Page 3

Three years earlier

Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

Morgan Calloway burst into laughter when she pushed aside the colorful tissue paper revealing a silky white button-down blouse accompanied red accessories—an engraved leather belt and a lacy push-up bra with matching thong.

She shook her head in fond exasperation at the remaining black items—a narrow skirt with a side slit, sheer pantyhose with a prominent back seam, and fuck-me heels—before placing the enclosed oversized eyeglasses on her nose.

Her now-former coworkers grinned at her.

“Really, ladies?”

“There’s more,” said Candi Torres. Her brown eyes lit with humor and anticipation. The other dozen women encouraged Morgan to continue exploring the contents of the gift box while the ten men smirked. She slapped her palm with a wooden ruler before holding up a pencil and a Hot for Teacher sign.

“You’ve kept long hours working here while getting your degree. We want you to start making time for relationships. And remember to have fun. You deserve it.” Beth Weston, a blue-eyed blonde, smiled.

“None of us wants a guy who regularly seeks out stripper entertainment,” said Danae Stefano with pursed lips.

“It’s not like Mr. Right hangs out in places like this, even if ours is a thousand times better than the Carmine Canine.” added Penny Lockhart, her hazel eyes glinting. The other women nodded.

Morgan snickered at their nickname for a strip club on the other side of town.

Years ago, some of them had gone there one night to scope out the competition.

They’d left in disgust after visiting the ladies bathroom.

The lack of cleanliness sucked, but even worse was the realization that the strippers weren’t afforded a separate dressing room.

They had to change in the public restroom.

Morgan glanced around. Her best friend and boss, Sophia Pratoria, had successfully combined a ritzy gentlemen’s club with a high-end strip joint.

A large stage dominated the far end of the main room.

On either side, dance platforms surrounded center poles and hovered about eight feet in the air.

Rather than cages, thick, clear acrylic tastefully decorated with fake gemstones encased the mini-stages and glittered under the bright lights.

Two long bars ran the lengths of the space and the black marble countertops gleamed.

Solid oak tables with plush chairs in red, black, and gold filled the parquet wood floor while the upper level contained VIP areas.

Sophia even had a chef on staff and offered gourmet meals four nights a week.

“I’ll be too busy setting up my classroom and writing lesson plans.”

A chorus of boos answered her comment.

“Keep yourself open to the possibility,” said Beth.

Morgan nodded. Opening the remainder of cards and gifts, eating, and accepting well wishes filled the next two hours. Laughter rang loud when Penny’s acerbic commentary about customers caused Candi to snort her soda.

As the event wound down, Jake Broussard and Tony Dixon, a bartender and bouncer respectively, offered to load the gifts into Morgan’s fifteen-year-old car while she returned goodbye hugs.

Jake frowned, his blue eyes concerned.

“Your car is stuffed to the brim. Are you leaving right away?”

Morgan confirmed, “Straight from here. I’ve got about twenty-five hours of driving ahead of me.”

“Be careful. Pull over if you’re tired.”

“Yes, Dad.” She stepped into his embrace. He bent his lanky six-foot frame to look into her eyes.

“I care about your safety.” He kissed her cheek. “I ought to paddle your sassy ass.”

“You and what army?” Morgan’s grin at their usual banter faded. “Thank you for looking out for me all these years. You’ve been the big brother I always wished I had.” Tears welled in her eyes when his expression softened, and he gently tugged her ponytail.

“I’m proud if you. Those students of yours are luckier than they realize having you for their teacher.”

“Thanks.” She ducked her chin.

“Are you going to miss this place, even a little?”

Morgan turned at Sophia’s husky comment. A decade older than Morgan’s twenty-six, Sophia exuded high class with her lush form dressed in a teal silk dress, designer heels, and manicured nails. She impatiently pushed at a lock of her wavy black hair falling across her eyes.

“I’ll miss you and the staff, but I’m not going to miss the work.” Morgan tilted her head and smiled. “Exotic dancing was never going to be my career. I’m grateful you hired me.”

“You love performing with the silks.” Sophia gestured with an elegant hand.

Morgan’s auburn ponytail swung when she shook her head.

“I enjoy the exercise and choreographing routines. I tolerated performing.” Wagging a finger at her friend, she said, “Your bottom line isn’t going to suffer. I’ve been working with some of the girls to teach them some easy moves that look complex.”

“Even though your acts have always pulled the clients in, I’m not worried about the money.

” In a rare moment of visible discomfort, Sophia bit her full lower lip and her long dark lashes shimmered with moisture.

“I’m going to miss you. And you’re going to be alone when you start your new job.

Why couldn’t you apply for positions closer? ”

Morgan sighed.

“Now that I finally have my degree, I want to teach. School administrators in Spokane aren’t as likely to realize that the Manor House on my resume is a strip club.”

“You’ll keep in touch?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend no matter where I am.” Morgan’s eyes welled as she returned Sophia’s fervent hug.

Twelve hours later, Morgan’s eyes watered again, and her jaw popped when she yawned wide. She exited Interstate 25 somewhere in Wyoming looking for a cheap motel.

Streetlights would be nice. I can’t see shit .

Her engine suddenly quit and she pulled over.

What now? I’m too tired to deal with car troubles.

With a heavy sigh, she zipped her hoodie, popped the hood, and grabbed a flashlight. Grumbling under her breath, she opened her car door. The cool night air smelled fragrant. Her nose wrinkled when another scent registered.

Ugh. Is there an open septic tank nearby?

All-encompassing pain spread from Morgan’s shoulders throughout her body.

Back involuntarily arching, she shook uncontrollably before falling to her hands and knees.

Nose bleeding, hair awry, she drunkenly raised her head and peered behind her.

Four large orange beings with three bulbous black eyes aimed weapons at her.

Her eyes widened and a broken gasp left her rasping chest.

One spoke in guttural tones. She shook her head groaning with pain. It…he gestured at one of his companions who stepped forward and grasped her upper arm. Effortlessly he lifted her to stand unsteadily. Claws. They have fucking claws. And they stink.

Another placed a collar around her neck. What am I? A fucking dog?

She struggled weakly as they led her into the treeline. They spat harsh words at her and she increased her efforts. The first one backhanded her and the world went black.

When Morgan regained consciousness, her body screamed at her.

A cold metal floor thrummed underneath her as she catalogued her injuries.

Tentatively, she touched her tender swollen jaw and cheek.

Dried blood flaked off under her nostrils.

A headache pounded behind her eyes and her left ear felt like a hammer had struck it.

Her muscles ached like she’d worked on the silks every waking hour for a week straight.

Her stomach churned as she slowly sat up and took in her surroundings.

She estimated a hundred people, mostly women, filled a large low-lit area. A single section remained clear. The reason became clear when two women moved there. One stood guard while the other dropped her pants and squatted. Morgan’s lips twisted. Guess that’s our litter box. Fucking wonderful.

An older black woman sitting near her said, “How ya feelin’, sweetie? Most are thrown in here screaming or in shock. I worried because you were bloodied and unconscious.”

“Like I went ten rounds with a bus.” Morgan grimaced and rubbed her arms.

“Who got ya? The orange or the gray dudes?”

“There are gray ones, too?”

“Yep.” The woman extended a hand. “I’m Faith Roberts from Atlanta. Bastards picked me up at my boyfriend’s cabin.” Her face fell. “They killed him when he shot one.”

“I’m sorry about your boyfriend.” They shook hands. “Morgan Calloway. I was driving from OKC to Spokane when my car broke down somewhere in Wyoming. How long have you been here?”

“Three days.” Faith pointed at a group across from them “They were here when I arrived and said they’d been picked up four days prior. You were one of the last.”

Morgan fingered the contraption around her neck.

“What’s with the collars?”

Faith’s brown eyes hardened.

“They’re pain collars. The aliens use ‘em to control us.”

“How do you know that?”

“Orange one explained it then demonstrated it.” Faith nodded at a burly guy. “Dropped the man to his knees. After he recovered, he said it felt like a thousand needles spiking into his neck and electricity coursing through his body. He was pretty shaken up. And pissed.”

“You can understand them?”

“Y’all can, too. They implanted us with translators.” She tapped behind her ear. “Hurt like a bitch when they did it.”

Morgan fingered her own aching flesh near her ear.

“I’m not dreaming, am I?”

“No, sweetie. We’ve been abducted by aliens who stink like an outhouse that needs relocated.”

“Why?”

Lips pursed and eyes shadowed, Faith said, “They’re going to sell us as slaves. And since we’re mostly female, I suspect it’ll be even worse for us.” She patted the younger woman’s arm.

Tears leaked from Morgan’s eyes.