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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 individualscould 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 inordinatelyhigh 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