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  CHAPTER ONE

  Blythe

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  When I volunteered to become an entertainer, I had no idea I would become a whore – let alone one shipped across the entire galaxy.

  I shouldn’t have been so eager, but the money was too good and signing the contract without taking anything too seriously came easily. The entire transaction was legit. Supposedly. There was nothing I could do once the ink dried on the paper. Who could I ask for help? My parents? My mom’s dead, and my dad’s the reason I signed the contract.

  I could only hope the money promised was as concrete as the contract I had signed.

  How would I know from five billion miles away?

  Would I ever find out if the money I sent helped my dad at all? Did it even matter? Would he still smile, in selfish relief, if he knew his oldest daughter had sold herself to become an intergalactic space whore?

  This leads to me to where I’m at right now.

  I glance around the room, taking note of the faces as the ship transports me to my next assignment. As usual, everyone’s young, female, and at least somewhat athletic. All the girls train when we have a free moment, but having something in common didn’t exactly make us friends. Quite the opposite. We look out for ourselves, save for a few of the high-class entertainers who always manage to work jobs together.

  Frowning, I lower my cup of water. This isn’t a bad room. There’s enough space for all of us to stretch out, and there’s even a separate space if we need to take a piss. Accommodations have been a lot worse, but there’s still no telling how long this trip will last.

  “Where are they taking us?” one asks, ruining my quiet assessment. I glance up to find a pair of piercing blue eyes fixating on my much darker ones.

  That’s how it is on a lot of these journeys. So many girls turn to me for answers. I’m not exactly sure why. Maybe I look old or more experienced. Maybe I’m more approachable than the others. Either way, enclosed in this locked room with nineteen other girls, I’m not surprised when several of them flock towards my corner. I lick my lips and take in the first who’s brave enough to speak to me, recognizing her immediately.

  Doesn’t mean I have to be friendly about it.

  “I don’t know, Ellis,” I shoot back, suppressing the trained politeness I use with clients. I don’t want to let worry show on my face, but this situation is outside the norm.

  Twenty Human Whores locked in pleasant enough accommodations, if not for the fact we’d all be forced to spread our legs later for whoever purchased us.

  Still though, twenty? It seems a bit excessive. Maybe it’s for another alien bachelor party of some sort.

  Sighing, I remember I deserve this. I signed the papers. I boarded the shuttle willingly without a second thought.

  “There are twenty of us here, you know,” Ellis goes on, glancing around the sterile enclosed room we’re bunked in. She openly expresses all my worries in her submissive, yet obviously intelligent voice. “Twenty. What could anyone possibly want with twenty girls at once?”

  “Bachelor party?” I guess sarcastically.

  “Maybe they’re like the Entlas?” an unfamiliar girl asks hopefully, and I’m immediately drawn to her young face and near black eyes. “They weren’t so terrible. Some were even kind.”

  “Doubt it,” York says before swallowing. “Maybe they’re Sidyths?”

  “You think they’re like the Pluefs? Or the ones with the fins?” The one with dark eyes swallows. “Or Drakens?” She finishes in a small voice.

  A lot of these girls are new to me, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re new to the whole space whoring thing. There are formal training academies all over the galaxy, and they’re all buying up humans and humanoids with names I can’t pronounce. Humans are a commodity in the universe because no one cares about a human’s welfare. The mentality was, ‘what could we possibly do? Fly home? Alert the Galactal Federation? Please, go ahead’, followed by chuckling. Earth didn’t even belong to the Galactal Federation. To most, humans are only a few steps better than how humans view dogs. We’re pets. Adorable pets. Pets who can give pleasure.

  And so, Human Whores became the accepted name for girls like us as a whole.

  I’m sure it could be worse.

  I turn my head slightly to face the one who asked about the Drakens and absently wonder what her deal is as I struggle to maintain my aloofness in this tiny space. If word gets around I know things – any things – they’d look to me as their leader. And in this world, the last thing I want is to be seen as a Madam. The less we know about each other, the better.

  Made it less painful when we were separated.

  “Drakens,” the woman continues. “You hear me? They could be Drakens.”

  “I heard you.” I can’t hide my annoyance. Of course, I’ve considered the possibility of being purchased by Drakens. Probably for some gallivant party. Drakens could afford it, but I didn’t want to be part of some alien version of a bachelor party. Drakens – though rich – were not kind.

  “So say something,” the girl continues.

  “How about shutting up?”

  “I sure hope it’s not Drakens,” another girl mutters – Sloane. Sloane Clark. She’s a few years younger than me and dumb as a brick when it comes to books, but smart enough when it comes to staying alive. Her light blue eyes are in direct contrast to her blood red hair. She’s pretty. Most of us are.

  “Drakens are rough,” she adds softly.

  “Not good tippers either,” one says hoarsely, laughing. Experience always rings in Arizona’s voice, so much so that a few others join in meekly, but I merely shudder along with Sloane. From across the room, I notice Arizona hadn’t changed much from when I first met her at the training academy. That’s how experienced girls like Arizona were.

  They’d come in from time to time, between assignments, to teach the new girls a thing or two. She’s pretty enough, especially for working in this business since half of these girls were in kindergarten, but there’s also something I don’t like about her. Her stupid stage name? Her lackeys, Alaska, Dakota, and Kansas, who go with her on every job? Maybe her reputation around the stars?

  Arizona does this. Arizona does that. Arizona never minds when I stick it there. Blah blah blah.

  Or maybe it’s that even though she’s past thirty, she’s a horrible combination of looking young and acting like a bitchy mama hen. She has the most amazing almond colored skin with a perfectly matched eye color. Her body’s tight and toned like a gymnast’s, and though she’s short, she commands everyone’s attention in every room. Rumor is she’s even dominated a few aliens herself – an absolute rarity for a human whore.

  Her lips pull into a smirk when she catches me looking at her, and unfortunately, I glance away too late before she notices. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” she teases, elbowing Dakota.

  “No. I’m worried we’re heading to a Draken bachelor party,” I say, doing my best to keep my composure.

  “Why?” Arizona smirks, lowering her eyes to my chest. “Oh. Yeah. I guess that would be a concern.”

  No one joins in Arizona’s laughter this time. They all know what she’s inferring, and she’s not wrong to point it out.

  Drakens? Those motherfuckers hate large tits. On the rare occasions I could get one to carry a conversation, I learned they got in the way when they wanted to suck the skin over my heart.

  “Hey, at least you all have the latest language transmitters. They didn’t get a chance to update mine after they pulled the last one out,” one sulks. Mia – whatever her last name is, tugs absently at her ear.

  “Oh boo-fuckity-who,” York sneers. “Consider yourself lucky you don't know what these creeps are going to say to us.” She pulls her knees up to her chest and looks around the room from her seated position on the floor.

  York Albright – I’ve worked with her a few times. She isn’t the prett
iest chick in the room, but she is the smartest. Unfortunately, she’s also a smartass who uses sarcasm to mask how afraid she is of anything. She’s only twenty-one with decent dark blond hair and brown eyes, but she’s already seen some of the worst the galaxy has to offer, so her mouth is permanently set in a skeptical frown. I leave her be for the most part.

  “I don’t ever want to hear what these perverts think about humans in general,” Sloane says, and I can’t argue.

  “Seriously,” Alaska says after getting an approving nod from Arizona. Her accent from home is still thick on her tongue. “Where are we going? Does anyone know anything?”

  “My last owner didn’t say anything,” I say lowly.

  “Neither did mine,” says Sloane.

  “Use your brains, ladies. Twenty Human Whores?” York says. “Most with language transmitters? Most having worked before? It can’t be good.”

  “Maybe it won’t be so bad,” someone chirps up with a bright smile, and I immediately want to smack it right off her face. She’s young and inexperienced. Easy to see she hasn’t been broken in yet thanks to her styled white-blond hair and sparkling blue eyes. “I’m kind of excited. Traveling the universe isn’t something everyone can do.”

  “You’re fucking deluded, Phoebe,” York sneers. “You’re acting like this is some summer vacation. Don’t you get it? We’re slaves now.”

  “Entertainers!” Phoebe chirps, rising to stand. York doesn’t bother to move. Alaska and Arizona smirk, and I barely manage to hide mine. This bitch is fucking clueless. “They said we’d be entertainers. That we’d travel the galaxies! How can you all be so negative about everything?”

  “Maybe because I’ve been entertaining for too long,” York says. “Sit before you piss someone off, yeah?”

  “But—”

  “Sit down, Phoebe,” Arizona snaps.

  And so she does.

  An uncomfortable silence settles over the room as Phoebe whispers to the girl next to her. Probably some overexcited bullshit about fabulous planets and alien cultures. What a newbie. She has no idea what’s about to happen to her.

  That’s the thing about some of the new girls. They start out so excited and ready for something new and fresh to do.

  Travel the skies!

  See the stars!

  Send the money back to your families!

  Entertain some of the most interesting beings in the galaxy!

  What could be wrong with that?

  The term entertainer is such a laugh. We’re not entertainers. We’re whores. Toys. Pets. Slaves. The only things keeping us alive and mostly intact are our rarity and mythical contracts.

  Speaking of which…

  “How long is this assignment going to be?” I ask, scanning over the group. Arizona meets my gaze but doesn’t open her mouth. She doesn’t know. She’s pissed she doesn’t know. Alaska’s soft blue gaze meets mine, but she casually looks away, flipping sandy blond hair over her tanned shoulder. Dakota and Kansas don’t bother to acknowledge my question. And though York looks pissed, she doesn’t have an answer either.

  All the previous owners knew to keep their mouths shut before shipping us away.

  Probably because if they told us where we were going, we’d try to escape.

  Slowly, all the experienced girls turn towards the newbies. Maybe someone was stupid enough to say something to one of them.

  “Well?” I ask again.

  “I heard six months,” one says meekly.

  “I heard a year.”

  “I heard we’d be possible carriers.”

  Everyone jerks in their seats like the ship’s lurched in some nasty turbulence. Arizona’s group collectively sucks in a gasp.

  “Where’d you hear that shit?” York snaps.

  “Easy, York,” Arizona says. “She’s a newbie.”

  “You shut up; you’re not my owner.” York turns her attention towards the girl who had spoken. I’ve never seen her before and judging by the looks on everyone’s faces, they haven’t either. York’s full lips press together into a thin line as she assesses her, just like I did.

  “You.”

  The girl looks up. She meets York’s intense gaze. She’s young. Pretty.

  “What’s your name?” York asks.

  “Layla Sullivan.”

  “Like your last name matters.” York rolls her eyes. “How old are you? You look like a teen pop star.”

  “Nineteen.”

  “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “I’m new,” she says, confirming what Arizona’s already pointed out.

  “From where?”

  “The training academy by Base 46.” Some of the girls agree, recognizing the mentioned site. Layla pushes a thin hand through her chestnut brown hair. She’s got the face of a twelve-year-old, but a banging body. “When they picked me to go, I worked up the nerve to ask one of the guards why they wanted me so bad. He told me the price. Whoever these people are—”

  “People don’t buy whores,” Phoebe chirps.

  “What planet are you from?” York says before turning her attention back to Layla. “So whoever these guys are paid a lot of money, huh?”

  “Why do you think we were rounded up so quickly?” Layla continues. “That’s what the guard told me, anyway. The money offered couldn’t be refused. He told me to prepare to be a carrier, but also not to worry because it could be fixed after our contract was up.”

  I swallow, and part of me wonders who the guard was. Some of them are kind. Too kind.

  “Fixed?” Phoebe asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Our lady parts, newbie. They’ll sew ‘em up nice and tight, so we’ll practically be virgins again,” Arizona says, shaking her head. “Yay.”

  I can’t help groaning.

  “B-but that’s not what we’re supposed to be doing!” Phoebe squeaks. “We’re entertainers. EN-TER-TAIN-ERS!” She rises to her feet again, and out of the corner of my eye, a red light flickers above the door.

  My eyes dart back to Phoebe as she paces around. We watch with wary expressions, all noticing the blinking red light above the door.

  “They’re trying to scare us. Make us listen, you know? We’re entertainers, not hookers.”

  York laughs. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Phoebe, this is what you signed up for. Didn’t read the contract, did you?”

  Phoebe stops pacing and spins around. Color flushes across her pale cheeks.

  “Sorry, girl.” Ellis shakes her head full of curls. “Welcome to the wonderful world of being a Human Whore.”

  “I’m not a whore,” Phoebe snaps, darting over. Ellis holds up her hands and, satisfied with this, Phoebe moves on to York. “I’m not a whore,” she repeats, staring down at York.

  York’s lips pull into another one of her famous smirks, further infuriating Phoebe.

  “I’m not! I’m not going to carry some alien’s baby because he paid me to! They have people for that—”

  “And you’re one of them,” York says calmly, drifting her attention towards the flashing light. “And you might want to sit. The Todas don’t want us messing each other up before landing. And I will fuck you up if you don’t get out of my face.”

  “Sit down,” I say tiredly. I don’t want them to bother us. I want to land and face another assignment. Maybe it won’t be so bad. I’m sure other girls on the ship carried before, but I can’t even focus on that because Phoebe’s misinformed squeaks are getting on my last nerve. “You see that blinking light? That means there’s too much noise. Too much ruckus. If you don’t sit down and shut up, York won’t need to fuck your ass up. They will.”

  A cluster of girls – both known and unknown – huddle to the furthest corner of the room from the door as Phoebe and York continue to have their version of a dick swinging competition. I had to hand it to Phoebe; she was either brave or dumb.

  I’m pretty sure it’s the latter when the intercom in the room crackles on, and a deep voice fills our ears, sounding like someone
trying to talk with a mouthful of mothballs. I quickly flip on the language communicator in my left ear so I can process the gurgling sound.

  “Is there a problem, whores?”

  “We’re not—” Phoebe starts before I dive at her and cover her mouth. She struggles against my grip, but I have plenty of experience on how to keep a girl quiet.

  Arizona shows her approval before turning towards the intercom where the rough voice is rumbling from. “No problem. Just so excited.”

  Shallow breaths fill the intercom, followed by a few gurgling chuckles. “We’ll be arriving shortly. Prepare yourselves. The weather calls for rain.”

  There’s silence as the line clicks off, and Phoebe breaks free from my grasp.

  “What are you doing, bitch?” she squeaks.

  “Saving your ass,” I shoot back, kicking her away. “Do you want them to come in here? Because I sure don’t. We’ve got bigger problems. We’re almost there. They said it’s raining. Maybe it’s a planet like home.”

  “Lots of water would be nice,” Alaska says dreamily.

  “Let me know how it looks when you’re lying on your back,” York says. “Let’s all think about this, ladies. These pervs must have paid a pretty penny for us, thanks to the info from Lyla over there.”

  “Layla.”

  “Whatever,” she says, dismissing her with a wave of her hand. “Anyway, we’re about to land on a planet filled with, what sounds like, rich, horny aliens who want mixed babies. Margaret Atwood couldn’t make this shit up. Oh wait,” she finally smiles, “yes, she could.”

  “I don’t know about you guys, but however long this is, or what we’re supposed to do, we should deal with it,” a girl mutters, resting a hand on Phoebe’s still shaking shoulders. Mia, I think. “It’s just another assignment.”

  “Spread your legs, not your lips,” I grumble.

  “Because aliens don’t like their dicks sucked,” Kansas finally speaks up, laughing and elbowing Arizona.

  “Shut up,” Arizona mutters.

  “Do as the client says,” Mia continues, dark eyes scanning across the sterile space. “Don’t piss off the client, only piss on them if that’s what they request.” Her deadpan voice brings a small smile to my face, but I don’t interrupt her because, while I know the mantra of an entertainer, it’s obvious not everyone here does. Or if they do, they’re not taking it seriously. Not yet. But they will.