{Gait}

During his rounds between the Emporium and the Complex Lounge, Matt let his thoughts drift. To Lucy. And now to Sagan. He didn’t care for the state she left the booth after her last experience. Razor’s arm around her shoulder, chafing her bicep in a comforting gesture. The powerful woman looked small and vulnerable in his arms. It bothered Matt.

But until she asked directly for his help, he trusted her undercover skills. He learned that much from Lucy. Smiling, he remembered his reaction to her coup on the first CoN—

“What has you in such a good mood tonight?” Razor found Matt loading an auction prize into some Lamia’s antigrav caravan. He prodded, “Is downstairs keeping you satisfied?”

No. “Yes.” Matt loaded the nacre glass statue while sweeping the vicinity for additional listeners.

The older man chuckled. “Just you and me.” With hands in the pockets of his tuxedo pants, Razor strolled into the street. He leaned on the antigrav car and watched Matt work. “It’s Icarean, you know?”

At first, Matt thought he meant the statue. His biceps bunched, and he grunted as he nestled the bulky thing in with the rest of the lucky prince’s winnings. “Sorry, boss. What?”

“Your nacre.”

Fuck. He can tell? “Well, it likely wouldn’t be an Earth one considering we don’t have any yet—”

“You ripped it out of an Icarus. That’s no small feat.” Razor sounded genuinely impressed. He surveyed Matt more openly before adding, “One with Korac’s blood, I assume. It explains your strength and stamina. You’re putting the other downstairs employees to shame.” The man’s stoic expression blossomed into a genuine grin. “I’m thinking of promoting you.”

Matt raked a hand through his short auburn hair before locking eyes with the devil. “Sure, boss. What’d you have in mind?”

The alien stepped away from the car and waved for Matt to follow him back inside. The night waned into the morning hours. With the auction over, the swankier guests spent the last dregs of the evening seeking desperate company. Halfway across the floor, Matt got twitchy amid the crowd. A hum alerted him to the strangest gun before he even saw the shooter.

“Razor, down!” Matt collided into his boss, bringing them both to the floor.

The bullet went into the nearest man, who buzzed and cooked under a blanket of electricity that covered his entire body. Shivered and shook until he kissed the parquet hardwood.

Matt stared down into Razor’s gray eyes. They swirled and the young man swore he saw storm clouds. There. A strike of lightning in the iris. What the fuck—

“Let me up.” Steel. His voice rang like cold metal. Stiff muscles soon followed. Was this what Razor looked like when angry?

The crowd seized the shooter and his weird gun. Smooth metal. Matte. A handgun. Loaded with only one golden-cased bullet, the assassin gambled on a hail Mary shot and lost.

Razor straightened and rolled up his sleeves. Loosened his bow tie. “How many does that make this month, my honored guests?”

The crowd shouted in a chorus, “Six.” A tension rippled across them like the gathering of a tidal wave that rose and opened its massive jaws.

“Matt, this is good for you to learn. I am not well liked by most outside this Emporium.”

Some people chuckled and laughed. Some nervously. Some while practically licking their lips. None of them liked him. They liked what he did for them.

“But we like assassins here. Don’t we?”

Uhm. Somebody moaned in ecstasy. The anticipation even infected Matt with a craving for next. What would come next???

Two Mon3 drones lowered the would-be killer to his knees. He glared up at Razor, but not exactly unflinchingly. “You won’t get anything—”

The boss treated the guy’s head like a football during kickoff for the Superbowl. Red blood sprayed in an arc. Matt narrowed his gaze. Human. How’d this guy even get here?

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Most of the spray coated the faces of a triangular man from Yun and a Luk jellyfish guy. They looked at each other and instantly locked mouths.

Razor chuckled at the crowd as they watched, envious. “Don’t worry. There’s plenty more to go around. Matt?”

“Yes?”

“You’re doing great in your promotion so far. But now we’ll test your stomach. Get a knife—”

Matt produced a six-inch combat knife from a pocket in his cargo pants.

The crowd laughed in menacing approval. Someone behind him purred. The Pain Curator beamed at him. “Perfect. I want to know who sent him, why, and where he got the gun. Use any means necessary as long as it’s painful. Then remove his nacre completely intact for me. We’ll see if you’re worthy of the top shelf.”

The auburn-haired twenty-year-old tortured plenty of Cult of Night freaks. Tormenting pedophilic bastards kept his conscience clear. He stared down at the barely conscious human on the floor. The man peered up and locked brown eyes with his own. Grimacing, he begged for a quick death.

Matt sank to his knees, looked the man in the eyes, and shook his head. He shoved the knife under the guy’s ribs. Tears streamed down the assassin’s face as he clenched so hard he chipped a tooth. The redhead withdrew the knife and sluiced blood at the audience.

Razor grinned wickedly behind Matt, and the crowd cooed their approval.

“You heard the boss. Who, why, and where?” Matt held the knife to the back of the guy’s ear. In the meantime, he ground his own teeth from the stress. And he was pretty sure that couple from earlier just… yup. They finished.

The man hung his head, groaning and spitting blood. “I don’t remember where.”

Matt punched him in the jaw, rather than take his ear.

The hit-man grunted and drooled blood from biting his lip.

Beneath him. This was beneath Matt. Lucy wouldn’t like it. The sooner this guy gave up the information, the sooner he could end it.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember. You were carrying it.” Matt punched him again. “Surely, you remember retrieving it from the source.” When he punched him this time, the guy’s orbital bone exploded and sprayed blood onto another lucky member of the audience.

Sure enough, they sighed and giggled with excitement.

Fucking weirdos.

Matt put the knife to the guy’s ear. “Who?”

The captured human sagged further to his knees and vomited in answer.

“What’s wrong with your nacre? Can’t it keep up?”

He made to punch him again, but Razor grabbed his wrist. Touching him right now was a mistake. He whirled on his boss and wondered if he let the inside slip onto the outside.

If so, Razor didn’t mind it. He calmly assured, “It’s possible he doesn’t remember.” The alien reached a hand out to him. “We may employ other measures.”

Matt took it and followed Razor to the booths. The drones dragged the captive behind them. The crowd followed while many of them made conversation along the way.

“Very gifted protege,” a Lyrik commented.

“Yes, he could attend the gala next week.”

The rich Lamian prince agreed, “We haven’t seen anyone this promising since Xelan.”

It took an act of god to keep Matt from reacting to the last one. That was worth sharing with Sagan during her next visit.

Only three fit in the booth. The Lamian prince grinned expectantly at Razor until the boss shut him down. “Matt’s in here with me. He’s earned it.” They shut the door while the others sulked away.

“We’ll download his memory and check for anything unusual. Put that set of goggles on.” He put on a set for himself.

With the memory loaded, Matt expected to see the guy’s life flashing before his eyes as he bled out. Instead, they saw nothing. Blackness.

Wait.

A figure appeared in a haze. It kept glitching like a faulty connection. Female. Rich black skin. Black dreads and braids fell to her waist. White ribbons and beads adorned them. White clothes that suited her fit figure with its delicate curves. But her eyes were what shocked Matt into removing his headset.

They were a bright blue. Like Rayne’s.

Razor stared at the dying man. Hunger burned in his steely gaze. Not for the prisoner. No, he wanted to hunt premium game. But unfortunately for the guy, he was here, and she was not.

“Celindria.”

Faster than Matt could see. Faster than anyone other than Sagan. Razor clutched the man and carried him outside the booth. The people waited eagerly, almost as if they shared in his hunger.

“He’s all yours.”

Fascinating. He threw the man to the crowd of well-to-do motherfuckers coming here night after night to find a thrill in their immortal lives. Apparently, ripping an assassin apart while he screamed for death worked for them.

“Don’t forget to retrieve his nacre, Matt. And congratulations on your promotion. You did exactly as I expected.” Razor made to leave for the mezzanine.

Matt called after him, and he stopped on the spiral staircase. The younger man needed some clarification. “Boss, what do you mean?”

“I saw the assassin casing the place, and I thought it was a perfect opportunity to test your loyalty. You passed admirably. Aren’t you pleased?”

No. “Yes.”

Razor beamed. “Unless you’re downstairs easing your troubles, you’re with me wherever I go. Got it? You work security from now on.”

The man’s screams died into wet gurgles behind Matt. Squelches drowned even those sounds out.

Matt reached for his chain and considered his position. How deep would the Shadow approve for undercover work? Was this already too far? Without Lucy around, how much did he care—

“Matt? Do you take issue with anything that transpired tonight?” The blue-haired, blue-skinned alien leaned on the banister, looking bored.

“No, boss.”

He smiled that special one reserved for the title from Matt.

“Good. Sagan’s big day is tomorrow, and I need you on board. Goodnight to the one human truly unlike any I’ve met so far.” Razor waved as he ascended the stairs and disappeared on the second floor.

Matt turned, prepared to dive into an orgy of blood-soaked aliens to retrieve that human assassin’s nacre.

And he never missed Lucy more.