Nax: Sky Warriors, #4

By Sadie Carter

Could a woman in need find her hero in a jaded, grumpy alien warrior?

Between her job and caring for her sick mother, Crista didn't have much time for a social life, let alone a man.

And certainly not for a man like him.

So what if he was sexy, gorgeous and had the lead role in all her late-night fantasies? He was also rude, weird and just way too much man for her.

She couldn't even please her asshole boss, how would she ever please a man like Nax?

Nax didn't like humans. He didn't like talkative females or loud females, and he definitely did not like tearful females. He hated this planet they were forced to live on while they searched for their mates.

Yet against all odds he found himself intrigued by her.

Aroused by her. Wanting her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sadie Carter
• Release date: Mar 15, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386880370

Book preview

1

Where the hell was she?

Crista raced down another dark alleyway. It was the middle of the freakin’ night and she was chasing shadows, dressed in just an old night shirt, gray sweatpants and sneakers. She hadn’t even put a bra on. And boy, was she regretting that now. On the bright side, this was one of those rare times she was pleased she didn’t have much to bounce around. If she’d had boobs like Annie Greig, who’d she’d been jealous of all the way through school, she’d be in a lot of pain right now.

Of course, Annie Greig was now married with three kids, a house in the suburbs and a minivan in the driveway.

Crista had a tiny one-bed apartment and a mother who went on walkabouts.

Shit. Where was she?

How had her mom managed to sneak past her? Mom slept in the bedroom while Crista used the fold-out couch. And she always woke up when her mom did. Except for tonight. And of course, this was the night that her mom somehow managed to not only sneak past her, but also find the key Crista kept hidden and unlock the door.

Was this the same woman who just two nights ago put her cup of tea into the fridge and the milk into the microwave?

She must have seen Crista hide the key. It was the only explanation she could think of. Now she was running around the streets looking for her. She needed to find her before something happened, if it hadn’t already.

Dread filled her stomach as she ran down another alleyway. Oh God, she could be anywhere. Anything could happen to her out here. If her mother was harmed, Crista knew she would never forgive herself.

I should have taken better care of her.

She reached the end of the alleyway. Despair had her shoulders slumping as she stepped out onto the sidewalk.

Well, well, what have we here, boys?

She froze. Fuck. Shit. She’d been so busy worrying about her mother, she hadn’t been paying close enough attention to her surroundings.

Big mistake, Crista.

She slowly turned. And wished she hadn’t because there stood three of the ugliest, scruffiest men she’d ever seen.

Run! Run!

But terror held her in place. Two men stood directly under the street light while one hung back in the shadows. The taller guy was a bit pudgy around the middle, with greasy, dreadlocked hair. He wore a long beard that looked about as clean as his hair. The guy to his left was smaller and his waxed scalp reflected the light, making her squint. She couldn’t see much of the guy in the shadows. The smell of sweaty male and stale beer hit her. She barely resisted the urge to pinch her nose. Hadn’t they heard of personal hygiene?

Looks like a female, boss, the small guy said. Blonde one.

The pudgy guy turned to glare at him. Yeah, I can see that, genius. It was a metaphorical question.

Actually, I think you mean it was a rhetorical question, she told him.

They both turned to scowl at her, and she took a step back. What did she think she was doing? Run, Crista!

She took another step back. The silent one on the right, who’d been watching her intently, just shook his head at her.

What? the leader snapped. No, it was metaphorical. A question that doesn’t need an answer.

A metaphor states that one thing is another, she explained. Jesus, Crista, shut up! A rhetorical question is said to make a point not elicit an answer.

The smaller guy scratched at his head. Huh?

This conversation was so ridiculous it would have been laughable under any other circumstances. But she didn’t feel like laughing. She felt frightened, and she was all too aware of how alone she was out here. Jesus, what if her mom had run into these guys? She swallowed down her fear. She had to figure a way out of this.

Her mom was relying on her.

Whatever, the leader said. Who cares. I know she’s a female, dickwad. Didn’t need you to point it out. The leader whacked the smaller guy over the head. You think I don’t know a cunt when I see one? He smiled at her then licked his lips. And I bet she has a mighty fine cunt, what do you think, Killer?

The guy in the shadows let out a grunt. Killer? You had got to be fucking kidding her. Why the hell was he called Killer? Couldn’t she be accosted by someone called Fluffy? Or Sweetie-pie? Nope, she got Killer.

Yippee.

Killer stepped out of the shadows and smiled. He had greasy hair pulled back into a ponytail and a scar that slashed his right cheek. That wasn’t a pleasant smile. That was a deranged serial murderer smile.

A car drove towards them. Hope flooded her. Surely, the driver would see them and stop. But would they realize there was anything wrong? Maybe she should jump out in front of it.

And get run over. Great plan.

As the headlights ran over the trio, they shied back, like vampires, worried they were about to go up in flames.

Probably a good time to run.

She turned to race down the alley. Too late. Fuck! Someone grabbed her arm and, turning her, slammed her against the wall. Her breath left her lungs in a whoosh, tears filling her eyes as her head smashed against the hard brick. Pain radiated up her arm from where he held her forearm in a tight grip.

Going somewhere, snatch?

She looked up into Killer’s face. She’d underestimated him. The other two had lulled her into a false sense of security with their dumb and dumber routine.

Note to self: Be wary of guys called Killer.

His body pressed against hers and she shuddered, her stomach rolling over. She took a shallow breath then another. Fuck. Crap. What was she going to do? Panic made it hard to think, and she shuddered as he dropped his face close to hers.

You’re trembling, cunt. Want Killer that bad, do you? Want to feel Killer’s dick inside you?

Great. Not only was he called Killer, but he liked to speak about himself in the third person.

Not creepy. Not creepy at all.

What I’d like is for Killer to get his face out of mine and find a damn breath mint.

Oh shit. What did she go and say that for?

He leaned back, then quickly back-handed her. She cried out, sliding down the wall as pain radiated from her face down her neck. He let go of her wrist and wrapped his hand around her neck, dragging her back up. His hand pressed against her windpipe, restricting her airflow. She gasped for air, clawing at his hand.

He pawed her breast with his other hand then grabbing hold of her shirt, ripped it down the middle. She shoved at his chest, wishing there was enough room to shove her knee into his crotch. She swung her fist up towards his chin and he ducked back. Then he laughed.

Not the reaction she’d been hoping for.

Keep going, cunt. I like it better when they fight.

He moved the hand away from her neck and she took a deep, cleansing breath then let out a blood-curdling scream. He quickly placed his hand over her mouth, slamming her head into the wall. The world around her swam and nausea bubbled in her stomach. She was going to be lucky to come out of this with her brain cells still intact.

What ya doing, Killer? Fucks sake, you wanna bring the cops down on us? the leader said nervously.

It’s my turn to go first, Baldy whined. Last time, Killer ruined the chick before it was my turn.

Yeah, being half-dead didn’t stop you from fucking her, though did it? Killer snarled. Not that she’d have felt much with your tiny dick.

She swallowed heavily, close to losing the contents of her stomach. She squirmed, her eyes watering, unable to move more than a few inches with Killer’s body pressed so closely against her, his hand across her mouth. His other hand grabbed the wrist he’d wrenched earlier, pressed it to the building behind her and squeezed until tears filled her eyes.

Hey, my dick’s as big as yours, asshole, the small guy whined.

You’d be lucky to find your dick with tweezers and a magnifying glass. The leader the laughed.

Fuck the two of—

Hey! What’s going on here? What do you think you’re doing? Get away from her before I call the cops!

She thought she imagined the voice for a moment. Killer loosened his hold on her and she peered around his body, down the alley where the yelling came from. A small man emerged. She couldn’t get a good look at him—it was too dark—but she knew that one man wasn’t going to fare well against these three. Not unless he was Batman. And this guy definitely didn’t look like Batman.

Piss off, old man, the leader yelled out. We’ve got ourselves a whore for the night. Ain’t nothing to do with you.

Crista wrenched her face to the side, freeing herself from Killer’s hold. I am not a whore! Run! Call the cops—

Killer smothered the rest of her words. Despair filled her when the man didn’t move. In fact, he came closer into the light from the street. Oh shit. It was Mr. Angelo, who ran the bakery. He was about eighty if he was a day, stooped and wrinkly. He was holding a rolling pin in one hand and was wearing a dusty apron. Baking for the next morning? Oh God, why wouldn’t he run? He was going to get himself killed.

Old man, you’re just asking for a beating, Killer warned. He turned, pulling her with him so her back was pressed against his chest with his hand over her mouth. She wiggled, trying to free herself. She had to do something to help Mr. Angelo. Killer lowered his mouth to her ear. Keep wriggling, bitch, I like it.

He pushed his cock against the small of her back, laughing as she went still. A door slammed shut down the alley.

Hey, pops, you okay out here?

Boys, need some help taking out some trash, Mr. Angelo called back.

Killer tensed as two men walked towards Mr. Angelo, stopping next to him. They were huge. One had his hair cut short and looked like he bench-pressed small cars. The other was shorter, with shaggy hair and a tight t-shirt that barely contained his muscular arms and chest.

She’d never been happier to see anyone in her life.

What’s going on here? one of them asked.

These wankers giving you problems, Pops?

Seems to me they were attacking this girl here. Heard her cry out when I went to take the trash out. Then they threatened me with a beating.

Did they just? Stepping forward, the guy with the shorter hair cracked his knuckles. Baldy caved first. Without a word, he just turned and took off.

Aww, was it something I said? Knuckle cracker asked. I’m sorry, my manners aren’t as good as what they were. What about you guys? You want to play? I haven’t had a good brawl in at least a year. The wife doesn’t like it when I beat idiots bloody. But she doesn’t have to know.

Just try to leave them with the ability to eat and shit on their own, bro, the other guy said. I always feel sorry for the ones that are left shitting in a bag.

The leader took off next.

For fuck’s sake. Fucking useless idiots. Killer gave her breast one last, painful squeeze. Guess you get off this time, cunt. Next time I see you, it won’t go so well for you.

She swayed as he suddenly let her go, then turned, to find he’d already disappeared. Knuckle Cracker gave chase, letting out a loud whoop that sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She cradled her sore arm against her chest as trembles of shock rocked her body, and it was all she could do to keep herself upright.

Hey, you okay there?

She looked over as Mr. Angelo slowly approached. She flinched away as he reached out for her.

Easy now, I’m not going to hurt you.

Maybe not, but…she looked over his shoulder at the big man behind him. Mr. Angelo looked back over his shoulder. Ah, that’s my grandson, Marc. Don’t worry, he might act tough but he’s just a big softy on the inside.

Jeez, Pops, you’re a killer on my reputation. But he smiled as he said it, and kept his distance from her. His arms were out at his sides as though trying to make out he wasn’t dangerous. You okay there, sweetheart?

I-I—

Fuck. She needed to pull herself together. She straightened, forcing herself not to lean back against the building behind her. I’m fine.

Yeah, he said skeptically. Well, excuse me for saying so, but you don’t look or sound fine. We should take her back to the bakery, Pops. Call the cops.

Yes. Come on, honey. Come with me.

Crista stared at his outstretched arm. She didn’t know what to do. Should she go with him? Trust him? He’d helped her. He and his two bruiser grandsons. But she didn’t feel like trusting anyone right now.

Unbidden, the image of a grumpy, rude male entered her head. Jesus, why would she think about him right now? She certainly didn’t trust him. Or like him. Yet, right now she wouldn’t mind having Nax Clacka to lean against. Not that he’d probably want her touching him. He didn’t seem to like her much.

Mr. Angelo just stood there patiently. His grandson stepped back as though giving her more space. Go with them, Crista. Wasn’t like she had much choice. With the way her legs shook she wasn’t getting far by herself.

Assholes got away, damn it, a deep voice boomed, making her cry out. She turned as she saw the other man approach. Even though she knew it was Mr. Angelo’s grandson, she still took a few hasty steps back, tripping on her own feet and smacking down hard on the ground.

Jesus, idiot, what did you do that for? Marc berated the other one, who stepped towards her.

Shit, I’m sorry, lady. Didn’t mean to scare you.

Step back, Liam, you’re overwhelming her. Pops stepped between her and the Knuckle Cracker, shooing him with his hands.

Sorry. Sorry.

You two go inside and call the cops and put on some coffee. I’ll help her.

Mr. Angelo turned and held out his hand to her. She took it with her uninjured one. He was surprisingly strong, pulling her up easily. He held onto her arm, whether to support her or because he thought she might run she wasn’t certain. But she was glad he was there for her to lean on as he led her through the back entrance of the bakery and into a small kitchen area. There was a table and four chairs in the room and he led her to one of the chairs. Liam stood at the counter pouring out some coffee, and she could hear a voice murmuring from the hallway.

Mr. Angelo moved away, returning quickly with a blanket, which he put around her shoulders. She smiled up at him gratefully.

I’ve seen you before, haven’t I?

Yes. I’ve been in the bakery a few times. Crista.

That’s right. You call me Pops.

It might have been weird under other circumstances to call a man she barely knew Pops, but seeing how he and his burly grandsons had just saved her from being beaten, raped, and killed, it didn’t seem so odd.

He patted her shoulder lightly. You just sit there. Let us take care of you.

Tears filled her eyes and she had to force them back. Now wasn’t the time to cry, but she really couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked after her. Mr. Angelo gave her a smile before turning and walking over to the freezer. He pulled out a tray of ice, then grabbing a towel from a cupboard and poured some ice into it.

She forced herself not to flinch as Liam came closer, holding a cup of coffee

Here you go. Sorry about scaring you before, Liam said with a smile as he sank into a chair across from her. She looked down at the brown sludge in the cup and thought about asking for cream and sugar, but then figured it didn’t matter. It was hot and strong and she could use something to help clear the fear from her brain.

With a hand that shook, she reached out and grasped hold of the cup, bringing it up to her lips. It burned her tongue and she took in a sharp breath.

Marc walked back into the kitchen and smacked his hand over Liam’s head. Idiot, did you think to offer her some cream and sugar? He opened the fridge and put some cream on the table next to her then grabbed a small container that obviously held sugar. Here you go.

Sorry about that. Liam grimaced.

It’s okay, she said quietly. Thank you for helping me.

Here you go, Crista. Mr. Angelo carried over the make-shift ice pack. You put that on your face.

She winced as she placed the cold towel over her bruised face.

Thank you. Really. For everything. If you hadn’t come along… She took in a shuddering breath.

Hey, none of that now. Everything worked out fine.

She tried to pull herself together. She couldn’t cry. She didn’t have time to indulge in tears. She glanced up and saw the panic on Marc and Liam’s faces. She had to smile. Men.

Thanks so much again, she told them all. I really appreciate your help.

I’m only sorry we didn’t get there earlier, Pops told her.

I would have liked to have gotten my hands on them, Liam growled in a dark voice. Parasites, going around preying on people smaller and weaker than they are.

I called the cops, they should be here soon, Marc said.

Right, thank you. I don’t suppose there’s much they can do anyway. Those guys are likely to be long gone.

Good riddance, Liam said darkly. He leaned forward, his face growing firm. You want to tell us what you were doing in that alleyway in the middle of the night, Crista?

Oh, God, I forgot about Mom!

By the time she’d answered the police officer’s questions then explained about her mom disappearing and how she had dementia, Crista felt like the walking dead. She was exhausted, completely spent.

Nearly there, sweetheart, Marc murmured at her, hovering close without touching her as they walked down the hallway towards her apartment. He’d offered to see her home. Well, it was more like he’d insisted and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Not that she wasn’t grateful.

She knew she should get back out there and search for her mom, but she honestly didn’t know if she had the strength. Or the courage. As it was, she could barely put one foot in front of the other.

But she couldn’t leave her mom out there on her own. Not with dangerous criminals like those three dickheads hanging around. Oh, God, where was she? Was she okay? Please let her be okay.

Thank you, she told him quietly. I really appreciate everything you’ve done tonight.

He grinned down at her. Most fun I’ve had since leaving Navy.

You were in the Navy? She looked up at him. Yeah, she could see it.

I was a SEAL. Liam was a Jarhead.

Jarhead? Marine?

I’m lucky you were both around tonight.

Pops needed some help. He’s getting on in years, not that he lets it slow him down much.

You help with the baking?

He let out a laugh. No, ma’am. We were moving some stuff around in the storeroom for him.

In the middle of the night?

Well, we might have started playing some poker afterwards. We’d just finished up and were helping Pops clean up.

Here I am. She stared down at the open door in confusion.

Marc pulled her gently back from the door. "Did you lock the door before you left?

I, ah… God she couldn’t remember. I’m not sure.

Marc sent her an incredulous look. Yeah, she was making wonderful decisions today. She knew that. She was an idiot. He wasn’t going to get an argument from her.

Stay here, he warned.

Wait— But she was talking to herself. He’d already stepped inside. Shit. Had someone entered her apartment? Would they still be there? What could they want? She didn’t own anything of any worth. Maybe she should follow him in. He might need help. Before she could make up her mind, he poked his head back out.

Crista?

Yes.

I’ve found your mom.

Crista entered the apartment in a rush, looking around her frantically.

"She’s in the bedroom.