When They Come:Hot Aliens and the Girls Who Love Them- Book 1

Ch. 51

Macon's heart raced as the guards pulled her from her cold, dark cell, along with several other females. Fear gripped her as she was led into a different part of the underground facility. They were taken to a spacious room with warm water waiting in large basins.

"Get in and clean yourselves up," one of the guards barked, pushing them towards the water.

Macon hesitated for a moment, her body trembling with unease. But she knew better than to disobey. Slowly, she stepped into the water, shivering at its warmth against her chilled skin. The other women followed suit, each of them apprehensive and afraid.

Once they were bathed, the guards provided them with clothing—scanty outfits that left little to the imagination. Macon's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she dressed, trying to preserve some semblance of dignity.

As if the situation wasn't degrading enough, a woman entered the room, carrying an array of cosmetics and styling tools. She approached each of the women, expertly fixing their hair and applying makeup, turning them into something unrecognizable.

Macon felt like a puppet, being prepped for a show she never wanted to be a part of. The woman's hands were cold and impersonal, her touch leaving Macon feeling violated and exposed.

"Smile, darling," the woman said with a cruel smile of her own. "You're here to entertain."

Macon swallowed back tears and tried to steel herself. She had to find a way to survive this, to endure whatever horrors awaited her tonight.

Once they were ready, the guards ushered the women to another room, where a crowd of menacing-looking men awaited. Their eyes leered over the females, and Macon felt a wave of revulsion wash over her.

She glanced at the other women, seeing the same fear and desperation in their eyes. They were all victims in this sick and twisted game.

Macon steeled herself. She could play this game— whatever it might be.

Rhythmic music began and she watched as the females beside her began to dance and sway.

She knew she should follow suit.

Her hips sway with the rhythm—eyes downcast and a devious smirk on her mouth. Perhaps she could grab one the guns that rested at the waists of some of the males. It was her best chance for escape. She could perhaps catch them off guard and make a run for it.

The moment her eyes met Xane's though she knew she was in trouble.

His face a mask as he assessed her as she moved.

He sat at a table with several other males. His uniform gone and the colors of the rebellion replaced them.

His hand clutched the table, but his body remained the picture of composure.

Macon's heart pounded as she continued her dance, feeling a mix of anger and hurt brewing within her. She could sense the eyes of the other men on her, leering and hungry, but all she could focus on was Xane's cold demeanor. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting as if he didn't care?

Her movements became more deliberate, a desperate attempt to provoke a reaction from him. She wanted him to feel something, anything, at the sight of her dancing for these vile men. But he remained stoic, his face carefully neutral.

As the music swelled, she allowed herself to get lost in the rhythm, her body moving with a grace that belied the turmoil inside her. She felt like a puppet on display, forced to entertain a crowd that saw her as nothing more than a plaything.

In a daring move, she locked eyes with Xane, a silent challenge in her gaze. She moved closer to him, her body brushing against his table, and she saw a flicker of something in his eyes – a spark of recognition, perhaps.

Macon's heart pounded as she continued her dance, feeling a mix of anger and hurt brewing within her. She could sense the eyes of the other men on her, leering and hungry, but all she could focus on was Xane's cold demeanor. Why was he doing this? Why was he acting as if he didn't care?

Her movements became more deliberate, a desperate attempt to provoke a reaction from him. She wanted him to feel something, anything, at the sight of her dancing for these vile men. But he remained stoic, his face carefully neutral.

As the music swelled, she allowed herself to get lost in the rhythm, her body moving with a seductive grace that belied the turmoil inside her. She felt like a puppet on display, forced to entertain a crowd that saw her as nothing more than a plaything.

In a daring move, she locked eyes with Xane, a silent challenge in her gaze. She moved closer to him, her body brushing against his table, and she saw a flicker of something in his eyes – a spark of recognition, perhaps.

But before she could decipher it, his expression hardened again, and he looked away. Anguish welled up inside her, threatening to consume her, but she refused to let it show.

As the night dragged on, drinks flowed, and she noticed several of the males becoming handsy with the other females. The lights dimmed, creating an atmosphere of anticipation and desire.

Suddenly, Vorce stood and made his way to the stage. That wicked smile that haunted Macon's nightmares was present as he started. "Guests, it is my pleasure to introduce our newest recruit to the rebellion. The Royal Commander himself, Xane Luto."

The applause was instant, and Macon's heart skipped a beat as she watched Xane stand tall, his presence commanding the room.

"As a show of my personal appreciation—a gift just for you," Vorce declared, and Macon's heart raced with unease.

Two males suddenly appeared at Macon's sides. They lifted her gracefully and sat her down in front of him. One whispered in her ear, "Dance for him."

The lights dimmed further, casting a sensual glow over the room, and the music started again, a sultry melody that matched the atmosphere perfectly.

The male that lingered pinched the bow at her chest and undid the robe, pulling it free of her body—leaving her in the jewel-encrusted undergarments and shoes. Macon felt a rush of vulnerability but also a newfound sense of power as she noticed Xane's eyes widening with surprise.

Without thinking, she began to sway her hips, moving with a seductive rhythm that sent shivers down the spines of everyone in the room. Her eyes never left Xane's as she moved closer to him, teasing and tempting him with each step.

Xane's composure wavered, his gaze intense and conflicted. The tension between them was palpable, and Macon seized the opportunity to assert control, to show him the woman he had left behind was not to be underestimated.

As the music reached its climax, Macon dared to reach out, trailing her fingers gently along Xane's jawline. A spark ignited between them, a connection that no amount of distance or time could extinguish.

But just as quickly as it had begun, the moment ended. The crowd erupted in applause, and the other males jeered and laughed, oblivious to the emotions swirling between Macon and Xane.

The two males lifted her away, leaving Xane behind, his expression torn between desire and regret. As Macon was led away, she knew that despite everything, she had reclaimed a piece of herself in that seductive dance – a piece that belonged to her and her alone. And she hoped, deep down, that Xane had felt the same connection, the same pull that drew them together, even in the darkest of circumstances.