As they pushed deeper into the heat, Braun stopped at an entrance guarded by two hulks.
A flick of his wrist, a card shown, and they stepped aside.
Ashen crossed the threshold, only to be hit by a wall of sound. A disco bar. No… more of an orgy wearing its skin.
The place throbbed like a fever dream, bodies packed so tightly they moved as one sweating, pulsating organism.
Strobe lights sliced through the haze, catching glimpses of tangled limbs and glistening skin as the crowd surrendered to the bass; a sound so deep it vibrated in the teeth, in the ribs, in the space between heartbeats.
"♪ SHAKE THAT ASS—DROP IT DOWN, DOWN, DOWN ♪ LICK THAT LIP—MAKE IT LOUD, LOUD, LOUD ♪"
"♪ FUCK THIS FLOOR 'TIL IT BREAKS IN TWO, TONIGHT THIS BEAT'S GONNA SWALLOW YOU ♪"
A woman in a sequined halter threw her head back, laughing as her hips rolled in hypnotic circles, her skirt riding up to reveal the lace edge of stockings.
Nearby, a shirtless man with gold-painted collarbones ground against a stranger, both of them slick with sweat and shamelessness, fingers digging into waists, into hair, into whatever they could claim.
On tabletops, dancers arched like offerings, their silhouettes obscene against the neon; legs scissoring, skirts flipping, drinks sloshing over their wrists as they howled along to the lyrics.
"♪ LEFT SIDE, RIGHT SIDE—GRAB THAT MEAT ♪ TITS OUT, DICKS OUT—GRIND THAT HEAT ♪
"CUM ON THE FLOOR, ON THE WALL, ON THE STAGE, SWEAT-DRUNK BODIES ALL BURNING WITH RAGE ♪"
The DJ cranked the tempo higher—
And the room erupted.
Couples—no, clusters—collided, mouths meeting between panting breaths, hands sliding under waistbands in the dark.
"♪ SLAP THAT CLIT, SUCK THAT COCK; LICK IT, BITE IT, DON'T YOU STOP ♪
NAILS IN SKIN, TEETH ON THROAT; FUCK 'TIL YOUR BONES CAN'T EVEN COPE ♪"
No one cared.
Here, under the fractured light and the deafening synth, nothing existed but the next beat, the next thrust, the next sinful collision of flesh.
The air reeked of salt and cheap perfume, of spilled tequila and the ozone crackle of pure, undiluted want.
Ashen kept moving behind Braun, his brain still reeling from the sheer depravity of it all.
Finally, they passed through the madness and reached a door at the far end of the venue.
"♪ GRIND, SCREAM, BLEED FOR THE BEAT; FUCK, CUM, DIE IN THE HEAT—♪"
They slipped inside, shutting the door behind them.
The music dulled to a muffled throb.
But its echoes still lingered; a reminder that the lunacy was just a door away.
Ashen turned his attention to the room.
It had the trappings of an aristocratic office, but with an unmistakable layer of sleaze.
A flickering lamp cast jittery shadows over a desk drowning in crumpled papers. A taxidermy fox missing an eye leered from the corner.
And sprawled across a ratty leather couch, grinning like a hyena, was the man they were here to meet.
Jack.
Ashen had avoided looking at him for as long as possible, but there was no ignoring him now.
Not when the bastard was sketching a dick on a napkin.
"...This could be a clue."
Ashen slowly turned to Braun, who was standing there stiffly, his expression screaming:
I'd trust a raccoon over this so-called broker.
Braun only gave him a sheepish grin and mouthed, Told you so.
"…Hey, Jack!" Braun called out.
The man perked up, lifting his head. "Oh, Braun! Was wonderin' when you'd show up!"
With a casual flick of his wrist, he folded the napkin and tossed it aside, as if he hadn't just been committing artistic crimes against paper.
"C'mon, sit, sit. I've got all the info you want."
He leaned forward, twirling a switchblade between his fingers, his grin stretching wider. "The guy you're after? Real piece of work; heard he once fucked a melon just to prove a point."
Jack let that sink in before smirking. "Gonna cost you extra, though. I'm feelin' artistic today."
Then, without warning, he launched into a crackling rant about how the assassination plot was "so amateur it's basically a clown funeral… shoulda hired me, I'd have done it with flair! Maybe a flamingo costume!"
Ashen's fist twitched.
He inhaled sharply, only for the stench of stale cigars and regret to assault his senses. Blood rushed to his head as he fought the urge to flip the damn desk.
And speaking of clowns—
Why is it that every shady deal in the movies had some slick bastard in a fedora, but in reality, it was just these unhinged freaks who'd sell their grandma for a pack of smokes?
'This fucking City, man… Everyone's either a predator or a headcase, and I'm just over here wondering why I can't get a refund on humanity.'
Braun, sensing his patience unraveling, steered the conversation back on track.
"Alright, man. We'll pay you well. Just spill the info so we can all get on our way."
Jack nodded, his expression flipping instantly to something eerily serious.
"No worries. The handsy bastard that tried to have you capped last week? It's Chris. No need to look further."
Ashen finally spoke, wanting to make sure.
"Chris… as in the one with the growing cult? Looks like a valiant knight from the outside, but a depraved pervert once you dig deeper?"
Jack turned to him and gave a big nod before slamming his desk.
"Yes! That one!"
Ashen leaned in, voice dropping. "Did you get why he did it?"
Jack puffed out his chest, grinning. "Do they not call me the best info-sniffer around here?"
No one called him that.
But Jack pressed on, undeterred.
"That guy's been gunnin' for the city's number one beauty. But after months of getting the cold shoulder? He snapped and decided to burn it all down instead!"
He waggled his brows at Ashen. "Especially after finding out you were a cripple. Whoever asked him to recruit you guys must've given him the green light to do as he pleases…"
Ashen's expression didn't change.
But inside?
He was scowling at how fast his so-called crippled status had spread.
"Well, isn't that a bit extreme?" Braun asked, frowning. "I mean, to try and kill us just because we wouldn't join? Feels kinda forced…"
Jack snorted. "Oh, you'd think that, because you don't know that prick's real personality." He leaned back, propping his feet on the desk. "He's a baby. The more you say no, the more he wants it. And if he can't have it?" He made a slicing motion across his throat. "No one can."
Ashen had to admit…
Crazy as Jack was, he had a point.
"Annnd my job's done." Jack stretched out his hand, the other reaching for his whiskey glass. "That'll be 400,000 points."
He took a leisurely sip, like he hadn't just named an amount that would make the average person weep.
Thankfully, Ashen and Braun were prepared for this. They knew Jack's prices were highway robbery on a good day.
Ashen handed over his SlimSlate for scanning.
Jack deftly input the amount, exactly to the last point.
Ashen barely resisted the urge to grimace as the transaction completed. Even split three ways, the cost stung.
But at least now they knew who was after their lives.
And knowledge, as always, didn't come cheap.
*