THREE

Grayson sat for several minutes in front of the terminal after disconnecting his call to Kahlee, his mind filled with thoughts of his daughter.

She was in a better place now, and that gave him some comfort. But he couldn’t help remembering all the terrible things that Cerberus had done to her. All the things he’d helped them do to her.

The familiar guilt washed over him, followed quickly by the inevitable self-contempt. There was nothing he could do to change the past; feeling bad about it was a waste of time. He considered himself a practical man, and he needed to stay focused in the here and now if he wanted to stay alive.

Unfortunately, rational arguments held little sway over matters of the heart, and—as he so often did after speaking with Kahlee—he felt hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

He had sworn he’d become a better person for Gillian’s sake. And while it was true he’d turned his back on Cerberus, was what he was doing now really so different? He was a paid mercenary for a ruthless crime lord on the most dangerous, deadly space station in the galaxy. Did killing someone for credits become less amoral if the target had probably done something to deserve it?

In some part of his mind, the answer must have been yes. The nightmares that had plagued him during his time under the Illusive Man were gone; on some level he must have been more accepting of his new position. On the other hand, there were times when he felt fractured, as if he were two people. He knew the kind of man he wanted to be, but part of him—the little voice in the back of his head—wouldn’t let him forget what he once was.

You can’t change what you are, the little voice chimed in, as if on cue. You’re a killer. A violent man. And one day you’ll die a bloody, violent death and the galaxy will be a better place because you’re gone.

The acceptance of his own incorrigible nature was strangely reassuring. It confirmed his decision to let Gillian go with Hendel and the quarians; better to put her as far away from her monster of a father as possible. It made it easier for him to distance himself from his past; made it easier to do what had to be done to survive in the present.

He wiped away the tears and got up from his chair. Liselle was waiting for him at Afterlife, but he wasn’t quite ready to face the club scene yet. And he still had to hide the packets of red sand lying just inside the door of his apartment.

Maybe a quick dusting is what you need to pick up your spirits.

Grayson did his best to ignore the voice. He’d been clean for three years now. His body no longer craved the chemical-induced euphoria of the red sand.

But it was never really about the physical cravings, was it? Dusting takes away the pain. Makes things bearable.

He’d cleaned himself up for Gillian’s sake. She didn’t deserve a junkie for a father.

Gillian’s gone now. So who are you staying clean for? Liselle? Aria? They won’t care if you dust up, just as long as you don’t let it get in the way of a job.

During his last nine years with Cerberus, Grayson had been using regularly. Over that time, he’d never once let his addiction interfere with an assignment. But things were different now. He wasn’t an undercover operative using his daughter to infiltrate an exclusive biotic training program. He was a man on the run; he had to stay sharp. Any given second of any given day could be his last.

Cerberus will find you. It’s inevitable. So why not enjoy life until then. Ten kilos of red sand. Just one little hit. No one’s going to miss it. No one will even know.

Grayson pushed the chair away from the extranet terminal and stood up slowly. He made his way from the bedroom down the hall, through the kitchen and sitting room, and over to the packets of red sand still piled just inside the door. He picked up all five bags, cradling them awkwardly in his arms, then took them back into the bedroom. Kneeling down, he slid them under the bed one by one. It wasn’t much of a hiding place, but it was better than leaving them out in the open.

When he was done, he stood up and went into the bathroom. Looking at himself in the mirror, he noticed a small patch of pink residue on the front of his combat vest. He remembered that one of the bags had been punctured in the attack.

Damn batarians couldn’t even seal it properly.

Brushing it away, he felt the fine granules rubbing coarsely against his palm. Most of them fell into the sink, but some adhered to his skin.

He held his palm up to his face, close enough so that he could make out each tiny, individual grain of sand clinging to his flesh. He stared at them for a long second, then shook his head and slipped his hands into the sink. The action triggered the faucet’s motion sensor, and a stream of warm water washed the temptation down the drain.

Five minutes later he was changed into his civilian clothes and headed out the door. Walking at a smooth, easy pace, he reached the club in nearly twenty minutes.

As always, there was a throng of people outside waiting to get in. Human, asari, turian, krogan, batarian, volus, elcor: Afterlife catered to individuals from every species. But Aria had strict rules about crowd control, and those outside clamoring to get in would have to wait for some of the revelers inside to leave—or be carried out—before the guards at the door would grant them access.

The line stretched the entire length of the massive building, then disappeared around the corner at the end of the block. It would be hours before those at the tail end found their way inside. Fortunately for Grayson, friends of Aria didn’t have to wait in line.

The krogan bouncer at the entrance recognized him, and let him in with a nod. Grayson passed through the short hall that led from the entrance into the ground-floor foyer, where a pair of scantily clad asari stood preening behind the coat check counter.

The asari weren’t alone in the room, however. Two large, heavily armed and armored krogan flanked the sealed double doors leading to the hedonistic pleasures on the other side.

Outside, the music from the club was so muted and faint it could barely be heard above the noises of the street. Here, however, only a single insulated wall separated patrons from the waves of sound. Grayson could feel the beat from inside the club thrumming in his teeth—low, heavy, and fast.

“Anything to check?” one of the krogan growled, speaking loud enough to make sure he could be heard over the music.

Grayson shook his head. Many of the club-goers preferred to leave their valuables with the asari behind the counter, especially if they intended to end the evening too drunk or stoned to keep track of their belongings. Grayson, however, had no such intention.

The krogan stepped aside as the asari pushed open the doors. Taking a deep breath, Grayson walked inside.

The club consisted of four levels, each one made up of a large outer ring surrounding a square dance floor suspended by wires and walkways in the center. Each of the various levels appealed to its own particular crowd, with its own dance floor, unique musical style, and custom drinks and chemical recreations.

The common theme, as befitted the club’s name, was the afterlife. The commingling of myths and legends from across the galaxy, including humanity, were represented in the club. On each level individuals could seek out the pleasures—or hedonistic debauchery—associated with Paradise, Heaven, Hell, the Halls of Athame, the Hollows, or any of a thousand other names for the promised realm allegedly waiting beyond mortal existence.

Grayson never gave much thought to what waited for him after death, but it was impossible to deny the primal appeal of the club. He had been here too many times to count, yet he still felt it each time he walked across the floor. There was something surreal and otherworldly about stepping inside Afterlife. The music, the lights, and the crowd created a palpable energy that seemed to free you from yourself, unleashing inhibitions and wild, dangerous desires … most of which could be satisfied on the lower levels of the club.

Adding to the exhilaration was the common knowledge that most of the patrons inside Afterlife were armed. Violence could—and often did—erupt without warning. Security forces were on hand to clamp down on riots and to prevent widespread chaos, but individuals were expected to look out for themselves. As a result, it was rare that a month went by without at least one death inside the club.

Grayson knew how to look after himself should trouble arise, but he couldn’t deny that the savage undercurrent in the club enhanced the mood.

The entrance itself was on the third level. A stifling heat rose up from the bodies gyrating on the dance floors below. Well over a hundred patrons occupied this level, but the club was large enough to accommodate the numbers without making it feel overly crowded.

The strobing lights made it difficult to pick any one individual out from the crowd, but Grayson still made a quick search for Liselle as he crossed the floor. By the time he reached the spiraling ramp leading up to the VIP level above, he still hadn’t seen her. He wasn’t worried, however. Eventually she’d find him.

Climbing the ramp, he could feel the insistence of Afterlife fading slightly. On the topmost level of the club the music was less intense, the lights more subdued. It was less crowded, though Grayson still estimated the number of patrons at close to fifty.

Sitting behind the table of a large private booth on an elevated platform near the back was Aria T’Loak herself. From this vantage point Omega’s infamous Pirate Queen could look out across the entire club, taking it all in like a god looking down from above.

Like all asari, she was beautiful by human standards. Unlike Liselle, however, Aria’s complexion was more violet than blue. Grayson had often wondered if this had something to do with her age. He didn’t know how old she was exactly—he doubted anyone did—but he wouldn’t have been surprised to learn she was over a thousand years old. Despite this, she retained the youthful appearance and raw sexuality that was a hallmark of her species.

A familiar entourage surrounded her: a pair of asari handmaidens, a krogan bodyguard, and several batarians, including Sanak. However, the three turians standing at the table opposite Aria caught Grayson by surprise.

He had known the Talons would come to see her about the attack eventually; he just hadn’t expected them to arrive so soon. He hadn’t noticed an inordinately high percentage of turians in the crowd gathered outside the club, but if these three were in here to parley with Aria, it was a safe bet a dozen more were lurking in the streets and alleys outside.

His decision not to bring the red sand directly to the club was looking a lot less paranoid. He resisted the urge to say “I told you so” as he climbed the platform and took a spot beside Sanak next to the booth, close enough so his translator could pick up the conversation between Aria and her rivals.

Nobody paid any real attention to him; he was known to Aria and her associates, and the turians were focused only on her. There were private rooms on the VIP level, but Aria preferred to conduct most of her business in the booth, where others could see … especially when she was asserting her dominance over a potential challenger to her throne.

“I’m not denying what happened,” Aria answered calmly in reply to part of the conversation Grayson had just missed.

The turians waited for her to continue, but she was content to let her words hang in the air as she took a sip from the tall glass elegantly cradled in her left hand.

Eventually overcome by the pressing silence, one of the turians—probably the leader—took up the dialogue.

“We’re not looking to start a war—”

“Good,” Aria cut him off. “Because you’d lose.”

Momentarily thrown by the interruption, the turian was forced to start again.

“We’re not looking to start a war. We came to parley in good faith. We want to come to an agreement.”

“We already had an agreement,” Aria reminded him. “Two percent off the top. Then you started moving product without giving me my cut.”

“That was a mistake,” one of the other turians admitted. “We came to apologize. You’ll get your cut from now on.”

“No apology necessary,” Aria said, flashing a dangerous smile. “But you violated the terms of the contract. Now we need to renegotiate.”

The turians exchanged a few quick glances, and Grayson could see them weighing their next words carefully. The Talons were an up-and-coming gang on Omega, but they weren’t on par with the Blue Suns or Bloodpack yet. And they had no illusions about where they stood in the grand scheme. If Aria truly wanted to, she could wipe them out.

“A reasonable request, given what happened,” the first turian conceded. “We’ll increase your cut to three percent.”

“Five,” Aria stated, her voice making it clear the number wasn’t open for negotiation.

“Nobody pays five percent!” the third turian objected, taking an angry step forward as his hand dropped to the pistol clipped to his hip.

In a flash the krogan was beside him, his mammoth eight-foot frame looming over the smaller man. Slowly, the turian’s hand fell away from his weapon. Everybody else remained frozen until Aria gave a slight nod. The turian took a careful step back. A second later the krogan grunted, then did the same.

“You crossed me,” Aria said coolly. “There are consequences.”

“Five percent,” the leader agreed.

He hesitated before continuing, choosing his words carefully to avoid further provocation.

“There is still the matter of the attack itself. Several of our people were killed. A large sum of product was stolen.”

“Consider it the cost of doing business,” Aria said, calmly taking another sip of her drink.

The turians collectively bristled. Grayson knew they weren’t stupid enough to attack Aria here in the club; in addition to the highly visible bodyguards and biotics surrounding her, there were dozens of less obvious security personnel scattered around the VIP level. They’d be dead before they even got a shot off.

He did expect them to turn and storm out, however. Their friends had been gunned down, and the value of the sand was far more than what they had cheated Aria out of. She was adding insult to injury, making a point about who was in charge. She had backed them into a corner, and there was a chance they’d retaliate out of sheer desperation. The Talons couldn’t win a war against Aria, but they could make it hurt before she broke them.

But Aria had a knack for knowing exactly how far she could push her rivals before they pushed back. For hundreds of years, she’d played various factions off against one another while keeping them under her thumb; no one was better at ensuring that the anarchy of Omega never got out of control.

In the end the turian leader nodded, accepting her terms.

“I’ll inform our people,” he said.

“I knew you’d see reason,” she replied, dismissing them with a wave of her hand.

The turians turned and left without another word, the eyes of Aria’s krogan bodyguard following them until they descended the ramp to the level below and disappeared from view.

“It didn’t take them long to figure out what happened,” Grayson commented once they were gone.

“The Talons are smart,” Aria replied. “They’re growing fast. A little too fast. They needed to be knocked down a notch.”

“Glad we could do our part,” Sanak chimed in.

You four-eyed ass-kisser, Grayson couldn’t help but think.

“Sanak informs me the sand is secured at your place,” Aria continued. “I’ll send a crew over to pick it up in the morning.”

Grayson nodded.

“I won’t send them too early,” Aria added with a sly smile. “I’d hate for you and Liselle to have to cut your evening short. You’ve earned the right to celebrate. Everything at the club is on me tonight.”

“Thanks,” he said, taking the compliment in stride.

Aria was hard on those who failed her, but she was generous with those who came through.

“Liselle mentioned she’d be on level two,” Aria added, giving Grayson his cue to leave. He was smart enough to take the hint.

He went and got himself a drink at the VIP bar before making his way down to the second floor. He took his time, letting the atmosphere of Afterlife wash over him. In the end, it took him nearly twenty minutes to find Liselle. As he’d expected, she was on the dance floor, surrounded by a crowd of fawning young men and women.

Grayson had come to terms with Liselle’s penchant for humans: she liked them, and they liked her. He knew the asari preferred to partner with those outside their own species; their unique biology allowed them to take genetic traits from alien partners and incorporate them into the DNA of their offspring. But Liselle was still young; it would be decades—or maybe even centuries—before she passed from the maiden stage of the asari life cycle into the childbearing years of matronhood. Whether she would still be attracted to humans, or if this was just an experimental phase of her youth, he couldn’t say. And in the end, it didn’t matter. All Grayson knew was that she was interested in him right now, and he planned to enjoy the relationship as long as it lasted.

He pushed his way through the others on the dance floor, drawing irritated looks that quickly changed to envy when Liselle saw him and draped her arms around his neck to pull him in close.

“Aria seemed pleased with your work tonight,” she shouted, leaning in close to his ear to make her words heard above the music.

They were pressed tight against each other, Liselle’s body gyrating to the music while Grayson did his awkward best to try and match the rapidly pulsating rhythm.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he reminded her.

As he leaned in close to her ear, the familiar alluring scent of her perfume rose up and engulfed him. For some reason, however, it didn’t rouse the normal lust-filled urges.

Liselle was quick to notice his lack of reaction. Grabbing him by the wrist, she quickly dragged him across the dance floor and into a corner where the music was only a dull roar.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

From her expression it was clear she was concerned, rather than upset. As it always did, her concern made Grayson feel guilty and somewhat ashamed.

He preferred to see their relationship as primarily physical. For the most part, Liselle seemed to have a similar perspective. To think it was anything more was ridiculous; even if they stayed together for the rest of Grayson’s life, she would live on for hundreds and hundreds of years after he was gone. Her developing any serious emotional attachment to him wouldn’t just be unlikely … it would be tragic.

“I’m fine,” he said with a shrug.

“Maybe we should go somewhere quiet.”

Normally he would have jumped at her suggestion. Tonight, however, it felt wrong for some reason. Like he would be taking advantage of her somehow.

“I think I’m just tired,” he said apologetically, looking for a way to let her down easy. “Maybe I should go home and get some rest.”

“You were talking to her again, weren’t you?” Liselle said with a wan smile. “Your mystery woman. You always get like this after you talk to her.”

Grayson had never told Liselle anything about his past. She didn’t know about Kahlee, or Gillian, or his time with Cerberus. But there had been occasions when he’d mentioned the need to make a private call, and obviously Liselle had pieced some things together.

She’s a lot more perceptive than you give her credit for.

Again, it was clear Liselle wasn’t angry. She seemed a little disappointed, but she also seemed to understand and accept his reaction. Which only made Grayson feel even worse.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not sure what else he could say.

Liselle leaned in and gave him a quick kiss.

“If you change your mind tonight, give me a call.”

And with that she was gone, disappearing back into the crowd of dancers, where she was quickly consumed by a wave of eager admirers.

No longer in the mood for the club, Grayson returned to the entrance on level three. One of the asari at the check counter winked at him. He nodded politely in response, then headed back out into the street, still wondering if turning Liselle down had been self-sacrificing or simply selfish.