Page 10 of Claimed By the Alien Warlord

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I lie.

Once they’re gone, I signal Dick for another round. He shuffles over, his apron stained with grease and beer, and crosses his arms. “You’ve had enough, Reily. Time to call it a night.”

“The hell I have. Pour me another.”

“Not gonna happen. You’re cut off.”

“You’re killing me, Dick.” I glare up at him, but he doesn’t budge. “Fine. Be that way.” I slam my empty bottle down and stumble out of the booth, my boots scuffing against the sawdust-covered floor.

The night air hits me like a slap, cold and sharp. My head’s spinning, but I keep walking, the anger in my chest burning hotter with every step. “Not fair,” I mutter to no one. “None of this is fair.”

And then I see it—a sleek, black limo idling at the red light not twelve feet away. My breath catches. “Gary Irons,” I slur, squinting through the haze of alcohol. “Come to survey your handiwork, you prick?”

I spot half a crumbled brick on the sidewalk, its edges jagged and sharp. Without thinking, I grab it, the weight of it solid in my hand. “Take that, you fucking rich asshole!” I hurl it with everything I’ve got.

The brick arcs through the air, spinning end over end, and smashes through the limo’s rear window with a deafening crash. The sound of shattering glass is like music to my ears. I grin, a rush of elation surging through me.

The roar that follows isn’t human. It’s primal, guttural, and it shakes the air like thunder. The limo door flies open, nearly ripping off its hinges, and out steps Gary Irons. Except it’s not Gary Irons—not the man I’ve seen in the papers. He’s massive, towering over the limo, his eyes burning like red coals. In his hands, he cradles shattered glass like it’s something precious.

“Oh, shit,” I whisper. My legs move before my brain can catch up. I turn and run.

My boots pound against the pavement, the sound echoing off the brick walls of the alley. His footsteps are right behind me, heavy and relentless, like a freight train gaining speed. I don’tdare look back. My lungs burn, and my vision blurs as I push myself harder.

The chain-link fence at the end of the alley looms like a death sentence. No time to climb. I skid on my knees, dirt and gravel digging into my skin as I dive under the gap at the bottom. My shirt catches on the wire. I yank, but it’s no use.

Gary’s hand grabs a fistful of fabric. He pulls, and the shirt tears clean off, leaving me in nothing but my bra and jeans. I scramble to my feet, the cold night air biting at my exposed skin. “Stay the hell away from me!” I scream, but it comes out more like a sob.

I bolt into the woods, branches whipping at my face and arms. My feet slip on damp leaves, and my breath comes in ragged gasps. I fumble for my phone, only to remember it’s still sitting on the table at Dick’s. No one’s coming to save me.

The ground gives way beneath me, and I tumble down a steep incline. Rocks and roots tear at my skin as I roll, my world spinning until I land in the icy water of the brook. The cold shocks me, and I gasp, pulling my sopping hair out of my face.

He’s there. Standing over me like a nightmare, his silhouette blocking out the moonlight. His chest heaves, and his eyes—God, his eyes—burn like hellfire.

“You!” he roars, his voice so deep it rattles my bones.

I scramble backward, my hands slipping on the wet rocks, but he’s faster. His massive hand closes around my throat, lifting me off the ground like I weigh nothing. My back slams against a tree trunk, the impact knocking the air out of me.

I claw at his hand, but it’s like trying to bend steel. “Let me go!” I choke out, my vision swimming.

“Do you have any idea what you have done?” he hisses, his face inches from mine. His breath is hot, his teeth bared like an animal’s.

"It was just glass," I manage to choke out, my voice barely more than a wheeze as his hand tightens around my throat. My vision’s blurring at the edges, but I can still see the fury in those burning red eyes.

"Justglass?" Gary sputters, shaking me like a rag doll. My head snaps back, and I bite my tongue hard enough to taste blood. "You dare mock my grief?"

Mock his grief? What the hell is he talking about? It was a stupid window! But his grip is crushing, and the words won’t come. Panic claws at my chest. I’ve only made him angrier, and now I’m paying for it in oxygen.

"I’ll make it up to you," I gasp, my hands clawing uselessly at his arm. His skin is hot, almost scalding, and I can feel the muscle beneath it, unyielding as steel.

"Make it up to me?" He growls, his voice low and dangerous. "Impossible."

"I’ll pay for it," I rasp, desperation making my voice crack. My legs dangle uselessly, and my bra feels like the flimsiest shield against the night air—or his gaze.

"I have plenty of money," he snaps, his lips pulling back in a snarl. "What you have taken from me cannot be replaced."

His hand tightens further, and spots dance in my vision. I kick at him, but it’s like kicking a brick wall. "Please," I cry, my voice breaking. "I’ll do whatever you want, don’t kill me!"

Gary freezes, his grip loosening just enough for me to suck in a ragged breath. His eyes narrow, , the rage in them flickers, replaced by something darker, more calculating. "You’ll do whatever I want?" he replies, his tone low and dangerous.

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