Page 52 of Bought and Shared
Licking his mutilated lips, Moses thinks about it. “Two, maybe three months ago. He doesn’t come often and the foot soldiers are never present when he visits. In case you haven’t noticed, the dude likes his privacy.”
Kal cracks his knuckles as he watches his enemy squirm on a literal hook before him. “If he hasn’t been around lately, he must be due to return soon. When will that be?”
“I don’t know,” the beaten human returns. “Soon, I guess.”
I step forward then, trying another angle. “We want to know more about what happened with the most recent attack on our female draftees.”
Moses is surly when he assesses me. “Which one?”
So, therewasmore than one attack, as I suspected. I store that bit of information away for later. “The bus incident that happened just a few days back.”
“Don’t know nothing about it,” Moses returns mulishly.
He’s lying. I can tell by the gleeful look in his eye and the stubborn lift of his jaw.
I give Kal the signal and he fists Moses’s hair and cranes back his abused head. “Search your memory or I will help jog it.”
Moses knows what this means. If he refuses to participate in this discussion, Kal will use his fists to helpencouragehim to talk.
“I had nothing to do with that,” he finally admits.
“I didn’t ask you what you had to do with it. I asked you about what happened,” I remind him in a threatening tone.
Moses tries unsuccessfully to feign ignorance. He’s frightened, and he should be. As soon as we pump him for as much intel as we can, we’re going to end his miserable existence and dump his body at the closest pig farm for immediate organic disposal.
“It was a rescue mission,” Moses growls. “An attempt to set our human women free from you sick bastards!”
Kal gives the man a hard cuff on the back of the head. “Mind your tongue, human. We’re not interested in your opinions on the Voltan, just what the Rebels are up to.”
Moses grunts and shakes his head like a dog. “What we’re up to is revenge and taking back what’s ours!”
That’s what I thought. The Rebels are lashing out due to the loss of their women. While I can understand a true male’s desire to protect his female, I notice these men rarely put themselves in harm’s way to do so. In fact, their women are the ones that pay the price most often. Something that, as a Voltan male who would die for my mate without thought if necessary, I can’t understand or respect.
“You could have killed those women when you drove them off the road,” I point out, bile rising in my throat. “Don’t act as though you were doing anything on their behalf. The attack was a self-motivated one.”
Moses smirks. “Better dead than sleeping with the enemy.”
I move faster than his eyes can track my fist. His head snaps back and forward before he even clocks my move. “My mate was on that bus, you dumb fuck. You’re just lucky she wasn’t hurt.Otherwise, I would have already cut your cock off and fed it to you. I still might.”
The man pales at my vicious threat. “If they’re decent women, they’d rather die than submit to the enemy. It’s the least they can do for the cause!”
My whole body tightens in anger. “Most of those women are drafted and would be imprisoned along with their families if they fail to comply. But many of them have volunteered for this service, you idiot! They often add years to their contracts because they find the arrangement so enjoyable and beneficial. They don’t need to be saved. They need to be honored, appreciated, adored. Perhaps the Voltan can teach human males a little something about that so that they don’t all go extinct!”
“Those women are whores and deserve whatever they get,” Moses bitterly exclaims.
I don’t warn him a second time. With a vicious twist of his upraised arm, I break his wrist with speed and efficiency before the self-righteous look can even be wiped off his stupid face.
Moses screams, bleats, and bellows as he absorbs the shock of the pain. I wait until he settles down before I casually ask, “When is the next attack scheduled?”
Dangling at an awkward angle because of his new injury, Moses tries to steady himself on his toes, but it’s a lost cause. He sags back down painfully, his body bowed from the agony of his many wounds.
“I’m not in charge of that information,” he rasps when he’s in control of himself once more.
Adding pressure to the broken bones, I snarl, “Who is?”
“Bowman!” Moses finally admits. “His name is Bowman.”
I’ve never heard this name before. He must be new to the cause. “And who is he?”
