Taken by the Alien Next Door (Aliens Among Us #1) - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,144
less violent means, but the Master was unwavering when it came to the tenets of the Order.
No witnesses.
The Ergoth leadership would assume it had been a hit from a rival gang. Many of the thugs and criminals in the Undercity and the Bowels carried weapons with flechette ammunition because they were intimidating—few species could survive a blast from one. Superheated tristeel darts only yielded to higher-end combat armors at close range.
Keeping his movements slow, Tenthil removed the pistol from its holster and laid it in the open drawer.
The groalthuun spread his lips, revealing wide, flat teeth in what he must’ve considered a smile. Tenthil’s people would’ve called any creature with such teeth prey.
The drawer slid shut, vanishing into the wall; even Tenthil’s keen eyesight couldn’t pick out any trace of a gap or a seam.
For most individuals, entering a potential hostile space while unarmed was a frightening prospect, but Tenthil was unconcerned. He’d been trained as a living weapon and he knew how to improvise, both essential skills for a successful assassin.
He wasn’t here to cause trouble, anyway—at least not tonight. This was a reconnaissance mission. Once he was familiar with the club’s layout and Drok’s movements within it, Tenthil could formulate and execute a plan of attack.
“Pick it up on the way out,” said the bokkan in a deep, rough voice. “It’ll be tied to your body scan.” His expression hadn’t changed, but his stance shifted to subtly direct the barrel of his auto-blaster toward Tenthil.
The guards shifted closer to the walls, revealing a rugged blast door behind them. Whether the rest of Twisted Nethers’ security held up to this standard, Drok wanted his patrons to at least feel safe inside. It wasn’t surprising given the wealth of some of the regulars—several of the Undercity’s most prominent business people, legitimate and illicit alike, frequented this establishment.
Perhaps this contract would provide Tenthil a challenge. Perhaps it would provide some meaning, however shallow, to his work. For too long, it had merely been a matter of following orders, of being wielded as the Master’s sword. Despite spending most of his time outside the temple to fulfill contracts, Tenthil felt caged by his obligations—and that was enough to drive him to madness.
The groalthuun pressed another hidden button—Tenthil carefully noted its position—and the blast door rumbled open.
Music swept over Tenthil, loud enough to hurt his ears. Strobing lights and slithering neon crawls mingled with holographic projections to make it difficult for his eyes to focus properly. The smell—alcohol, food, and drugs from dozens of worlds, hundreds of bodies dancing, and sex—crashed into his nostrils. The air itself pulsed with vibrations from the music and dancers.
Despite his discomfort, he didn’t hesitate to cross the threshold. Once the door had closed behind him, he restored his bioelectric field to full force, finding a hint of comfort in the brief tingling that spread across the surface of his skin.
The interior of Twisted Nethers was larger than he’d anticipated. The place was tiered like a stadium; he stood on the middle of three levels, which ran around the main floor in a ring. Several stages along the ring boasted beings of diverse species dancing in varying states of undress, each performing for their own crowd. Each stage had its own audience space with tables and chairs, no two of which were quite alike in either furniture or arrangement.
Straight ahead, a wide set of steps led down to the bottom tier, from which the music originated. The lower level was dominated by a crowded dance floor, but also possessed a wide stage, at least thirty tables, and a huge bar running nearly half the circumference of the space with more than a dozen beings stationed behind it, furiously mixing and serving drinks. Projected lights and images rained down from overhead, filling the air with motion and color—fearsome alien beasts, naked males and females, sleek vehicles, and abstract shapes, all moving, flashing, and fading in an endless holographic dance above the mass of writhing dancers.
Tenthil removed the Ergoth pin from his jacket as he scanned his surroundings, willing his eyes to adjust to the visual chaos. More of Drok’s security team were posted throughout the club, but the only ones openly carrying weapons were those stationed at the staircases leading to the upper tier—undoubtedly the VIP area.
He slipped the pin into his jacket pocket and walked around the middle level. He kept his eyes on the dancers as he moved but focused his attention on his peripheral vision to