Page 38 of Alien Knight Blind Date Disaster

“Real genius, I see.” He leaned back as far as the two manacles around his wrists would allow and managed to slump a bit in his seat like a sulking teenage boy.

“Who are you?”

“They call me Skinner.”

Well, that made sense. She’d heard of him around the city. He was the notorious middleman who ran the black market smugglers in her city. A stepping stone for her, which was why she’d worked for months, one contact at a time, to finally get a meeting with him. So hehadbeen there because of her. Which worked well for her plans. He was going to lead her to the real criminals, the power players who ran things planetwide. The big boss. And Falden and his stupid friends had ruined her plans. “I already know your nickname. That’s not what I asked you.”

“Isn’t it?” The scumbag leaned forward and leered at her. “Come closer, sweetheart, and I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“Do you know Crazy Mike?” she asked.

He snorted. “Everyone knows Crazy Mike. He’s fucking crazy. Rumor has it he cut out some poor bastard’s heart just for lookin’ the wrong way at his girl.”

“Glad you know him”—she smiled—“because he owes me one. So you’re going to answer every single question I ask, and don’t even think about lying to me. Understand?”

His eyes grew dazed, the pupils dilating to what seemed an impossible size. Then he shook his head, blinked twice. Snarled at her. “Stop your games. Don’t try your meager power on me. It won’t work.”

Power? What power?

The sharp pain behind her eyes intensified until it felt like someone was sewing her nerves to the backs of her eyeballs with yarn. Agony. “Tell me who you are.” She didn’t shout. The opposite. But the male before her twisted in his seat as if in an agony all his own.

Holy shit! Was that her voice shimmering through the air? What. The. Hell?

“No! No! No!” Skinner put his hands to his head, rocking back and forth.

The shouting brought the guards she’d left behind at the elevator running, but she held up her hand, trying out her voice. “Stay here but don’t interfere.”

The two guards stopped and watched her as if in a trance. She turned back to the prisoner.

“Tell. Me. Who. You. Are.” She pushed every ounce of pain and anger inside her into the command, thoughts of Falden, of his rejection rising like a flash flood in her chest.

He lowered his head, beating his forehead against the table with a loud, repetitive banging. “No. No. No.”

“Stop.”

He froze, head halfway to the table, and Isabella felt something within her stirring from deep inside her mind. Heat. Fire. Like a buzzing that would not stop. Was this what Sasha had been talking about? Was this what the maju paste did to human women? Was she dying?

Would Falden even care?

That thought was enough to bring her out of her pity party. She didn’t have time for a pity party. She’d do what she needed to do, then go find Sasha, find out what to do about her situation.

“Tell me who you are.” This time she kept her rage locked safely away from her words and made them an entreaty, a gentle request from a trusted friend. “You want to tell me everything. The burden you carry is heavy. Share it with me. Tell me who you are.”

“I am Bhaosz Khenka.”

“Are you Caldorian, Bhaosz?”

“No.”

Slowly, so as not to startle the strange alien in front of her, she slid her hand across the table to rest over his where he remained chained. “What planet are you from, Bhaosz?”

“I am from the planet of nine moons. Darkoor.”

One of the two guards behind her drew in a sharp breath so she turned her head…slowly…and glared. “You will remain silent.”

They both dropped to one knee as if she were a queen giving a command. “Yes, miss.”

Satisfied—and shocked at the buzzing heat of the power increasing with each word she spoke—Isabella turned back to Bhaosz of Darkoor. “I actually came across a planet called Darkoor when I was doing some research for my… project. Do you know who I am?”

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