Page 2 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
That’s not what she means. What she means isplease don’t kill me here.
“Am I?” I step into the room and let the door click shut behind me. “Funny. I was thinking you were overdue.”
She scrambles back, chair legs shrieking against the floor until she bumps into the credenza behind her. A crystal decanter rattles. She throws her hands up, palms out.
“Listen,” she says quickly. “We can talk.”
“Usually we scream first,” I say. “But I can make exceptions.”
Her breathing comes fast and shallow. Then—interestingly—it slows. Not much. Just enough. Her eyes sharpen. The panic doesn’t vanish, but it rearranges itself.
She recognizes me.
That’s new.
“Grau,” she says. She says it right. Clean. No hesitation. “Okay. Okay. I know why you’re here.”
I tilt my head. “Do you?”
“The Coalition,” she says. “The levy. The back taxes. I know I’m… behind.”
“Millions,” I correct.
She flinches, then nods. “Yes. Millions.”
I cross the room and drag a chair away from her desk, turning it around before straddling it. The wood creaks under my weight. I shrug out of my coat and drop it over the back. It hits with a wet sound. Her eyes flick to it, then away.
“Hard to find you,” I say. “You move a lot.”
“That’s because people want me dead,” she says.
I huff a laugh. “People wantmedead. We all have hobbies.”
She swallows again. “I don’t have the credits,” she says. “Not liquid.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“It could be,” she says—then stops.
I watch the moment it clicks in her head. The pivot. Panic gives way to calculation. Fear sharpens into something usable.
“What if I told you,” Molly says carefully, “that taking me to a Coalition prison ship is the least profitable option you have tonight?”
I grin. “I’m listening.”
“You get paid a flat rate,” she says. “Delivery fee. Minus fuel. Minus the trouble it takes to dodge every favor I’ve ever called in trying to stop you.”
“Flattering,” I say.
“Or,” she continues, “you walk out of here with something better.”
“Everyone says that.”
“Most of them don’t mean it,” she says.
I lean forward slightly. “You’re very confident for someone cornered in her own office.”
She exhales. “I’m desperate,” she says. “There’s a difference.”
