Taken by the Alien Next Door (Aliens Among Us #1) - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,143

Twisted Nethers stood apart. There was something more vibrant about its less-than-subtle signage, something warmer in the pulsing lights that accented the building’s edges, something more imposing about the spotlights on its roof that cut through the gloom to illuminate the metal framework and ceiling high overhead.

The massive, ever-changing holographic genitalia out front undoubtedly contributed to its eye-catching nature.

Despite the blatant outward display, the denizens of the Undercity considered Twisted Nethers an exclusive club—it was a place where anyone with enough credits could satisfy their exotic tastes, whether for drinks, drugs, or writhing, naked bodies.

For Tenthil, it was just another stop on a long, blood-soaked path.

He strode toward the club’s entrance, weaving through the crowd of diverse beings who’d gathered outside to await admittance. Their features—as varied and colorful as the Undercity signs—blurred together in the shadows cast by the surrounding neon lights. He walked as though he belonged here, as though he’d frequented the place for years, as though everyone else should’ve felt honored by his presence.

Many of the aliens waiting in line turned their gazes toward Tenthil as he passed. Facial appendages quivered, brows fell low, and mouths opened to voice protest, but all the onlookers kept their opinions to themselves when their eyes dipped to the pin on his jacket.

A street gang calling themselves the Ergoths had claimed this sector as their territory years ago. Drok, the owner of Twisted Nethers and Tenthil’s current target, had close ties to the gang, though the true nature of his relationship with them was unknown.

Tenthil’s pin—a stylized red sun with the white silhouette of an ancient axe at its center—marked him as an Ergoth.

The doorman, a burly vorgal with scars crisscrossing the drab green skin of his face, glanced at the pin as Tenthil approached. He stepped aside and waved Tenthil in. His mouth, from which jutted double pairs of upward-pointing tusks, remained an expressionless flat line throughout.

The beings waiting for admittance voiced no objections to Tenthil’s entry; though some might’ve been standing out there for hours, they knew better than to question an Ergoth in this part of the city.

Tenthil walked through the door and entered the dark corridor beyond. His eyes rapidly adjusted to the gloom. The black strips of rounded, bulging glass to either side suggested a scanning system—not unexpected for a place like this—and the pair of guards in front of the door at the end of the hallway held auto-blaster rifles that could fill the air with enough heated plasma bolts to melt the surrounding walls within a few seconds. There was no cover here should either guard decide to open fire.

Just a few more obstacles for Tenthil to overcome when he finally decided to make his move.

He drew in a deep breath as he stepped forward and released the amplified bioelectrical field he usually generated around himself; it would disrupt the scanners and arouse immediate suspicion otherwise. Maintaining the disruption field had become second nature over the years, and he felt strange without it in place.

Pulsing bass rumbled along the walls and floor; Tenthil perceived it more as a feeling than a sound, a vibration running up through his boots and into his bones.

As Tenthil drew within a few paces of the door, the guard to his right—a pale-scaled groalthuun with four bone nubs sweeping back from the top of his head and glowing green tattoos on his face—held up a hand. A faint light shone behind the groalthuun’s dark goggles—likely a readout from the scanners on the walls.

Tenthil halted.

The groalthuun twisted and pressed an unseen button on the wall. A small drawer slid out beneath his hand.

“Put your piece inside,” said the groalthuun.

His companion, a craggy-faced bokkan with gray, rock-like skin, remained unmoving, but Tenthil felt the bokkan’s eyes—also hidden by goggles—lock on him. Both guards wore tailored, high-quality coats left open at their collars to display a bit of the combat armor beneath.

“Come on.” The groalthuun waved his hand. “Boss appreciates all the business you Ergoths bring in, but the rules ain’t changing. No one goes in packing but pre-approved private security.”

Moving with deliberate care, Tenthil unfasted his jacket and raised his left arm, revealing the flechette pistol holstered under his armpit. Such weapons were devastating at close range, but they were messy—as the Ergoth Tenthil had taken the pistol and pin from a few hours before might’ve attested, were the pulverized remains of his head not splattered across an alley wall. It would have been preferable to take the pin through