Zohra Series Book 2: Shurak
Autor
Nooz Aster
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I was sent to tame him. Instead, I’m on the run with a useless lump. Leaving him behind would be easy—he’s useless, after all. So why can’t I do it?
She was sent to break him. Instead, she broke the rules. In a universe crawling with danger, she and her crew survive by flying fast, taking risky jobs, and trusting no one. Their latest mission? Tame a towering, silent alien who’s supposed to be more weapon than man. But when things go sideways, she doesn’t just ditch the mission—she grabs his hand and runs. He’s frustrating. Uncooperative. Completely useless in a fight. And yet… leaving him behind feels impossible. Now they’re tangled together, outnumbered and on the run, with nothing but bad odds and worse decisions ahead. Freedom was the goal. But is freedom enough when your heart won’t play along?
The Burg Job
Book 2: Shurak
“Burg called again,” Rita announces, slapping a note onto the counter as if it personally offended her.
I snatch the rag from my shoulder and snarl at the name. “What the hell does that place want now?”
“Same thing they always want. Trouble.” Rita leans against the counter I just cleaned.
I tap the note. A job, of course. High risk, high pay.
The Burg prison deals with slaves—buy, capture, “rehabilitate”—then sell them off.
We get called in to ensure the prisoners are up to standard for sex work or to see if they’re worth turning into a high-quality sex slave.
But it’s in the fucking east.
“I hate the east,” I grumble.
“You hate everyone,” she mutters.
Fair.
But I especially hate the east. When the aliens invaded, they split everyone by skin color—whites to the east, blacks to the west.
I’m not even from here, caught up in it on a business trip with my boss. I was supposed to become a lawyer.
But we got separated, and I was shoved with the group heading west. We barely escaped the aliens, hiding in some unmapped mountains.
Then the race wars started—again. We were right at the border, and the folks on the other side were hillbillies who cared more about skin color than the alien invasion.
I stuck it out for a while but eventually bailed with the help of Finn.
We were in the wilds for a couple years until the next round of bad luck hit—the fuckwad sold me.
Some aliens were trafficking “pretty girls” on their spaceship, selling us off to aliens.
But I wasn’t about to be anyone’s property. So I hatched a plan with the girls. We seduced the aliens, played the long game, and then just… killed them.
And now, I’m the captain of our whore vessel. Absolute giga-upgrade from being a lawyer.
I learned a thing or two from Finn. Survival skills.
So, I made sure my girls know how to start a fire and handle the basics. We are all sex workers. Not a quirk—a necessity.
No one else would take us. We’re what our new life spat out, making do with whatever skills we can scrape together.
“Who’s the package?” I ask.
Rita hesitates.
I narrow my eyes. “You’re hesitating. That’s never good.”
She sighs. “A familiar prisoner. Burg wants to test one last time if we can fix it.”
I scowl. “Familiar?”
“Candice, Greece, and Reyes have been there.”
I slap the note off the counter. I watch it skitter and drop. “And they still want more? This guy must be made of gold.”
“It is a Zohra,” Rita smirks. “You’ll need to ask the others if he’s golden.”
A Zohra. The kind Finn was. Big, surly bastards. Strong and fucking terrifying bulldozers.
No wonder they want more visits.
“Right.” I turn for the door. “Wake the wolves.”
I ring the comms and start gathering the crew in the command center—half cockpit, half war room.
Dim lights flicker over scratched metal tables, screens pulsing with data streams.
I stand at the head. “All right. Got info on the Burg prisoner?”
Reyes leans back, smirking. “You mean that mute Zohra in Burg?”
She’s our feisty blonde, a white chick we picked up from one of the prisons we hit.
I frown. “Mute? Seriously?” I glance at Rita. “The dude’s mute?”
Rita shrugs. “All I got was ‘prisoner with past visits’—no details.”
“Where the fuck did they even snatch a Zohra?”
Reyes shrugs. “I was as shocked as you, but when I saw him, it kinda made sense. He’s not as big as the others.”
“Small or not, you don’t mess with a Zohra.” I kick off my boots, settling into my seat.
We’ve tangled with Zohra before. They’re decent enough, but cross them, and you’re screwed—bare hands, brutal swords, whatever.
Guns? Rare. If you spot a Zohra pirate with one, snap a pic—it’s a once-in-a-lifetime shot.
“Was he young, then?” I spin my chair around to face her.
Reyes flips her hair back and scrunches her brow in thought. “Not sure. He did show a little emotion, so probably?”
Candice, our smooth-talking, undercover diplomat from Colombia, always lands us the worst clients but walks away unscathed—or richer.
“He looked older. Maybe he’s a vagrant, like that one guy.”
“Finn,” I say, my mouth twisting in disgust.
Before anyone can comment, Greece drags herself in. She yawns as she slumps into a leather chair. “I was having a damn good nap. Why wake me with that screeching?”
I grin. “Morning, princess. Party last night?”
She scowls. “I don’t scream in your ear when you’re hungover.”
She took a headshot early in the invasion. The aliens patched her up, but the trauma wiped her memories—the only thing she recalls is Greece. Hence, the name.
“Did you check out the mute Zohra too?” I ask.
“Yeah. Weird guy. Kept dodging touch, even chained Zohra style. Squirmed like hell. Didn’t push it—I’m not getting crushed if he snaps.”
I rub my neck. “Why the fuck does it have to be a Zohra? If this leaks, we’re gonna have someone on our asses.”
Reyes laughs and pats my shoulder. “Money, dear captain. We need more ammo. If anyone can get that stiffy up, it’s you.”
I nod toward Candice. “She already went, and she’s our expert on Burg.”
Candice pops her gum. “Not gonna lie—he creeped me out. I don’t deal well with Zohra.”
I sigh. “Yeah, I was hoping we’d skip going back east.”
Reyes snorts. “Race wars ended years ago, Jas.”
Candice lets out a dramatic sigh. Then, with perfect timing, she repeats, “You’re more innocent than I thought.”
Greece joins in, singsong mocking, “It’s never over.”
They’re both parroting me, like clockwork every time this comes up.
I glare. “Hardy har har. Fuck off. Fine—let’s get me to Burg.”
Rita interrupts, her eyes locked on a screen. “Request from Valletta just came through.”
“Fuck, no rest for the wicked,” I mutter. “Roger that. Send me to Burg. You guys hit Valletta. Don’t leave me stranded in that dump.”
“We’d never,” Rita says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
