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I want to tell him no. I think of Chelsea lying naked in my bed. I could probably wake her up to fuck her again and try to tire myself out to get some decent sleep, but somehow that sounds even more unappealing than going to Summit.

“Are you okay?” I ask finally. Hayden wouldn’t ask me to come anywhere unless he was desperate, and I feel inclined to check in.

“I’m fine,” Hayden says, “Just get here. Please.”

Something is wrong.

“Give me fifteen,” I relent.

“Thanks,” he says before the line goes silent.

***

Summit is chaos.

The thump of bass vibrates the floor beneath my boots, strobe lights cutting through the writhing mass of bodies. The air reeks of sweat and overpriced cologne, glitter-streaked limbs reaching for nothing but the next high.

Involuntarily, my mind flashes back to a night I’ve tried my best to erase from my mind.

Two years ago.

June 19.

My eyes turn to an elevated steppe with a half circle black leather booth that overlooks the dancefloor. A group of rich kidswith sunglasses on sit in it now, their section cordoned off by velvet ropes. Two years ago, I was sitting in that very booth when my eyes fell on Alex.

He was sitting alone, a glass of water in front of him. That should have been the first red flag because why was someone like him herealoneand drinkingwater? Still, I was taken by his exposed, slightly tan arms and the way his full dark hair brushed against his sharp jaw. He tucked it behind his ear, revealing a side profile that made me pause. There was something so delicate yet powerful about him, and I had to have him. It was an instinct.

I shake my head, tearing my eyes away from the booth and out of that memory. I haven’t thought about that night in a long time. Seeing Alex again has me all kinds of messed up.

I push through the crowd, ignoring the brushes of skin and the lustful stares. Upstairs, hidden behind black doors and guarded hallway, the real Summit exists—the one that helps to keep The Snake’s pockets deep and its power growing in the entertainment arena. Hayden’s domain.

Along with Sying warehouse near the port and The Serpentine building another few blocks from here, this is where The Snake’s power is centralised, where our men and women operate out of depending on their function.

Smith, one of Hayden’s guards, meets me at the stairwell. “Sir,” he begins. “Your brother is in his office.”

I nod, following him up the narrow, dimly lit stairs. The pounding music fades, replaced by the hum of fluorescent lights and the low murmur of voices leaking through the walls. Smith pushes open the door, and I step inside.

Hayden is leaning against his desk, arms cross, his sharp, feline features set in a mask of vague annoyance. Behind him, floor-to-ceiling glass overlooks the dancefloor below, strobe lights flashing across Hayden’s white-blond hair.

“Rowan,” he says, voice smooth. “Glad you could join us.”

I glance down and there is a girl lying on the navy-blue carpet with her arms and legs splayed out like some cartoonish outline of a dead body.

She’s young—definitely underage—and pale as porcelain. Blue blotches creep up her legs and white foam streaks her parted lips. Her black dress glitters under the harsh light, riding up her thighs. I watch her chest, hoping to see the rise and fall of her breathing, but she’s completely still.

My stomach churns. “Why am I looking at a dead girl?”

“Shit, shit,shit,” a balding man cries from the grey couch against the wall. He rocks back and forth, covering his eyes with his hands as he continues to whisper to himself. “They are going to arrest me, aren’t they?”

Michael Ramos. He’s some real estate bigshot who works in one of the high rises in Flower District and his family are close allies to The Snake.

“Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I promise I didn’t know!” Ramos says, looking at me. His eyes are bloodshot, his pupils dilated so wide they almost cover his blue-grey irises. He’s higher than a fucking kite.

“What is he talking about?” I ask Hayden.

“I did this to her,” Ramos interjects. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t know that shit wasn’t good, I swear, man. I got them from my guy earlier tonight. He said he had some new shit with him that I had to try out. I told her to only take a couple, but thirty minutes later she was convulsing on the floor. I swear I didn’t do anything to her.”

He is speaking so quickly I can barely make out his words. Tears and snot stream down his tomato-red face; his sky-blue silk shirt soaked through with sweat and tears.