Page 53 of Stalker

The Grolgath throw her at Father's feet. She hits the floor hard but manages to twist onto her knees, baring sharp teeth.

"Still won't cooperate?" Father's cultured voice carries clearly across the room. "Such a shame. Your sister was much more... reasonable."

"Vorpa would never submit to you!" The young Vakutan spits blood onto his polished shoes.

Father sighs and nods to one of the Grolgath. The brute yanks the throat chain, cutting off her words in a strangled gasp.

"Now Prova, that's no way for a lady to behave." Father dabs his shoe with a silk handkerchief. "Perhaps another session in isolation will improve your manners."

My nails dig into my palms as I watch. This is what Vorpa meant. This is what really happens in Father's private club. The other women may seem willing, but how many started like Prova? How many were broken until they learned to smile and pour drinks for their captors?

The chain bites into Prova's scales as Father yanks it taut. Her golden eyes bulge, clawed hands clenching behind her back.

My legs tremble. The stealth field wavers as I fight to stay still. To stay hidden. To not scream.

"Ready to behave now?" Father's voice carries that same gentle tone he used when teaching me to ride a bike. When kissing my scraped knees. When reading me bedtime stories.

"Fuck... you..." Prova chokes out the words through blue-tinged lips.

The chain goes tight again. Prova thrashes, her legs thrashing against the carpet. Her struggles grow weaker with each passing second.

My hand finds the stun pistol at my hip. One shot. I could end this right now. Save her. Stop him.

But before I can move, Father releases the chain. Prova collapses, gulping air in great heaving gasps.

"Are you ready to be a good girl?" Father straightens his cuffs, looking down at her like she's a misbehaving pet.

Acid burns the back of my throat. I clamp a hand over my mouth, fighting back the urge to vomit. This monster wearing my father's face - this can't be real. This can't be the man who raised me.

Prova's response is to rear up and spit directly in his face.

You go girl. My fingers curl into fists as pride and horror war in my chest. Whatever happens next, I know she won't break. Not like the others.

"I'll take her off your hands." Captain Ross's voice carries across the lounge. "Untrained ones are more... entertaining."

My fingers dig into the doorframe. The stealth field flickers as nausea rolls through me.

"She's not ready for sale." Father wipes Prova's spit from his face with a monogrammed handkerchief. "Still needs proper conditioning."

"That's half the fun." Ross downs his whiskey, ice cubes clinking. "Breaking in the wild ones."

Father's lips curve into that same smile he wore when negotiating my first skycar purchase. "Care to make it interesting?"

"What did you have in mind?"

"Break her by morning, she's yours free of charge." Father straightens his cuffs. "Fail, and you pay full price for a trained companion."

Ross's laugh echoes off marble walls. "Done."

The merchant captain grabs Prova's chain, yanking her to her feet. She stumbles but keeps her chin high, golden eyes blazing.

My heart pounds as Ross drags her toward my hiding spot. The stealth field won't hold if they bump into me. But I can't move without giving myself away.

"Which room?" Ross pulls Prova past marble columns.

"End of the hall." Father's voice follows them. "Sound-proofed, of course."

They're getting closer. Three steps away. Two. Prova's scales catch the light as she thrashes against the chain.

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