Last Kiss Goodnight

thick blond hair, and eyes of the palest jade. His skin was tanned, unlined, and blazed with health. He, too, wore a robe, but his gleamed a brilliant white.

E—short for Laevus.

X—short for Adiutrix.

Solo had been too young to pronounce such complicated names. He had also been somewhat freaked out. But the pair had kept popping in and out, arguing, offering advice, and he’d eventually gotten used to them.

“You will find a way out,” X said now, always the optimist. Not once had he ever believed Solo would fail in any regard, which always wrought crushing disappointment when Solo did, in fact, fail.

“Will he? Really?” Dr. E retorted. “Because I seriously doubt he can chew through the bars. No matter how big his teeth are!”

Solo looked beyond the cages, taking stock of his options. More humans walked about now than before, hurrying in one direction or another, while some were practicing on different apparatus. There was a barbed trapeze, with spikes protruding from a thin bar. A man climbed on top of a life-size cannonball seemingly made of glass, with snapping fish swimming through its walls. A woman performed flips on a trampoline, careful to avoid randomly placed rings of fire.

. . . sell him to the same circus we sold the AIR agent to . . .

The words reverberated in Solo’s head.

. . . sell him . . . circus . . .

Star, a man who had abducted and maybe even killed sixteen people, had loomed over him and said those words.

Sell him to the same circus we sold the AIR agent to. He’ll fetch a decent price.

The truth hit him with the force of a sledgehammer. Star had directed those words to an employee, about Solo. And then the two had done it, he realized. They had sold him to a circus. This circus.

Dread flooded him, a corrosive acid that scorched and ruined. This was—should have been— impossible. Star could not have known where the black ops agents tasked with his capture would be meeting, when the agents themselves hadn’t known until an hour beforehand. More than that, there was no one on this planet who possessed the skill to bypass Michael’s security. A system Solo had set up.

But okay. Star had known, and Star had somehow bypassed. As many years as Solo had worked for Michael, he’d learned to search for a solution the moment he realized there was a problem. Star could be dealt with later. Right now, only escape mattered.

And it should be easy. He was in a cage, yes, but there were no armed guards posted at the door. The bars were metal, yes, but they lacked—he reached out—an electric charge. Good.

One of the captives scoffed and muttered, “Dummy. You’ll never get free.”

He would have to remember that there would be witnesses to his every deed. If only John and Blue were here. They would be—

Finish ashing him. As fried as he is, there’s no way he’ll survive transport anywhere else, and that way, there will be nothing left of him for anyone to find. A shame, though. I kind of liked him.

And this last one?

Do nothing. I’m keeping him.

The conversation played through Solo’s mind, and he ground his molars. Whatever Star and his employee had said, John and Blue were alive. Michael, too. Solo would believe nothing less. His friends were strong, wily, and resourceful. Death didn’t stand a chance.

As soon as he blew this circus, Solo would hunt the males down. Then they would complete their mission and destroy Star.

Wait. Their mission.

Sell him to the same circus we sold the AIR agent to.

“The AIR agent,” Star had said. One of the missing.

Solo studied the captives one more time. His gaze snared on the Teran, who had finally twisted to face him. Her. She was the agent. He’d seen her photo on the wall of Michael’s office.

Her name was Kitten, and she was with New Chicago’s Alien Investigation and Removal team, trained to kill with her bare hands, to withstand the worst of torture, and, if necessary, to “catnip the hell out of someone,” whatever that meant.

Her tangled hair belonged to a tabby cat, shades of gold, brown, black, and even streaks of flax intermingling. Her ears were tipped into sharp little points, and far cuter than his when he was angry. She had uptilted eyes of amber, high cheekbones, and lips curved into a deep frown. She was pretty in a very feminine, mischievous way—or would have been, with a little weight added to her body. Had she been starved?

Probably. But even still, a flicker of relief sparked inside his chest. To find and save this agent’s life, he would have been willing to endure another explosion. He wouldn’t leave without her.

As he adjusted his plan of escape to include two, she hissed at him. “What are you staring at, newbie? I will gut you!”

Dr. E puffed up with anger. “She won’t be able to gut you if you remove her hands!”

“Search for understanding as for hidden treasure,” X said. “She has been hurt, and so in turn she hurts others to try and protect herself from further abuse.”

Solo forced himself to look away from the ungrateful Teran before he allowed his temper to overtake him. If he did, Kitten would kill herself just to save herself from being killed by him. And she’d be smart to do so!

He would still escape with her, but now he doubted he’d be nice about it. He didn’t care whether she’d been hurt or not.

Fine. He did. Whatever.

A man who had to be on stilts crossed his path. And yet, the male’s legs were covered by pants, and he looked to be balanced on bare feet rather than wooden posts. But . . . that couldn’t be right. He was too tall, those legs too thin.

A female no more than three feet high waddled behind him. At least, Solo assumed she was female. She had large breasts and wore a pink tank and glittery micro-miniskirt, but she also had a long, thick beard, with beads interwoven throughout the dark locks of hair—

No, not hair. Couldn’t be. The strands moved and hissed and bared tiny white fangs. Snakes, he realized. Her beard was comprised of hundreds of tiny snakes, their eyes red and glowing.

Another female trailed behind her, spraying fire from her mouth without any help from a torch. She laughed as the otherworlders in the cages scrambled backward to avoid being burned, but that laughter died the moment her gaze landed on Solo. She stopped midstep, her gaze sweeping over him.

“Well, well. What do we have here?”

He studied her in turn. Young, with a definite muscle tone someone of Solo’s size and strength needed in a female. Otherwise he could accidentally snap her spine in two.

She was attractive, with bold features, green eyes that would have been pretty if they had not been glazed with inflated pride, and a slick fall of dark, shoulder-length hair streaked with pink. There were three spiders tattooed on each of her arms, each of a different size.

“Rebuke her,” X commanded, surprising him. X was the lover, not the fighter. “Send her away.”

“Don’t rebuke her. Look at her. She likes it naughty, guaranteed,” Dr. E replied.

X growled low in his throat. “Evil spreads, and we must not catch hers.”

Dr. E rubbed his hands together with glee. “Hello! I’m willing for Solo to catch whatever she’s got.”

Yeah. Dr. E wouldn’t mind if Solo caught something nasty, just as long as the little hell-raiser could watch him catch it.

X snapped, “Beauty often hides a beast.”

Dr. E hummed his approval. “Good point. Let’s get her clothes off and make sure.”

They could go on all day.

Solo lifted his chin, gripped the bars in front of him, and shook the entire enclosure. He hoped to scare the