The X-Club (A Krinar Story)

The X-Club

Anna Zaires

♠ Mozaika Publications ♠

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

Copyright
© 2014
Anna Zaires

www.annazaires.com

All rights reserved.

Except for use in a review, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

Published by Mozaika Publications, an imprint of Mozaika LLC.

www.mozaikallc.com

Cover by Najla Qamber Designs

najlaqamberdesigns.com

e-ISBN: 978-1-63142-032-0

Print ISBN: 978-1-63142-033-7

A young journalist. An alien sex club. A Krinar who won’t take no for an answer.

Amy Myers is tired of writing fluff. She wants to work on serious assignments—and what better way to prove herself than to uncover something new about the mysterious Krinar, the aliens who took over the Earth just two years earlier? But when she meets Vair, the dark and sexy owner of a Manhattan x-club, she may get more than she bargained for . . .

Two years since the invasion.

Amy Myers couldn’t believe it had been two years since the invasion, and people still knew next to nothing about the aliens who had taken over the Earth.

Frustrated, she removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, feeling the strain from staring at the computer screen all day. Over the past two weeks, ever since she decided to prove herself by writing an insightful piece about the invaders, she’d poured over every bit of information available on the internet, and all she had were rumors, a number of unreliable eyewitness accounts, some grainy YouTube videos, and as many unanswered questions as before.

Two years after K-Day, and the Ks—or the Krinar, as they liked to be called—were nearly as much of a mystery as when they first arrived.

Amy’s computer pinged, distracting her from her thoughts. Glancing at the screen, she saw that it was an email from her editor. Richard Gable wanted to know when she’d have the article on conjoined puppy twins ready for him.

Sighing, Amy rubbed her eyes again. She had no idea why all the fluff pieces landed on her desk. It had been that way ever since she joined the newspaper three years ago, and Amy was sick and tired of it. At twenty-four years of age, she had about as much experience writing about real news as a college intern.

Fuck it, she’d decided last month. If Gable didn’t want to assign her real work, she’d find a story herself. And what could be more interesting or controversial than the mysterious beings who invaded Earth and now resided alongside humans? If she could uncover something—anything—factual about the Ks, that would go a long way toward proving that she was capable of handling bigger stories.

Putting her glasses back on, Amy quickly wrote an email to Gable, requesting a couple of extra days to finish the puppy article. Her excuse was that she wanted to interview the veterinarian and was having trouble getting in touch with him. It was a lie, of course—she’d interviewed both the veterinarian and the owner as soon as she got the assignment—but she wanted to avoid getting another fluff piece for a few days. It would give her time to explore an interesting topic she came across in her research today: the so-called x-clubs.

“Hey there, baby girl, any plans for tonight?”

Hearing a familiar voice, Amy swiveled around in her chair and grinned at Jay, her coworker and best friend. “Nope,” she said cheerfully. “Going to catch up on some work and then veg out on my couch.”

He sighed dramatically and gave her a look of mock reproof. “Amy, Amy, Amy . . . What are we going to do with you? It’s Friday night, and you’re going to stay in?”

“I’m still recovering from last weekend,” Amy said, her grin widening. “So don’t think you can drag me out again so soon. One night of Jay-style partying a month is plenty for me.”

Jay-style partying was a unique experience consisting of multiple vodka shots early in the evening, followed by several hours of club-hopping and a dinner/breakfast at a 24-hour Korean diner. Amy wasn’t lying when she said she was still recovering—the combination of vodka and Korean food had given her a hangover that was more like a bad case of food poisoning. She’d barely crawled out of bed on Monday to go to work.

“Oh, come on,” he cajoled, his brown eyes resembling those of a puppy. With his thick lashes, curly brown hair, and fine features, Jay was almost too pretty for a guy. If it hadn’t been for his muscular build, he would’ve appeared effeminate. As it was, however, he attracted women and men alike—and enjoyed both with equal gusto.

“Sorry, Jay. Another week perhaps.” What Amy needed to concentrate on now was her article about the Ks . . . and the secretive clubs they supposedly patronized.

Jay let out another sigh. “All right, have it your way. What are you working on right now? The puppy piece?”

Amy hesitated. She hadn’t told Jay about her project yet, mostly because she didn’t want to appear foolish if she couldn’t come up with a good story. Jay didn’t get a lot of meaty assignments either, but he didn’t mind it as much as Amy. His goal in life was to enjoy himself, and everything else—his journalism career included—came second. He thought ambition was something that was only useful in moderation and didn’t apply himself more than necessary. “I just don’t want to be a total bum, for my parents, you know,” he’d explained to Amy once, and the statement perfectly summed up his approach to work.

Amy, on the other hand, wanted more than to not be a bum. It bothered her that the editor had taken one look at her strawberry-blond hair and doll-like features and permanently slotted her into fluff-piece land. She would’ve thought Gable was sexist, except he did the same thing to Jay. Their editor didn’t discriminate against women; he just made assumptions about people’s capabilities based on their looks.

Deciding to finally confide in her friend, Amy said, “No, not the puppy piece. I’ve actually been researching a project of my own.”

Jay’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

“Have you ever heard of x-clubs?” she asked, casting a quick look around to make sure they wouldn’t be overheard. Thankfully, the office was largely empty, except for an intern working on the other side of the floor. It was nearly four p.m. on a Friday, and most people had found an excuse to be out of the office this summer afternoon.

Jay’s eyes widened. “X-clubs? As in xeno-clubs?”

“Yes.” Amy’s pulse jumped in excitement. “Have you heard of them?”

“Aren’t they the places those alien-crazy people go to hook up with Ks?”

“Apparently.” Amy grinned at him. “I just learned about them today. Do you know anyone who’s been to one?”

Jay frowned, an expression that looked out of place on his normally cheerful face. “No, not really. I mean, there’s always that friend of a friend of a friend, but no one I know personally.”

Amy nodded. “Right. And you know half of Manhattan, so these clubs, if they exist, are a closely guarded secret. Can you imagine the story?” In her best broadcaster’s voice, she announced dramatically, “Alien clubs in the heart of New York City?
The New York Herald
brings you the latest in K news!”

“Are you sure about this?” Her friend looked doubtful. “I’ve heard those clubs are near K Centers. Are you saying there are some in New York City?”

“I think so. There’s some chatter online about a club in Manhattan. I want to find it and see what it’s all about.”

“Amy . . . I don’t know if that’s such a great idea.” To her surprise, Jay appeared more disturbed than excited, his uncharacteristic frown deepening. “You don’t want to mess with the Ks.”

“Nobody wants to mess with them—which is why we still know nothing about them.” Amy’s earlier frustration returned. It bothered her that everybody was still so intimated by the invaders. “All I want to do is write a factual article about them. Specifically about some places they allegedly frequent. Surely that’s allowed. We still have freedom of press in this country, don’t we?”

“Maybe,” Jay said. “Or maybe not. Personally, I think they erase whatever information they don’t want to be public. Used to be, once it’s on the internet, it’s there forever, but not anymore.”

“You think they might suppress my article somehow?” Amy asked worriedly, and Jay shrugged.

“I have no idea,” he said, “but if I were you, I’d focus on the puppy piece and forget about the Ks.”

* * *

It was almost eight in the evening by the time Amy came across it: a mention of the x-club’s location on an obscure online sex forum. It was buried within someone’s lengthy—and rather improbable-sounding—account of his hook-up with a group of Ks. The feeling of ecstasy the man described sounded suspiciously like a drug-induced high to Amy, though similar tales littered the web, giving rise to all sorts of rumors about the invaders . . . including that of vampirism.

Amy didn’t buy it, but then again, she had a natural distrust of rumors. She liked facts; that’s why she’d gone into journalism rather than choosing to write fiction.

According to this man’s account, he had gone to the club right after his dinner in the Meatpacking district. He named the restaurant where he had dinner, and then he wrote that the club was directly across the street from it.

And just like that, Amy had a lead.

Jumping to her feet, she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the office, nodding to the janitor on the way.

It looked like her Friday night was about to get a lot more exciting.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Amy repeated for the fifth time, giving Jay an exasperated look. She’d made the mistake of texting him about her plans, and he showed up at her doorstep twenty minutes later, dressed for clubbing but doing his best to dissuade her from going.

“If you’re going, I’m going,” he said stubbornly. “I don’t think either one of us should be doing this, but, baby girl, you’re crazy if you think I’ll let you go there by yourself.”

“You just want your name to be on the story,” Amy joked, flipping her shoulder-length hair upside down to work in some mousse. Her reddish-blond hair was naturally fine and straight, but if she put enough product in it, she could achieve some sexy waves. Sexy wasn’t a look she normally tried for, but in this case, it was important. The Ks were not only humanoid in appearance, but downright gorgeous . . . and according to what Amy read online, they liked their human sex partners to be nearly as good-looking as they were.

Amy was fairly certain she didn’t fit that criteria, but she was hoping that with enough makeup—and with contacts instead of glasses—she’d look pretty enough to be let into the club.

“Our names will
be
the story,” Jay said darkly. “I can see it now:
Two Missing Journalists, Last Seen Hunting Aliens in Meatpacking District
.”

“Oh, please.” Amy straightened and began applying mascara to her long brown lashes. “Since when are you afraid to go to a club? You do crazy stuff all the time—”

“Yes, but I do it for fun, not to prove myself to our idiot boss,” he retorted. “And no amount of drinking or partying compares to trying to infiltrate an alien sex club. You do see the difference between a little recreational weed and this, don’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Amy muttered, swiping blush onto her pale cheeks. “Like I told you, I only texted you about this so someone would know where I am. You don’t have to come with me.”

“Yes, I do.” Jay gave her a ‘get real’ look. “You’re my only female friend. You think I’d let you get spirited away on some spaceship?”

“They live in K Centers on Earth, silly.” Amy grinned at him in the mirror. “Why would they take me on a spaceship?”

“Who knows?” he said, plopping down on her couch. “Maybe they like cute, green-eyed blondes who wear glasses to work to seem smarter.”

“Mmm, yes. I’m just their type.” Laughing, Amy smoothed her hands down her blue, form-fitting dress. With her curvy hips, she wasn’t exactly model material, though she was generally happy with her figure. It helped that her ex-boyfriends seemed to enjoy a rounder ass; one of them even claimed it was his favorite part of Amy’s body.

“You never know,” Jay insisted. “Seriously, Amy, I wish you’d reconsider. Do you realize that they can do absolutely anything to you in that club, and nobody would stop them? Our laws don’t apply to them. They can kill you, and nobody would blink an eye, treaty or no treaty. You understand that, right?”

“Of course I do.” Amy was beginning to get tired of this conversation. Sometimes Jay could be like a dog with a bone. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how dangerous the Ks can be. I’ve seen those videos of them ripping people to shreds, and I’ve read the eyewitness accounts. But we’re journalists. We’re supposed to investigate stories, to uncover important truths and bring them to light, even if there’s risk involved. We didn’t choose this profession so we could be writing about puppy twins or socialite weddings or whatever bullshit Gable assigns us. We need to be doing real reporting, Jay—and this is our chance.” Pausing, she gave him a level look. “I’m doing this—and you can either join me or go home.”

* * *

“Okay, this is the restaurant,” Amy said when their cab pulled up in front of a fancy-looking hotel. According to Google, the restaurant was on the rooftop of the building. “Now what?”

“Now we go to some real nightclubs and forget this insanity,” Jay said, climbing out of the cab and opening the door for her. “You’re already dressed up—it’ll be perfect. We’ll have a blast, just like last weekend.”

Amy blew out an exasperated breath. “I’m not repeating last weekend for a good long time—I already told you that. And we’re not here to party; we’re here to observe.”

“Right, of course.” Jay sounded morose. “We’re just going to quietly observe some aliens—who won’t mind at all that we want to publicize their secrets.”

Amy ignored him, trying to figure out where the club “across the street” could be. All around her, the area swarmed with beautiful people. Meatpacking was
the
clubbing district of Manhattan. Models, celebrities, Wall Streeters, and everyone else mingled on the cobblestone streets and in edgy-looking club-lounges, trying to outdo each other with designer bags and clothing. Music blared out of several open doorways, and drunk girls stumbled around in sky-high heels, giggling and flirting with every guy in sight.

Amy had to admit that the Ks were smart to locate their club here; with all the glittering crowds, even a Krinar could go unnoticed.

Studying the building across the street, she saw a group of tall, leggy women approaching an unassuming brown door. There was no sign above it, nothing to indicate what kind of establishment it was. One of the women knocked, and the door swung open, letting the group in. Then the door closed immediately.

Amy’s story-sniffing sense went on full alert. “There,” she said, grabbing Jay’s arm and practically towing him across the busy street.

“How do you know?” His voice held an undertone of anxiety. “Did you see one of them?”

“No.” Amy ignored the honking of cabs as she cut in front of several cars. “But I think I saw some women who might be their types.”

“Their types?”

“Krinar-like,” Amy explained, weaving through the crowds on the sidewalk. “Tall, gorgeous . . . like supermodels.”

“That doesn’t mean anything—”

“Look, let’s just try this and see,” Amy interrupted, stopping in front of the brown door. Turning toward Jay, she said, “Ready?”

“No,” he said glumly, but Amy was already knocking on the door.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the door quietly opened, revealing a narrow hallway.

“Okay, here we go,” Amy whispered to Jay, and stepped inside.

Jay followed her in without another word.

As they walked silently through the hallway, Amy could feel her heartbeat picking up. Was it possible she would actually get to see them in person? The invaders she’d only seen on TV?

The hallway ended in front of another door—this one metallic gray in color. It was locked, so Amy knocked again, not knowing what else to do.

Then she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“I don’t think they’re going to let us in,” Jay whispered after a minute. “Maybe we should leave.”

“Not yet,” Amy whispered back. She didn’t want to admit it, but now that they were here, she was starting to get nervous as well. The full enormity of what they were doing was beginning to dawn on her. If this was indeed the x-club she’d heard about, then on the other side of that door, there were beings from another planet—from an ancient civilization that had supposedly seeded life on Earth.

Her heart was now throbbing in her throat.

Gathering her courage, she knocked again and called out, “Hello?”

Jay gulped audibly next to her, his face turning pale.

“Hello?” Amy called out again, louder this time. Nervous or not, she wasn’t leaving until she gave this her best shot.

“Amy, let’s go—”

The door quietly slid open.

A man stood there, his tall, broad-shouldered frame taking up most of the doorway. In the low light, all Amy could see of his face were high cheekbones and a jaw that looked like it had been carved from granite. His eyes glittered darkly underneath thick eyebrows, and his clothes were pale, almost white.

Stunned, Amy stared at him. Could it be . . . ? Could he be . . . ?

The man smiled, his teeth flashing white in his bronzed face. “Welcome,” he said softly, and stepped aside, motioning for them to come in.