Taken by the Alien Next Door (Aliens Among Us #1) - Tiffany Roberts Page 0,147

upon himself or his body.

Tenthil should have left the club at that moment, should have walked on to the door through which he’d entered. He told himself he remained because of duty, because of his contract, because of his resentment for the Master, but none of that was true.

He remained because he wanted another look at the terran.

Clenching his jaw, he stopped when he was beneath Drok’s booth, leaned back against the railing, and watched the dancers on the nearby stage. The guards beside the staircase Drok had used loomed at the edge of Tenthil’s vision. Though their eyes were obscured by dark goggles, and their rigid postures were unwavering, Tenthil knew they were scanning the crowd, sizing up every patron in a ceaseless threat assessment.

Tenthil relaxed his jaw and tipped back a little further, pausing when the music from the nearby stage faded and he heard the deep, gravelly voice of a tralix from overhead. He focused on it.

“—can’t wait to push it. Think we’ll make a killing,” said Drok.

“Of course we will,” the ertraxxan replied in a high, reedy voice, his pronunciation of each word—in universal speech—was precise. “I provide only the highest quality goods.”

“You’d almost think you take pride in all this, Cullion.”

“I do,” Cullion said, “and it would comfort me if those with whom I do business show some pride of their own. A bit of poise would do you well, Drok.”

“We’re making money. What else really matters?”

“Status. Respect. Reputation.”

“I got all that. And fear, too—that’s more important. People around here know not to mess with me.”

“Few appreciate a braggart, Drok. I am not amongst them.”

“This braggart keeps the gangs in line and the money flowing, all while keeping the heat off you, so you look legitimate.”

Cullion made a frustrated sound—a sort of clicking growl. “I am a legit—”

Drok cut off the ertraxxan with a guttural laugh. “Yeah, and I’m running an innocent dance club here. There’s the difference between us, Cullion: you were born into what you got. I had to fight for every credit I’ve ever had. Try spending a few years in a fighting pit on Caldorius and then complain to me about this shit.”

“I find your language distasteful.”

“Yeah, you find everything about me distasteful—except that I turn you profit. Now we going to talk distribution, or what?”

“Once I dismiss my pet, yes.”

“I don’t mind her.”

“You are staring as though you wish to fornicate with her.”

“I like watching her. Definitely nicer to look at than you, Cullion. One of these days, you need to finally let me at her.”

“Just when I assumed you couldn’t be fouler. This thing is beneath even you, Drok. An animal here to perform for our visual entertainment and little more. I would be remiss if I allowed any of my associates, even the most distasteful, to stoop to such a low.”

Drok laughed again, a richer, fuller sound. “You’re nuts. You paid a small fortune to have her, and you could earn back that investment a hundred times over if you’d rent her out from time to time. Hell, half my staff wants a go at her just to know what it’s like. She looks soft. Real soft.”

“I will hear no more of this,” Cullion snapped. “If you cannot focus on the important matters at hand, I will—”

“Fine, fine. Send her to the lower stage. My customers appreciate a good show.”

“She is mine, Drok. Not an attraction in your house of debauchery.”

“If I didn’t know all ertraxxans were pricks, Cullion, I might believe you had a personality of your own,” Drok replied. “Send her to the stage. People will watch her, which means they’ll buy drinks and drugs a little longer. When my business prospers, yours does, too.”

“Fine. Go.”

The conversation ceased, and the other sounds flowed back into Tenthil’s awareness. A tall, naked cren female with long, pointed ears, two three-centimeter-long tusks protruding from her mouth, and small breasts had replaced the dancers on the stage. She undulated to the quick beat, bursts of vibrant color flashing across her skin to complement her movements. Thumping bass from the dance floor below ran beneath the music from this stage, an echoing beat just out of sync with the predominant song.

If Cullion or Drok spoke again, Tenthil didn’t notice—movement on the stairs caught his attention and held it in a vise grip. The terran female descended from the upper level, her long legs emerging one at a time from beneath the fabric of her skirt with each step down. His gaze