Page 13 of Protected By the Alien Bodyguard

“I am actively defying you, so deal with it,” Radboud replies. A long snake tongue slides out between his lips and waves in the air in front of his face.

Is this guy sticking out his tongue? At his boss!

He could have at least used a better catchphrase if he’s about to get fired.

An intense stare down happens. The two males face off. No one moves.

No one moves.

“Umm, guys, I hate to break it to you, but I gotta pee. Either you gotta start throwing punches or you’ve got to get out,” I call out to the aliens. I’m seriously over all this posturing. Any other time I would find it hilarious, but right now my mind keeps drifting back to the moment when Jaraz was led away. After everything… I refuse to believe he just ditched me like that.

Eventually, I’m left alone, with only my heartbreak to keep me company. And a bursting bladder.

Thankfully alien toilets aren’t that dissimilar to human ones. Though, on second glance, I have to wonder if this bathroom is meant for humans. Like, do each species have their own bathrooms? What do the snake guys use? Or a slime guy—I’m pretty sure I saw a jelly cube alien once.

I emerge from the bathroom, only to nearly pee myself again.

There he is. Grum. In all of his glory—bruised face, partially wrapped in bandages, and looking downright furious. He never looked particularly happy, except for when one of his business dealings went well, but right now... I’ve never seen his eyes this cold before.

He’s not in jail. No, he’s sitting on the medical bed, swinging his legs as he gazes around himself like he’s inspecting a hotel room. The nerve of this guy!

I should be frightened. He’s muscled enough, and possesses the freaking talons even, to do some serious damage. But the thing is... I don’t care anymore. I’ve had enough. I’ve been dragged halfway around the universe, and probably back again at this rate. I’ve been beaten, starved, drugged, and who knows what else. I am starting to get royally ticked off. I didn’t escape, only to get captured again. Over my dead body.

“Why aren’t you in jail?” I ask. “Or better yet, thrown out the airlock?”

I had assumed that the Commander had him locked up somewhere. Apparently, I assumed wrong.

“Come now, little one. It’s time to head home,” Grum smiles, his lips curling back to reveal sharp teeth. He’s acting like this is all some big game to him. “Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about you attacking me. There will be justice for that.”

“Justice?” I scoff at the idea.

“Of course! Here I was, a kind male taking in such a poor female from a primitive planet. You could have died if I hadn’t rescued you. I fed you, clothed you, and this is how you repay me! It’s only just that you will be punished,” he tells me.

Does Grum really think he’s serving out justice? Nothing he does is just. Nothing he does is honorable or kind. I ate off the floor because of him!

“I’ve got a perfect buyer in mind for you,” the bane of my life tells me. “Now, I’m not unreasonable. You could always go to the Sulthari fighting pits. If you’re lucky, they might throw you to the beasts. The actual beasts, not the Sulthari, that is. Though those males are pretty feral!” He throws his head back and laughs, the noise an unpleasant cackle.

“What did you think of the Commander? I’ve heard a lot of Drakoon are seeking females. I’m sure I can find a male that will look past your lack of scales and wings. To be honest, the males probably won’t even care what you look like as long as you can birth their young.”

My heart starts beating fast. Normally that tingling feeling in my fingers would mean I’m close to fainting or a panic attack. This time though? I want to hit something. No—I want to hit Grum again, this time for good.

His voice drifts off as I level a glare at him. What he’s saying should terrify me. On some primal level, it does. He’s straight-up talking about selling me to someone just to be raped. Anger outweighs it. Who does this guy think he is? He doesn’t just get to treat people like this and get away with it.

“The Commander is a good guy,” I say. I really hope he’s a good guy. I mean, I’m not floating in space yet for attempted murder, so that says something about him—doesn’t it? “All I have to do is tell him about what you’ve been up to, and then real justice will be served.”

Grum laughs. “Do you think I’d just let my operation be revealed so easily? Do you think that you, one little defenseless female, can honestly bring me down? Better males have tried.”

Sometimes life is about being in the right place at the right time. With my luck, I’m consistently on the wrong side of the tracks. Good thing misery likes company. It must suck to be this guy—he’s the wrong guy, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“I’m going to take you down, Grum. I don’t care how long it takes. One day, when you least expect it, I’ll be there,” I tell him. I don’t raise my voice. I’ve never been a shouter or a screamer, well, except for in the bedroom. The thing about having anxiety, the kind I do, is that you don’t like to draw attention to yourself. Blending into the wall is the best bet, or becoming one with a piece of furniture. But sometimes, you need to get stuff done—like now. And there is nothing scarier than someone talking quietly, calmly, and with a deadpan voice when they should be hysterical

“You?” He sneers, shifting on the bed. For the first time ever, I get the sense he’s nervous. Good; he should be. “You don’t have claws. You don’t even have scales. You can’t damage me.”

“How long did you hold me hostage, huh? You thought I was tied up, all docile. And then I beat you half to death. You never saw it coming.”

I smile at the memory. I smile at how strong I feel and at how vicious I sound. I’m sick and tired of having to act a certain way, of having to dress appropriately, just to please others. What about what I want? Why can’t I wear comfortable clothing? Why can’t I just be me? Why do I have to feel afraid all the damn time?

“I’m patient. I’m resourceful,” I tell him. “And I have an amazing memory. That slimy guy you met once. Sure, he didn’t have a mouth, but I still remember the screams of that alien you sold for him to eat. Oh, and what about that Volscian? I can name the type and quantity of each weapon you sold him. He started a war or something, didn’t he? I’m sure if the Federation isn’t interested, he won’t want that information getting out, now would he?”

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