Aria T’Loak was a fixture at the club, presiding over the pulsating chaos of the crowd from her private booth nearly every night. Her presence was part of what made the club what it was: Afterlife epitomized Omega, as did Aria herself.

“We’re not strolling into the club loaded down with twenty pounds of red sand,” Grayson replied.

“We need to stash it someplace safe.”

It wasn’t likely the Talons would be able to mount a retaliatory strike so quickly; even if they did, he doubted they’d have the balls to take a run at Aria in her own club. But the Talons weren’t the only ones he was worried about.

Security kept a tight rein inside the club, but shootings, stabbings, and random acts of violence were common in the streets and alleys surrounding it. Junkies desperate to score or street thugs too stupid to consider the long-term consequences wouldn’t hesitate to go after Grayson’s crew if they thought the payoff was big enough. It was a small risk, to be sure, but Grayson was all about minimizing risk at every opportunity.

“We hide the sand at my place,” he declared. “Then we report to Aria and arrange a pickup for tomorrow.”

Sanak’s lip curled in disapproval, but he didn’t say anything. Liselle, on the other hand, nodded her agreement.

“Lead the way, Paul,” she cooed. “The sooner we drop this off, the sooner we can hit the dance floor.”

It took them about fifteen minutes to reach Grayson’s apartment. Several times he checked to make sure they weren’t being followed; each time he did so, he couldn’t help but notice Sanak rolling all four of his eyes.

That’s why Aria put me in charge, he thought. I worry about the details.