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A deep voice rumbles in my ear, sending shivers right to a part of me I didn’t know I had. He uses a name I do not recognize, but there is no doubt that he is addressing me.
“Shah!”
That’s a name I never thought I’d say again. It’s a name I’m surprised I ever knew at all. I look up at him and I feel time go wheeling back around the clock as if it is embarrassed it ever had the fucking nerve to pass without his permission.
Shah is executioner handsome. His head is clean shaven, leaving his thick brows to carry the aesthetic load. They hold up their end of the deal well. He has dark eyes, shark eyes, the kind of eyes that belong to the last person you ever see. His energy is dark and intense, and he’s intelligent. Smarter than anybody I work for, and smarter than anybody they work for. Shah is the one-man ruler of everybody who refuses to be ruled.
When the black lights of the club strobe over him I can see every bit of his skin besides his face and neck has been covered in tattoos, like passport stamps from every system he’s wanted in, I assume. He’s larger than life. Larger than most living things. In the shadow he casts, people like me disappear. He’s gritty, and filthy, and dangerous. He runs the gangs of this quadrant like a godfather, commanding respect and obedience.
And he’s smiling at me.
“I can’t believe it’s you, Dreamy.”
Dreamy is not my real name, but it is the name Shah knows me by. A long time ago, in another life, we knew each other briefly. He was a friend of a friend of a drug dealer of a friend. I once asked him very nicely to stop punching said friend of a friend in the face, and he was actually obliging enough to do that.
“It’s me,” I force a nervous smile. Was he always this big? Or has he been supplemented over the years? Most people are augmented now. His kind, the criminal kind, always have illegal augmentations that give them physical advantages over law enforcement. And I guess, now that I am this close to him, over me too.
“What are you doing here? This is not a place for a girl like you.” He lifts a thick, dark brow, and I find myself lost for words.
“I, uh…” I’m blushing. Why am I blushing. I feel like I’ve been caught by the principal, only if the principal was actually a hyper-violent crime lord with a reputation spanning several galaxies.
“Are you looking for a friend? Lost someone?”
He’s assuming I’m mixed up with a bad crowd again. He’s wrong. I’m mixed up with the straightest, most law-abiding, mind-numbingly boring crowd.
“No.”
“Then why are you here?”
“I. Uh. I wondered what this place was like,” I say. It sounds lame, because it is lame. People don’t come to places like this to see what they’re like. They come because they have a death wish, because they’ve been retired from the Colony, or because they’re criminals. Am I a criminal now? Is that how easy it is?
Both of Shah’s brows go up and the smile disappears. He doesn’t approve. I don’t know why he cares. I have to be less than a footnote in the novel of his life, surely.
“Oh. I get it. You’re bored. This is your little tourist visit to the wrong side of the town.”
“Uhhh…” I don’t know what to say to that. He’s not wrong. It’s bizarre to be confronted with the inside of my mind coming out of the mouth of a crime lord. Shah’s reputation has grown to the extent even I know about it. There’s not a single person in this place who isn’t looking at us with confusion. “I should go,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
“No. You’re here now. Stay. Have a drink. I’ll make sure nobody hurts you, for old time’s sake.” He gives me a crooked smile. “Nice to see you, Dreamy.”
Ordering a drink here is an act of courage. I’ve heard stories about people being immediately poisoned if the bartender doesn’t like the look of them. I hope they like the look of me, because when Shah tells you to get a drink, you get a drink.
Sipping at my beverage, I sway to the beat, letting myself go. I am out of sync. Off schedule. I am in trouble. With every sip of the drink, that concern slips away. Does it matter? Did it ever matter?
If I am not back at work in the morning, I will be replaced. My room will be given to another. I will become nonessential. I do not know what happens to nonessential workers. I hope it is peaceful.
Shah
She’s so out of place. Her shoulder-length brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s still wearing her little gray worker dress that would have gotten her killed for sure if I hadn’t walked in behind her.
Dreamy is the sort of girl men like me don’t touch. They’re made for other worlds, gentler mates. Or whatever it is the Colony decides to do with them. Last I heard, the drones don’t get to take mates anymore. Celibacy is better for productivity. Dreamy should be back in her cell, tucked up in bed and getting a good night’s sleep for her next shift. But she’s not where she should be. She’s out of place, and after running into me, close to out of luck.
“Who is the girl, boss?” Malik’s following my gaze. He’s my right-hand man, and he knows me better than anybody. He also knows my normal taste in women. I don’t come to Club Omega for drone wallflowers. Nobody does. Delicate flowers don’t survive in this place.
“That’s the girl who made everything possible,” I say.
“Boss?”
Seven years ago…
