Page 15

I swallow. He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

“I don’t,” I say honestly. “But Halle is the only family I’ve got. They sent me all the evidence against her, which means they might have a way to make it disappear. I have to take the chance.”

“Shit…” he trails, then meets my eyes carefully. “I hate to say this, but what if—what if she did it?”

I’m shaking my head before he can finish the sentence. “She didn’t,” I insist.

You don’t know that for a fact,an annoying voice whispers at the back of my head. I push it away as he sighs, nodding. “Okay, okay. Understood,” he says calmly. “But why would they want to know who is behind Haze? Seems like just a passing drug to me.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out. Maybe they have big clientele, and a new player is cutting into their profit. Maybe they want to make a big arrest? I don’t know. It may be non-addictive, but I think it’s not as harmless as people are making it seem. I think there have been at least five deaths connected to it.”

He nods, processing through the information. “Okay, great, you’ve got somewhere to start. What else do you have?”

I purse my lips, that familiar prickle starting on my scalp again. Wind blows through my black t-shirt, goosebumps sprouting on my skin, but I feel hot all of a sudden. I look into Kane’s eyes, my heart racing. He’s been watching out for me for years and I know I can trust him, but if this goes wrong and he knows the truth, he could go down too.

“Alex, you can tell me anything. I’ll always have your back, no matter what.”

My chest tightens, picturing his two little girls and Tanya. Guilt eats at me. I can’t put Kane at risk by getting him involved in this. I can’t tell him about Rowan, not until I have something concrete at least and I’m hoping tonight gives me that.

I smile, shaking my head. “Not much,” I tell him.

He nods slowly. “Okay, I can help you look into it, ask around in the streets. Someone must have heard something.”

My chest tightens. “You don’t have to—”

“Don’t be a hero, Alex. Two heads are better than one, right?” He gives me a conspiratorial grin.

Well, three heads if we include Rowan, but I keep my mouth shut. “Thanks, Kane. Really, I appreciate it.”

“Of course, I always have your back. You know that.” He slaps my back, and I nod, praying that I’m not making a huge mistake.

***

I haven’t come to Canning in a long time. I barely remember the last time I was here, maybe on some case a year ago which we closed quickly. Somehow, the neighbourhood across the river makes my skin itch and my nerves spike. It’s all too familiar, the streets, the people, the scents.

It’s not all bad either. There are nice places here and good people, but I never experienced that part of it. All I remember is Jim and Irina’s dilapidated house, the black mould that spread from the bathroom and crept into our room like tendrils from a horror movie monster. I remember the way Jim got too handsy when he drank too much. I remember Irina’s cackle that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand.

I remember running in the night, Halle’s hand in mine.

I swallow, pushing away those memories and focusing on the cool evening air blowing through my hair.

The entry to Spirito is down a dark alleyway that smells suspiciously of piss and cheap beer.

It’s Scarlet Raven territory and you can spot them in the streets, milling around parking lots and service stations marked by the raven tattoos on their necks, faces, and arms.

The Ravens are different from the Snakes. They like to make their allegiance clear, showing pride in their side of the city despite the growing poverty they continue to suffer from and exploit at the same time.

It’s past ten p.m. on a Tuesday and the sky is dark with no stars or moon in sight. A half-broken streetlamp buzzes above us, casting shadows over Rowan’s face when he stands in front of a black metal door with a red “NO ENTRY” sign on it. He is dressed in all black, a simple shirt and jeans with a leather jacket that I doubt is for warmth. Unsure of what to wear, I’ve ended up in a similar outfit to him and when he spotted me, he smirked knowingly, like I copied him which forced me to leave my jacket in my car. Now I’m freezing, standing in the middle ofmy alleyway, my insides desperate to escape my skin and bolt in the opposite direction.

“Relax, will you?” Rowan says, giving me a sideways glance. “Isn’t this your element? Pretending to be someone you’re not?”

I open my mouth to say something smart, but before I can, the metal door swings open with a sharp squeal. A man with tattoos peeking out of his starched collar and sporting a buzz-cut looks us over carefully. My eyes instinctively scan him, landing on his hip where a gun is snugly fitted into the waistband of his jeans. A standard-issue Glock.

“Who are you?” he asks, his face twisted.

“We’re here to see Trist,” Rowan says easily.

“Many people want to see Trist. Who are you?” he repeats, his hand twitching. I bet he’s raring to use that gun tonight.