Page 17

“Mr. Vasilyev,” she begins, tearing her eyes away from me and painting on a smile, “My name is Avni. Trist asked me to bring you up.”

“Avni,” Rowan repeats, like he’s testing her name out on his tongue. “Beautiful name for an equally beautiful woman.”

My heart is racing as I watch her wrinkle her nose and quickly turn away from us. I want to jump out of my skin and run. I knew coming here was a bad idea.

I spent most of my life in Canning so, of course, it was likely that I was going to bump into someone I know.

I haven’t seen her in years. Not since Halle and I crossed the bridge and never looked back. Back then, she was already running with Scarlet Ravens. It was clear she knew the things she wanted, and she knew how to get them. Her being here means nothing has changed.

“What was that?” Rowan asks.

I glance at him, snapping out of it. “What was what?”

He frowns. “You just froze.”

Blue eyes meet mine and I nod quickly, swallowing. I should get out of here. What if she tells Trist she knows me? I look at the exit, consider coming up with an excuse and bolting, but I’m so close to finding out more about Haze.

This could be my only chance.

I can’t leave.

“I’m fine,” I say, steeling myself as we walk behind Avni to the second-floor landing. Up here, the lights are dimmer, and there are few closed doors. Muffled sounds come from behind them, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of place this is.

A woman who’s completely naked, except for her patent leather thigh-high boots that look like they’ve been drenched in oil walks past us, winking at me as she runs a hand along my shoulder. I flinch, hating the feel of her long nails against my neck.

“Hi, gorgeous. Can I get you anything?” she asks us. “Water? Whisky?Me?”

Her voice raises goosebumps on my skin.

Next to me, Rowan lifts an eyebrow, but it’s Avni who speaks, smiling a little. “No thanks, Vi.” Her eyes fall on us. “This way.”

We pass a few more doors and finally reach an open archway that leads into another lounge similar to the one downstairs. Golden lights illuminate the space, the same red velvet couches and low tables with all sorts of paraphernalia I don’t dare to analyse for too long scattered on the glass.

Low pumping music comes from the speakers, a voice that is sexy and begging singing over the beat. Men and women dance on glass platforms, wearing sky-high heels. They sway along or slide down metal poles to the music.

I’m not a blushing virgin by any means but I haven’t been around much of this in a long time and watching men and women in only their underwear clamber onto their laps and nuzzle at sweaty necks, grinding down for a few thousand has me itching. More memories I’ve long buried threaten to spring up to the surface, but I focus ahead, keeping my breathing level.

Rowan’s eyes meet mine, like he’s checking if I’m still here and haven’t run off.

I glare back at him. Grinning, he turns away, as Avni leads us to a half circle velvet couch.

I immediately spot the man we’re supposed to meet. Tristan is spread out on the couch with a joint in his mouth, sporting a loud green print shirt that hangs off his slender frame. Even though he’s sitting down, I can tell he’s an average height, no more than 5’8”. His skin is tan from hours in the sun, and it’s littered with all sorts of tattoos, but the most prominent is the bird that covers half of his neck.

A loyal Scarlet Raven.

Without a word, Avni takes a seat next to him, her face giving nothing away. She doesn’t even spare me a glance. I almost convince myself that she doesn’t recognise me, but the way her eyes widened when she first saw us tells me she does. She’s just hiding it well. Or maybe she doesn’t care that I’m hanging around the heir to The Snake.

Trist lifts his head to look at us, a wide smile breaking out on his face. “Rowan Vasilyev,” he begins, “They say it’s good luck to lay your eyes upon the Head of The Snake.”

Rowan smiles, his eyes glinting under the red lights of the lounge. “Only I’m not the Head of The Snake. That would be my mother.”

Trist huffs out a laugh. “But they say you will be, eventually. If—whenshe dies, it will be you, won’t it?”

Rowan doesn’t answer, and his face looks impassive. Trist’s eyes move on to me, and he tilts his head, giving me a once over. “And who is this?”

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Rowan quickly cuts in. “He’s not important.”

Every instinct inside me fights to argue, but as much as I hate to admit it, he is in charge here, so I clench my jaw and shut up.