by Abel, Regine
Krygor’s Hope
Braxians 3
Regine Abel
Cover by
Regine Abel
Copyright © 2019
All rights reserved. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal and punishable by law. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This book uses mature language and explicit sexual content. It is not intended for anyone under the age of 18.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Contents
Reading Order
Krygor’s Hope
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Also by Regine Abel
About Regine
Reading Order
The Braxians series is part of the Veredian Chronicles universe. While this book can be read as standalone with a complete romance arc and no cliffhanger, to fully enjoy the overarching story, it is recommended to read both series in the following order:
Escaping Fate, Veredian Chronicles 1
Blind Fate, Veredian Chronicles 2
Raising Amalia, Veredian Chronicles 3
Anton's Grace, Braxians 1 - Optional
Twist of Fate, Veredian Chronicles 4
Ravik's Mercy, Braxians 2
Hands of Fate, Veredian Chronicles 5
Krygor's Hope, Braxians 3
Krygor’s Hope
For Family. For Honor.
Discarded by her husband who then sells her as a pleasure worker, Hope secretly enters into an Indentured Servant contract with a strip club owner to avoid being given to an unknown master. But she soon realizes that he has not only conned her into endless servitude, he also has nefarious plans involving her child. Desperate, she turns to a broker to find a new buyer for her contract. As soon as she meets the buyer, a Braxian giant named Krygor, with a fearsome face and the body of a god, Hope knows the Goddess has finally answered all of her prayers.
When Krygor comes to Lilith Hive for business and leisure, the last thing he expects is to fall hard for a delicate beauty and feel so paternal towards her teenaged daughter, both in desperate need of his protection. Hope awakens in him feelings he had banished after getting his heart torn to shreds by his first love. But a broken heart quickly becomes the least of his worries when enemies from his past use his females to capture him.
They shouldn’t have messed with the most insane of the Braxian Berserkers. They may think they have him at their mercy, but Krygor will bathe in their blood for daring to threaten what’s his.
Dedication
To anyone who has ever felt like life keeps throwing rotten eggs your way and stacking all the odds against you. To those who keep fighting and standing tall in the face of adversity, when others kick you down or seek to take advantage of you.
To all parents, especially single ones, who sacrifice everything and put themselves second to ensure the happiness of their children. And to all the wonderful adoptive parents who realize that unconditional love for a child has nothing to do with genetics.
You have my deepest respect.
Prologue
Hope
Roman’s dark, penetrating gaze assessed me as I settled nervously in the fancy, black leather-cushioned chair in his office. The salt-and-pepper haired human male possibly held the key to my future and, consequently, to my daughter’s safety.
His imposing darkwood desk, adorned with simple straight lines, screamed functional luxury. It ate up half the space of his small office. Considering he didn’t lack real estate in the high-end loft that served as both his residence and place of business, I assumed he’d made his office this small to give it an intimate feel. For me, despite the off-white walls meant to make it feel roomier, it just felt like another cage.
“You requested a meeting with me, Ms. Morak,” Roman said in a professionally warm voice. “How may I be of assistance?”
I licked my lips nervously and tucked a lock of my long silver-white hair behind my ear.
“Indeed, Mr. Tusk. I—”
“Please, call me Roman,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve been a rogue too long for this kind of formality.”
“Roman, then,” I said with a nervous smile, “but only if you call me Hope.”
“Very well, Hope. How may I help you?”
“I have come to you because your reputation for fair dealing and having your client’s best interests at heart is legendary,” I said in a deliberately submissive and awed tone. The discreet smile stretching his thin lips and the almost imperceptible way he puffed his chest at the praise told me I’d scored some positive points with him. I needed him on my side at all costs. “I have gotten myself into a serious bind, and I need help to get out of it.”
“Are we talking about a debt?” Roman asked in a neutral tone.
“Yes, of sorts,” I replied, clasping my hands on my lap.
“Of sorts?” Roman insisted.
“I am an Indentured Servant to Luther Stromland, the owner of Bacchus,” I said with a slightly shaky voice. “I need someone to buy my contract, renegotiated with better terms.”
“What’s the amount of the debt you’ve enslaved yourself to him for?” Roman asked.
“Two point five million credits,” I said almost in a whisper, still overwhelmed by the size of the debt.
“How long have you been serving it?” Roman asked.
“Four years.”
Roman’s furry brow shot up. “Four years? And you still owe two point five million?”
I nodded, my eyelids blinking rapidly to suppress the tears pricking my eyes.
“What was the original amount of the debt?” he asked, a slight frown creasing his broad forehead, giving his ruggedly handsome square face a slightly intimidating edge.
“Two point five million,” I replied, feeling defeated.
His face closed off. He had enough experience to understand I’d been suckered into permanent slavery. The Eastern Quadrant was ruled by contracts, and the party that didn’t respect the terms of the one they’d entered into would face dire consequences. Therefore, people were strongly encouraged to hire a professional—be it a lawyer or a broker like Roman—to negotiate the terms on their behalf to avoid getting conned into far more than they intended. But the poor and the desperate were always the ones getting screwed by the predators on the prowl, like I had been.
“The agreement was that I would work for him at Bacchus, food and lodging provided, and that seventy percent of my wages would be withheld to repay my debt,” I explained grateful for the absence of condemnation or disdain on his face; only professional curiosity. “With his older girls like me making an average of 120,000 to 160,000 credits per month, I figured it would take a maximum of three years to repay him, less even if I worked overtime.”
“First of all, with indentured servitude, the repayment value is never one for one, but usually seventy percent of
it. Meaning, according to that same calculation, you should have repaid a little less than one point eight million credits in little under two years,” Roman grumbled. “Furthermore, it is illegal for him to prevent you from working or from doing the standard basic weekly hours,” Roman added, in a slightly clipped tone.
As floored as I felt at realizing even more how completely Luther had exploited me, Roman’s apparent anger on my behalf made my heart soar. His outrage meant he’d possibly go the extra distance to make sure to free me of this nightmare.
“Oh no, he’s no fool,” I answered bitterly. “I do regular hours like everyone else, some overtime even. But we never agreed what my duties would be. Luther makes sure I only do the less lucrative roles: bartending, stripping, and massages.”
“No blowjobs, hand jobs, or full service?” Roman insisted.
“Occasionally the first two, never the last one. Or rather, never with the customers. Luther had included in the contract that he could use me for his pleasure when he sees fit as part of his side benefits. But that doesn’t lower my debt in any way,” I said angrily.
“But why?” Roman asked, clearly baffled. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re a beautiful woman, and I can see why he would want you, but that seems a little excessive just to bed you.”
“He wants my soon-to-be-twelve-year-old daughter. He wants me to be desperate enough that I will cave in.”
Roman recoiled. “He wants to bed your daughter?” he asked with the proper amount of outrage.
I shook my head. “Not him. He has a client who wants a rare virgin for his son’s first bedding. Considering how much Luther has been increasing his pressure tactics on me, I’m assuming the time is nearing for when he’s supposed to deliver her to him. I will not let him have my baby.”
“Four years is a mighty long time to plot such an elaborate scheme. What’s so special about your daughter to warrant all that?”
I immediately closed off. Even if I’d come here for his assistance, some questions I really didn’t care for.
“That’s beside the point,” I said, my voice slightly more clipped than intended. “The only question that matters is whether you think you can help me find someone willing to buy my contract with better conditions and the promise I will be free in a couple of years or so.”
The broker narrowed his eyes at me. For a moment, my heart constricted with the fear I might have rubbed him the wrong way. If he kicked me out of his office, I’d have no one else to turn to.
“You will learn, Hope, that I don’t ask questions to pry or out of misplaced curiosity. The more I understand your situation, the better I can help you,” Roman replied after a beat, his voice vastly less warm than before. “But you are welcome to your secrets.” He gestured at the small open area to the left of his desk. “Please remove your clothes so that I can see what we’re working with.”
I swallowed hard, feeling inexplicably humiliated. Rising to my feet, my pulse racing with growing apprehension, I removed my coral bandeau top, then slipped down my matching, barely-below-the crotch mini-skirt. That color flattered my lightly tanned complexion, and I had hoped with so much skin exposed, stripping wouldn’t have been required. It wasn’t uncommon for brokers to ask to ‘sample’ the goods. Had I been wrong thinking Roman above such slimy practices?
“Lose the thong but keep the heels,” Roman said, leaning back in his chair before crossing his legs.
My heart further sank as I peeled off my skin-colored thong, which I’d also hoped would have been sufficient. The curtain of my hair falling before my face as I bent down hid my anger and distress. This wasn’t the future that I’d wanted for myself, or that I’d even been destined to. I should have been the lady of a wealthy and influential male on Guldar, not some desperate pleasure worker, enslaved to a ruthless son of a bitch, and seeking a new owner.
How low I have sunk.
Straightening up, I discarded my thong on top of the tiny pile of my clothes on the floor, waiting for him to tell me to bend over his desk or press my palms against the wall, legs spread. Lifting my chin, I stared straight ahead, keeping a neutral expression on my face. As long as he helped me save my daughter, I’d do whatever was necessary.
“Turn around, three-sixty, slowly,” Roman said, sounding almost bored.
I proceeded, feeling his burning stare on me. As much as I didn’t want him making a move on me, his apparent lack of interest or lecherous expression on his face further fueled my anxiety. Did he think me not attractive enough?
“Are the tits real?” he asked in that same factual, business-like voice, once I completed my full rotation.
“Yes,” I said, hating the slight shaking in my voice. “I’m 100% natural, no surgeries, no implants.”
“The bare pussy, is that shaved, waxed, or permanent?”
“Permanent,” I replied, trying to sound as business-like as he did.
In reality, it was a bit of a lie. Guldans didn’t have pubic hair, but he had no reason to suspect I wasn’t human.
“Very nice. You’re a stunning woman,” Roman said, his gaze slowly roaming over me, assessing. “Please answer yes or no to the following questions as to things you would consent to as part of a potential agreement. Bondage?”
“Yes.”
“S and M?”
“As long as it doesn’t scar or maim me,” I said while hating the thought of it.
“Anal?”
“If I must, yes.”
“Roleplay?”
“Yes,” I said with a shrug. I never understood the appeal, but it was usually rather inoffensive and sometimes even amusing… if not silly. “However, I am more of a submissive. I wouldn’t make too convincing of a dominatrix.”
“Mmhmm,” Roman said absentmindedly, his gaze still assessing me. “Ménage, partner swaps, gangbangs, and orgies?”
I clenched my teeth and fisted my hands, helpless rage burning again like acid in the pit of my stomach. This was all so unfair.
“Look, if it can get me out of this damn contract, I’ll chain fuck everything that moves on this space station,” I said at last, fighting against the tears that wanted to rise in my eyes. “My ideal buyer would be a single male, jealously possessive, who wouldn’t let any other touch me or even stare too intensely at me, strong enough to protect my daughter and me from those who might want to harm us, but gentle enough to never physically hurt me, and not into any kind of freaky kink or fetish. I know this is all wishful thinking, but that’s what I would want. However, I will submit to whatever will get me free of this contract within the next two years, as long as I can walk away from it mentally and physically sound.”
Roman listened dispassionately at my speech, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the top of his desk.
“How’s your deepthroat?” he suddenly asked.
“Very good,” I said with a shrug.
“Show me,” he said flatly, uncrossing his legs.
My heart sank, and I gaped at him for a second. A sense of hurt and betrayal washed over me, even though I had partially expected it. Pinching my lips, I advanced stiffly towards him, kneeled between his parted legs, and reached for the magnetic clasp of his pants. Before my hands could touch it, Roman caught my wrists, startling me. I looked up at him, taken aback by the sad, disappointed look in his eyes as he shook his head at me.
“Oh Hope, what the fuck are you doing?” Roman said in the soft voice a parent would use with a hopeless child.
“What you told me to do,” I said, confused and embarrassed.
“Get up, Hope, and get dressed.”
Humiliated, I scrambled back to my feet and quickly slipped my barely-there clothes back on, feeling completely lost.
“A broker who demands a free fuck from you just to start scouting on your behalf will screw you with more than just his dick,” Roman said in an almost paternal way that finally broke the dam as tears poured down my cheeks. “Sit down, Hope.”
As soon as I settled down, he extended a box of t
issues to me and gave me a few moments in silence while I tried to regain my composure. And now, mortification joined my long list of miserable emotions.
“I understand that you feel helpless but acting out of desperation will be your continued downfall,” Roman continued with the same fatherly tone. “When you act like this, you give people permission to exploit you. And they will, any chance they can. I want to help you, Hope, but I cannot lie to you. Your case is a long shot. You are a stunning female, but gorgeous humans are a dime a dozen. And, for this market, you are already considered too old. Most buyers with the criteria you want seek females in their late teens to mid-twenties, the more exotic the better. The majority of men with the credits to buy your contract will want you to consent to questionable fetishes. I would not put you into their hands.”
“I will do anything to save my daughter,” I pleaded. “Anything. Whatever the cost to me…”
“Hope…” Roman shook his head, looking discouraged.
His broad shoulders slumped, and he bowed his head while thinking. I held my breath, begging the Goddess for help.
“Do you have any other skill that could be of interest?” the broker asked, although his face expressed that he knew better, and slowly nodded when I shook my head. “Honestly, besides Braxians and maybe a couple of the pleasure houses on Jeruna, I can’t think of…”
“Braxians are fine. I’m okay with a Braxian master,” I said quickly.
