Damaged goods, p.1
Damaged Goods, page 1
DAMAGED GOODS
Science Fiction Romance
by
Poppy Rhys
Copyright © 2023 by Poppy Rhys
Editor: Jessica Pennell
Cover Art © Phantom Dame
Cover Typography © Sam Griffin
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
WARNING
This story contains an M/F romance (with spice), non-human alien hero, mature content, graphic language, and possible triggers.
DAMAGED GOODS
The universe can go screw itself.
Getting sucked through a portal and spat out on an alien planet was not how I saw my Saturday unfolding. Stranded with no money, no shelter, I’m surrounded by the worst and wealthiest the galaxy has to offer.
Now, what’s a girl gotta do to snag a ticket back to Earth?
I’m juggling five jobs like it’s a circus act because I can’t wait around for a knight in a shining spacesuit to save me. Yet when Dommik, the new courier, literally crashes in during my break, I’m reminded of how I may need saving in… other ways.
He’s rude, with muscles to spare and a panty-dropping grin he wields like a pro. His crimson skin, mystical sigils, and sinful tricks are nearly irresistible and he knows it. He’s drawing me in faster than a sugar-fiend to a stash of cinnamon candies.
I have to remind myself it’s just a fling, because nothing can lure me off my path. I’m determined, stubborn, and I have to make it back to Earth before it’s too late.
Even if Dommik seems hell-bent on stealing my heart.
SHATTERED GALAXIES
When an elite group of scientists cracked the code on a special artificial intelligence, it began to understand emotion and the mechanics to maintain itself. An AI as close to a human as humanly possible.
It was a mistake.
With unmeasured reach, it searched for other lifeforms, hoping to expand its knowledge about the universe beyond the boundaries its creators established.
The scientists shut it down before it could spiral into something they couldn’t stop. The group went silent, shutting themselves off from the public as they set out to rebuild, hoping to regain control over their greatest creation.
The world moved on, the possibility of a special AI once more reserved for science fiction.
Until, a year later, when it all went wrong.
1
PIPER
“I’m going to ruin you. No one will want you once I'm through.”
"You know," Tilda, the cashier, said as she entered the commercial kitchen, "if I didn't know this was a bakery, I'd swear I just walked onto a hardcore porn set."
The perfectly baked and plated pastry perched on the counter in front of me was a high maintenance bitch. It always took at least four backups to get the perfect shot.
Well, not so much perfect, but something that managed to look mildly appetizing on social media. Food photography was a whole complex skill set I'd barely grazed the surface of.
I pulled out the can of upholstery protector and gave it a good shake before spraying the dessert.
“Blasphemy!” Antonio, the temperamental pastry chef, shouted.
“I know, I know.” I rolled my eyes, barely suppressing my smirk. “I’m the wicked witch of Market Street, come to wreck all your hard work.”
These were the days he cursed me—hell, I kind of hated myself—but the bakery needed to make money, and nothing brought in the customers like good old fashioned food porn.
The weekends raked in plenty of cash from the local clubbers eager to satisfy their sweet cravings after tearing up the dance floor, but it wasn't enough. And there were only so many penis pops and cunt cakes I could photograph and post online before it turned into actual porn.
Thus, sabotaging Antonio's cheesecake Danishes had become a part of my weekly ritual.
Once the upholstery protectant dried, I unleashed the cherry glaze and drizzled it over the pastry. Admittedly, my artistry in that department was lacking. I didn't have the wrist for such things, which was precisely why Lorelai handled the glaze duties.
"Where is she...?" I grumbled and glanced at my phone. Ten minutes into her shift and she was nowhere to be seen. She was never late.
My calls went unanswered, straight to voicemail.
I knew her family's party last night had been intense for her—otherwise she wouldn't have called me from the closet—but Lore was usually fantastic at bouncing back, especially for work. She loved this place.
After snapping a few photos of happy regulars stuffing their faces with piled-high cupcakes, a sure way to get a few likes online, I took a quick stroll around the bakery. Antonio kneading a wad of dough on the floured counter? I made sure to capture his forearms for the fans.
Women loved his wiry muscles and his salt-and-pepper mustache. His scowl was legendary on the page and always invited a slew of fainting, sweating, or lip-licking gifs.
"The thirst is real," I mumbled, flipping through the shots in the tiny staff room. Satisfied, I tucked the camera into my canvas bag and slung it across my body. My phone beeped and I hurriedly scooped it off the bench, hoping it was Lore.
Granny: My supposed offspring have arrived.
Granny: Save me from these idiots.
I rolled my eyes and texted back.
Me: They're your children. And they want to support you.
Granny: Vultures! They want my house.
Granny: Shove me in the swamp, Piper. Let the gators finish me off.
Granny: This is bullshit!
I instantly regretted teaching her how to text.
Me: I'll be there next week.
Me: Please play nice. They might actually put you in a home otherwise.
Granny: Over my dead body!
I winced.
Me: Too soon.
Granny: I'm sorry, honey. Face the facts.
Granny: Now send me another picture of that hot Antonio!
Indulging my grandmother's outrageous demand, I sent her a photo of the pastry chef. Today wasn't the day I felt like listening to a sermon on being stingy with the 'man-meat' that was Antonio. In return, I got a series of vulgar emoji's I didn't need to witness.
I bit down on my lips, stifling a laugh.
That dirty old bat.
As I stared at my screen and the text chat with Gran, my vision grew watery. Drowning in my emotions wasn't how I planned to spend my Saturday. Contemplating the future, dancing with the what-ifs, and dwelling on events that hadn't come to pass yet were all on my shit-I-should-avoid list. But here I was, failing.
Wiping at my damp cheeks, I mentally shook myself. "Get it together, Piper."
I was so wrapped up in my head that it took a moment to realize my phone was glitching.
"Come on!" I groaned and jabbed at the frozen, pixelated screen. After purchasing the plane ticket for next week, my only credit card was maxed. There was no way I could afford a new phone if this one crapped out on me.
The lights flickered and hummed, drawing my attention to the ceiling. The building was extremely old and prone to electrical tantrums, but I could've sworn the owner recently had new wiring installed to remedy that problem.
The air conditioning kicked on, whipping cool air through the room as if it'd been supercharged.
That's not normal...
Dust from the floor stirred around my feet, kicking up a crumpled receipt and an old napkin off the cracked orange clay tiles. They twirled in the air, floating higher and higher in a mini cyclone.
And then I saw it.
Gazing up at the ceiling once more, a spinning rainbow of color emerged, sucking up the dirt and debris.
My pink hair lifted off my shoulders—
I screamed, but it was too late.
Everything, myself included, was sucked into the swirling, glittery tunnel.
2
Ten months later...
PIPER
"There he goes again..." I whispered, eyes tracking the specimen that was the new courier for Universal Delivery Service.
His uniform, eerily similar to what a private courier would wear on Earth, hugged every chiseled muscle. The rolled short sleeves on his buttoned-up pale blue shirt exposed his shapely forearms adorned with strange, glowing sigils. The crisp shirt neatly tucked into pressed shorts molded to his firm ass and powerful thighs.
Naturally, I couldn't help but gawk every time he made deliveries to the hotel. His humanoid mannerisms and appearance made it easy to find him attractive, no matter that he resembled a demon straight from the pits of hell. Especially with those fiery horns. Well, horn, singular. One of them was broken, more than half of it gone.
My brain immediately fixated on it, creating wild stories about how he lost it.
I pulled out my camera and snapped another photo to add to my embarrassing collection.
Did I care how much of a creeper I was being?
Not really.
No one was nearby to witness my fascinat
Perched on a stray wooden crate on the far end of the hotel's busy loading bay, I savored the food scraps I'd rescued from the discarded plates at the restaurant. If there was one trait aliens and humans shared, it was that the rich always wasted obscene amounts of everything. Sometimes entire plates were sent back to the kitchen, untouched.
Pria, one of my five roommates, and I usually split the spoils between us since we worked the same shift. Had to be careful though. Jorni, our asshole of a boss, would shed his chitin if he found out.
"Maybe if he'd pay us a decent wage," I bitched to myself, tearing off another piece of cold rhey. I stuffed it into my mouth and chewed. It reminded me of a blue potato, but tasted like sourdough. Picky wasn't in my vocabulary these days. I took what I could get, especially if it was free. Spending money on food wasn't something I did much of. Not when I needed to pinch every galactic credit I earned.
I needed to get back to Earth before it was too late.
It was inching closer and closer to a year since I'd been spat out on this godforsaken world. Gnorix, a pleasure planet to the wealthiest—and often the worst—aliens in the galaxy was my idea of hell. If I thought rich humans were awful, the alien elite took it to a whole new level.
The alarm on my dex-comm went off, signaling my break was nearly over. Hastily wrapping up the remainder of my food, I stuffed it into my bag and hopped off the crate before making my way into the building.
I was so close to racking up enough credits to purchase a ticket back to Earth—a thought that consumed every waking moment of my life these days. It was the driving force that pulled me out of bed after the pitiful few hours of sleep, smashed between my grueling shifts at five different part-time gigs. Juggling all that was the fucking worst, but—
The door to the staff room swung open like it was about to fly off its hinges, knocking me to the ground. My bag burst open, the remainder of my blue potato rolling along the hard tiles of the hallway, along with everything else.
"What the hell—"
"Shit," a deep voice cursed.
My gaze rose.
Shit.
It was him.
The new delivery guy.
"It... it's okay," I stuttered, scrambling to recover and gather the scraps littering the floor.
Humiliatingly, he crouched down, looking completely perplexed as he picked up my half-eaten blue potato. I snatched it from his big, clawed fingers with lightning speed.
"No, it's fine. I've got it."
"Just trying to help," he added, swiftly collecting stray food.
It was all trash now. I should've just left it and fetched a broom, but here I was, committed. I'd pick up my sad dinner—and what would've been my breakfast—until the last piece of crust was accounted for.
"What a waste," I grumbled. I had my limits. Once it kissed the floor, there was no way it was going in my mouth.
"You shouldn't block doors like that," he chided.
I paused, staring up at him.
Even crouched down, our height differences were glaringly obvious. A lock of his thick, black hair fell over his forehead, nearly brushing into his lava-red eyes that glinted with a golden dash periodically.
A flare of embarrassment ignited in me. Whenever I found myself in cringey situations, it always activated my temper. Seeing my pilfered food lost to the floor in front of the alien man I'd harbored a crush on? Yep, that ticked all my humiliation boxes. And now he was reprimanding me?
"Fuck you, man!" I snagged another chunk of something from his hand.
Surprise flickered across his face, his eyes widening as if my insult caught him off guard, before they darkened with irritation. "Excuse me?"
I probably should've zipped it, but my mouth just didn't work that way. "What are you even doing back here anyway? This is the staff room..." Suspicion crept into my tone. "Were you snooping?"
His eyes looked me up and down. Even though I was crouched, that look made me feel even smaller, as if I were two inches tall and fully judged with his quick, non-verbal assessment.
"Enjoy your meal off the floor." He dumped the scraps clutched in his big fists onto the tiles in front of me and unfolded to his towering height, "I've got shit to do."
My jaw dropped. "Dick."
He tossed over his broad shoulder, "Watch where you're walking next time!"
My dex-comm alarm screamed at me again, signifying I was officially tardy. "Dammit!"
I scrambled to chuck the food into a nearby bin and retrieve my camera from my bag. I never went anywhere without it. Luckily it was safely nestled in a padded compartment. Nothing was damaged.
"Jorni is searching for you," Pria announced when she strolled into the staff room.
"Ugh." I slammed my locker shut, slinging the strap across my body so my camera rested on my hip. "What does he want?"
"A VIP table has requested to be served by the human female." She snorted, the yellow gills on the side of her neck fluttering.
I groaned. "Did you see who it was?"
"Yes. I'm sure you can guess."
My stomach knotted. "Frinko?"
"What is it you say?" Pria squinted her large, copper-colored eyes. "Winner, winner, chicken dinner? I still don't understand what a chicken is."
I rushed to the mirror and finger-combed my hair, extracting a random piece of food debris. Frinko was one of the hotel's richest guests. If I screwed this up, Jorni would literally molt. And no one needed to see that shit.
Plus, he may actually fire me. The tips were usually golden, even if the wage sucked, making the hotel the highest paying job I had. I could usually count on my unique human status for job security, since plenty of guests loved being served by the 'soft-skinned' alien, but I could only push it so far.
I yanked my hair back into a hasty ponytail and picked a wedgie. "I hate these new uniforms!"
The navy blue bodysuit was a second skin and left nothing to the imagination. It covered me from neck to ankle, yet I'd never felt more exposed in all my life. Bras and panties were impossible to squeeze under this soul-sucking monstrosity. Not that I wore my undies much lately. I only had one pair that I reserved for the rare occasions Aunt Flow decided to make an appearance.
The joys of living on a planet where human intimates weren't a thing.
"They aren't that bad." Pria ran a hand over her trim torso.
Maybe not for her. She hailed from a species, the marik, blessed with a slender form that could make Earth's supermodels froth at the mouth. Marik's didn't even have breasts unless they were gearing up for baby duty. They were the runway models of the alien world.
"Pray that tonight goes smoothly."
"I don't believe in deities!" She hollered as I bolted out the door.
She was still learning that not everything I said was meant to be taken literally. It was a concept some alien species struggled with, I'd noticed.
Pausing at the side door to the main dining room, I caught my breath and rallied my composure. Once I stepped through, no one would've guessed I'd just weathered a mortifying encounter with my crush.
Former crush.
He was dead to me now.
Even if my weakness for a male in uniform—of any kind, apparently—made my knees unsteady.
Even if his glinting sharp teeth made the nape of my neck tingle while my thoughts strayed, wondering what those fangs would feel like if they grazed my bare shoulder—
Stop it.
Alien patrons of all kinds took up every table spread throughout the vast, opulent expanse of the Elysian Lounge—the one and only restaurant for The Monarch hotel. Where every plate cost more than I made in a month.
The ceiling mimicked the night sky, an array of foreign constellations and nebulae set aglow. The alien technology made it look so lifelike, as if there weren't a staggering one hundred and five floors of suites above us.
The atmosphere was intimate, the floating orbs of soft light appearing like lanterns adrift in a sea of night. Their glow danced off the sleek black tables, enhancing the magic. The air hummed with conversation in so many languages, my translation implant couldn't keep up. When I first arrived on Gnorix, hearing the linguistic jumble of dialects and snippets of gossip had been overwhelming. I'd since mastered blocking it out.
