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“He is … was a means to an end,” I say finally.

Avni nods, her eyes full of understanding. “Exactly,” she says. “Trist is a means to an end.”

I want to stay here, maybe ask her a few more questions, but I know I should leave. “Thank you,” I say. “Be safe.”

She shoots me a confident smile. “I can take care of myself,” she says. “Oh, and Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Never try to contact me again.”

I suppose that’s fair. I nod and get out of there, stepping into the cool morning air and heading to my car. Haze is being distributed in Snake territory. The only way something can happen up to this scale is if The Snakeallowsit or someone in The Snake sanctions it. If the Vasilyevs don’t know about it, that means there’s dissent within the clan.

Dissent means revolt.

Revolt means war.

For a moment, I think about calling Rowan, but I stop myself. I don’t have any proof and right now, I don’t think he’d appreciate my flimsy accusations.

If The Snake, or someone in The Snake is orchestrating all of this, then there is only one place to begin.

Summit.

***

I didn’t expect to feel so strange being here. It’s been years and yet, my skin itches, my head feels hot, and I can’t seem to be able to swallow down my own saliva. Music blares from the spears, a thumping bass, making the open area of the club vibrate.

It’s only eleven p.m. but the dance floor is already filling up, bodies grinding against each other and swaying to the music. My eyes fall on the bar and, as expected, my mind takes me back to that first night.

The way he looked at me…

I stop myself.

I’m not here to think about Rowan. I already feel like enough of an idiot for going to him for help in the first place. Shoving the memory of his eyes and the way his hand felt on the small of my back, I make my way to the bar and set up camp on a navy-blue velvet stool.

The bartender approaches, and I order a beer. I’m not sure what my plan is exactly, but I let myself look less like a cop and just another guy looking for a good time.

A few girls catch my eye within a few minutes, but they look too sober. One of them sneakily rubs my thigh as she orders, but I ignore it. They wouldn’t be able to help me.

Half an hour in, I find what I’m looking for.

A group of four guys appear at the bar, loud and rowdy with dilated pupils. None of them have any visible snake tattoos, regular civilians then, but they’ll do for now.

I smile, and muss up my hair a little, angling my legs to them slightly. It works because one of them moves closer to me. He is tall and dark-skinned, his bare arms glistening with sweat. He openly eyes me, a smirk dancing on his lips. The kind of guy who knows he’s attractive and gets exactly what he wants. His brown pupils are so large they almost look black under the dim lights, and they only seem to get wider as he assesses me.

“Are you just going to stare at me or are you going to buy me a drink?” I ask.

He chuckles, white teeth flashing. “How about a shot?”

I shrug. I could use the alcohol to loosen me up. I haven’t had to flirt to get anything in a long time. A flash of red strobe lights flashes past his face as his smirk widens into a grin. I can see his friends watching us, nudging each other conspiratorially and smiling as he waves down the bartender.

He gets the most expensive stuff and smacks his glass against mine. I take down the alcohol, enjoying the slight warmth of the expensive vodka inside my chest.

“So, what’s your name?” I ask.

“Keller,” he says over the music. “You?”

“Eric,” I lie.