. It’s a win-win for both of us.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my hands trembling. As much as I want to reject his offer, I know the odds are stacked against me. He’s right, my case is a lost cause.

And at the thought of execution, an icy dread runs through my veins.

“What... are your terms?” I sigh, defeat coloring my voice. What can I do to get out of this?

“Well,” Trexton says, a slow, malicious smile spreading across his face, “first, you’ll sign the waiver. I need to make sure I get paid. Then, you’ll agree to provide me with any... and all sexual services I demand. In return, I’ll make sure the jury finds reasonable cause for exile instead of execution.”

“Exile? Where?”

“You’ll go wherever you’re told, human.”

My stomach twists into a knot. Exile. Is that a fate worse than death? But at least it’s a chance, a chance I’m reluctant to throw away. If I could get a message to someone, anyone. Not Kyor, the bastard... maybe Droilin? It’s a slim hope, but it’s the only one I have. I really should have tried to make more friends here!

I nod.

“I’ll sign the damn waiver,” I spit, my voice a low, venomous hiss. “But I want to know the details of our agreement first.”

“Of course,” Trexton replies, his tone oozing with false sympathy. “It’s simple. You’ll be my personal sex slave. You’ll do whatever I want whenever I want. You’ll be mine to use and abuse as I see fit until your sentence is announced. This can be a day, a week, or a year from trial. We’ll see how lucky you are. In exchange, I’ll make sure the jury finds you innocent and recommends exile instead of execution.”

My skin prickles, a sickening sensation in the pit of my stomach. I’ll be his sex slave, his whore. I can’t let this happen. I watch as he swipes his datapad.

I have to steal it without him noticing. The risk is enormous. I swallow the lump in my throat, steeling my resolve. I need a plan, and the only one that comes to mind sickens my stomach.

“Fine, I’ll sign the waiver.” I say, forcing my voice to remain steady.

“Excellent,” Trexton replies, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips as he hands me his datapad.

“Just press here with your thumbprint,” he says, pointing to a line at the bottom of the screen.

My hands tremble as I reach for the datapad.

I look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. His beady eyes are fixed on me, the cruel satisfaction written all over his face. That datapad is my lifeline. I need to get this back!

“There, it’s signed,” I say, returning his datapad, hoping my nerves don’t show. Time to put on a performance.

“You know, I never had sex with a Corsairian before.” I add, licking my lips.

“Oh, really?” he asks, his voice thick with greed. I force the bile down as I open the top button of my prisoner jumpsuit. I bury the warning bells going off in my mind that this is the most stupid idea I’ve ever had.

I watch his eyes darken, his gaze trailing over my chest, his tongue wetting his thin blue lips. He leans forward, his hands moving towards me. I snake closer to him. Every fiber of my being is repulsed by the Corsairian, but I have to act fast.

“Now that’s more like it,” he growls, his voice thick with lust. He sticks his datapad in his pocket.

“I just need to know I can trust you, Trexton.” I say huskily as I lean in close, puckering my lips. I press them against him, the contact sickening. His hands grip my shoulders, his touch revolting. He’s vile.

“You’re a good little human,” he purrs.

I let his tongue slip into my mouth, the feeling disgusting. Bile rises in my throat, and I have to swallow it back down.

I feel his hands move, one of them resting on my ass. I slide my hand down his chest and into his pocket, pulling the datapad out and gripping it tightly behind my back. The slimy bastard has no idea.

“I’ve always been interested in the law, you know. You must know so much about it. Do you know who will be on my case?” I rise quickly, feeling far too vulnerable on the hard bed, and attempt to walk seductively to the other side of the cell.

I have no idea what the hell I’m doing, but I try to act like a woman who’s ready to spread her legs for the most heinous creature she’s ever met.

We circle each other, but he has me on the defensive. My instincts are on high alert. I’ll bite and scream if he tries anything.

“Oh, I can tell you a lot about the law,” Trexton replies, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “Are you familiar with who will be at your hearing?”

I shake my head, my pulse racing.

“No. Tell me,” I plead, the desperation ringing in my voice.

He laughs, the sound grating on my nerves.

“A Seraphim judge, a Rhilnar judge and Orion Outpost representatives. All aliens. All with their own agenda. They will not hesitate to put a human female on death row for crimes they deem worthy of such a punishment. The jury will not care about your pleas or your tears, only the evidence against you. Jha’ril, will see that justice is served. But don’t worry, keep to your end of the deal, and I’ll make sure they exile you instead.”

Terror floods my veins, and I bite back a whimper.

“You’re a monster,” I say, my voice laced with loathing.

Trexton lets out a harsh bark of laughter, the sound sending a quiver through my nerves. “I’m a realist,” he retorts, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ve seen the galaxy, and I’ve seen how it treats humans. Don’t worry, I’ll put on a show for the crowd. You’ll get your exiled verdict. Now, time for me to collect on our deal. On your knees, now!”

His words hang in the air, the weight of their implication settling over me like a suffocating blanket.

The door slides open and a burly figure steps in. Frownzilla.

“Times up, Lawyer, your next client is waiting,” he growls, his eyes narrowing.

I let out a small sigh of relief, the tension in the room dissipating.

Trexton nods, the smug smirk still plastered on his face. He turns, striding towards Frownzilla, his posture oozing confidence. He pauses at the door and looks back at me.

“Your trial is tomorrow, Ms. Williams. I’ll return soon to continue our interview. I really feel like we are getting somewhere.”

Frownzilla moves aside to let Trexton pass. He doesn’t give me another backward glance.

Frownzilla makes a grunt, then he turns and leaves, the door slamming shut behind him.

I stare at the closed door, the finality of the sound hitting me. I can’t let him win, I need to find a way out of this.

My hands are still trembling as I run for the datapad hidden between the thin, scratchy pillow and the mattress. It’s the only hope I have left. I open the datapad and search for any recent communication, anything that could give me a clue who was behind this. Nothing. Damn it!

Droilin is really my last... only... hope. I search for the Morcrestian commlink. A list of names appears on the screen. I scan them, looking for his Droilin, holding back the urge to cry.

I select his name and quickly type up a message. My hands are shaking, and I’m terrified Frownzilla will return and catch me.

To Droilin, Personal Guard to the High Chieftain of Morcrest. Message from Tasha Williams. I know who did it. Come see me.

The communication is brief, a few lines, begging for him to help me. I send the message and delete any trace of it.

Just in time, too. The cell door rattles and my stomach drops. Relief floods through me when Frownzilla enters.

“The Advocate said he left his datapad,” he states, his gaze scanning the room.

“He forgot it. Here,” I say, holding the datapad out, trying to remain calm.

Frownzilla’s eyes narrow as he approaches, his hand closing around the device.

“Anything you want to confess, Williams?” he demands, his voice a low rumble.

“N-no, I’m just tired.”

“Hmmph.” Frownzilla grunts, and then he’s gone, the door sliding shut behind him.

My heart is racing, but I try to take deep, steadying breaths.

They said I had two days before my trial! Now it’s tomorrow? Tomorrow. The word echoing in my mind, my thoughts spinning like a ship caught in a storm.

“That’s impossible. It’s not enough time for an investigation! Is anyone even investigating this... those guards are useless!”

I’m trapped, and now I’ll have no one to stand by me. My lawyer is a monster, my boss doesn’t believe me, and Droilin? He let them take me away... but still I cling onto hope.

I slump to the floor, my knees giving way beneath me. My mind kicks into overdrive, like a malfunctioning engine with sputtering sparks. I berate myself, an idiot for trusting the Orion Outpost, a fool for thinking I could carve out a niche in this alien space station. Now, all I have is this cell, a future shrouded in uncertainty, and a tiny ray of light in the form of the very enemy who put me here.

But I did something to help myself. Not wallow in a cell. I contacted Droilin. I have to believe he will come, that he will save me. It’s my only hope. Garrox’s personal guard, an orc I barely know, with whom I’ve shared nothing more than a fleeting conversation. Yet, despite the ridiculousness of it all, I cling to that slim chance.

Maybe you’re just horny Tasha, waiting for a green monster to rescue you from this cell...?

I let out a strangled laugh. I can’t believe the thoughts running through my mind. The irony isn’t lost on me. My entire life, I’ve struggled against the expectations of others.

Now faced with a fate worse than death, I’ve found myself relying on a complete stranger to save me. And what will he want in return? What will his price be? It can’t be worse than the Corsairians.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Or maybe you just want to think of something nice that could have been a happy ending if this had been a fairy tale?

I shake the thought away, the irrationality of the idea making me laugh. Fairy tales are for children, and I’ve long since grown up. This isn’t a fairy tale, and there are no such things as happy endings.

I lay on the cold floor, the unforgiving steel pressing against my back. So, I close my eyes, trying to push down the fear and panic. I have to pray Droilin comes through... before that vile lawyer gets back.

As I drag myself to the hard bed, my body aching and weary, I can’t help but wonder what my future holds. I’m about to drift off to sleep, the image of a certain orc’s muscular frame dancing behind my eyelids when my cell door rattles again.

It can’t be the Corsairian, can it?

I jolt awake, my heart pounding in my chest. I blink into the harsh light, my mind struggling to process the sound. The cell door slides open, and confusion grips me when I see the figure standing in the doorway.

“What the fuck?” I murmur, the words leaving my lips before I can stop them.

Dread rises in my chest as the door opens.