Shae fought to keep control on the volume of her voice. “I have nothing else to give you. Don’t you understand?” She sensed his jibe and her hackles rose. The best? Was that meant to be an underhanded compliment or a grievous insult. “I made a mistake. You’re…right.” The words were painful to say. “I was sloppy. I never in a million years thought he would actually check.”

She shook her head and instead brought up her omnitool, opening an image file of Enrik’s unreadable face. He was severe, even by turian standards, cold and ruthless to friends and enemies alike. Shae had done some private investigating into his background and noted that he was both a respected and feared commander on the battlefield. Why he deigned to purchase a night club on the Citadel after his retirement was beyond her. However, it had been a lucrative move. Purgatory had been just about the only business making any profit in this time of war. That was, until Shae started sharing their revenue.

“His name is Cadaxan Enrik,” she began, directing Artemis’s attention away from her and onto the orange-hued image. “He’s ex-turian military. 54 years old. Complete asshole with a near-spotless profile.” She emphasized ‘near’ by dragging up an article she found concerning their subject. “He went on trial for war crimes during the First Contact War but was acquitted lacking substantial evidence. Other than that, he’s spotless. Not even a parking violation.”

Shae shot him a chilling glare. “Don’t look so pleased just yet, Artemis. I’m not going anywhere.”

She crossed her arms and leaned on them, her usual flirtatious nature all but spent. Shae had come to talk business of a sordid sort. She wasn’t here to infuriate and frustrate Artemis—something she really enjoyed. She was here to…she couldn’t even admit it to herself.

“The owner of Purgatory has discovered our little arrangement,” she said simply, as if she were discussing the weather. “And has removed me as manager indefinitely. Needless to say, so long as he’s running the show, you won’t be getting your ten percent as usual. I figured that would make you a little…upset.”

Shae absently ran a finger around the rim of her wine glass. A hot fist of anger had been clenched in her stomach since that afternoon. It took every ounce of her self-control not to fling the glass across the room and scream at the top of her lungs. Never had she felt so powerless; the thought alone made her want to vomit. In her desperation, she’d called on the very last person in the galaxy she’d ever hoped to need.

Speak of the damned devil.

At her side was Artemis, her sworn enemy. The man who’d threatened her and her associates and weaseled ten percent of her club’s earnings into his own account. Damn him, she’d gone through with it—and would again if she had to relive that frustrating night—but Purgatory’s new financier wasn’t having it. A stiff old turian by the name of Cadaxan Enrik held the deed to Purgatory and therefore was her de facto boss. He’d chosen today to assert himself, finding a discrepancy in the books, and had suspended her (with pay). He had also informed her that he would not continue to honor this assassin’s deal.

Lanaya’s life was at stake, and that brought Shae here. The music was loud, but quiet enough so that they could speak without fear of someone overhearing them. Tonight they’d appear as lovers attending a show, dressed in their finery.

“Sit down, Pretty Boy. We have to talk.”