Page 3 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
I gesture for her to continue.
“I can give you access,” Molly says. “Wealth. Comfort. Stability. A way out of scraping by on contracts that barely cover ammo and repairs.”
I snort. “You’ve done your research.”
“I do that for a living.”
“I can take those things,” I say. “From other people.”
“Yes,” she agrees. “And then you spend the rest of your life running from the mess you made doing it.”
The words hit closer than I like.
I bare my teeth. “Careful.”
“I’m being honest,” she says. “You’re a Reaper. You don’t belong anywhere. You’re feared, not welcomed. Used when convenient, hunted when inconvenient. I work with people who don’t want to get their hands dirty but desperately need someone like you.”
She gestures at the floating holos around her desk. I don’t look at them.
“I can put you in rooms you’re never invited into,” she says. “Introduce you to problems that pay better than bounties and don’t end with a cell.”
“And what do you get?” I ask.
“I stay alive,” she says simply.
Silence stretches between us. Thick. Electric.
“You’re bargaining,” I say.
“Yes.”
“With someone who came here to drag you screaming into a transport.”
“Yes.”
“That’s bold.”
“That’s survival.”
I rise to my feet. She stiffens but doesn’t run. That alone earns her a sliver of credit.
“I don’t do partnerships,” I say.
“I’m not offering partnership,” she replies. “I’m offering direction.”
I loom over her desk. She doesn’t look away, even though her pulse is pounding hard enough I can hear it.
“If you lie to me,” I say quietly, “there won’t be a prison ship. There won’t be a body to find.”
She nods. “Understood.”
I turn toward the window. “You have my attention,” I say. “That’s all you’ve earned tonight.”
She exhales shakily. “That’s… that’s enough.”
“For now,” I say.
I step back into the night, glass yielding like it knows better than to argue.
