Page 11 of These Shattered Memories

I wonder what Trist has over her. Is that why she’s with him? He probably does. That’s how it usually works. Avni and I were never friends, but for the first time in years it feels like speaking to someone other than Halle who I understand.

“I don’t know who is supplying Trist, but I do know that a few nights ago, he was supposed to meet someone at Blue Lily. Unfortunately, they never showed.”

I frown. Blue Lily is in Flower District, a few streets from this studio, and this is all Snake territory. Why would Trist be meeting someone frequented by members of The Snake?

My heart pounds against my chest. “Do you have a name?”

She shakes her head. “He’s never referred to them by name around me, but if you’re half as smart as you think you are, you’d notice we’re in Snake territory, and why would Trist be doing business up here?”

My hands clam up, my mind sifting through every possibility because if Avni is right, then Rowan has a huge problem. “Are you sure?”

Rowan and his brothers are The Snake. From the lush historical neighbourhood of Queen’s Peak down to the bustling industry of Sying Peak, The Vasilyevs have lorded over the long-standing clan for almost a century with little to no rebellions.

The Snake does not deal in drug trade but if this is true, someone has a different idea, and the Vasilyevs have no clue.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense,” Avni says.

“The Scarlet Ravens are not powerful enough to pull something like this off or to get a footing on this side of the river without The Snake picking it up. Whoever brought Trist into this has already created a tight network of sellers that won’t reveal their identity and jeopardise whatever it is they are planning to do. ”

I curse under my breath. I don’t want her to be right, but it’s the only theory that makes sense.

Whoever is behind this has managed to stay hidden behind guys like Trist because they don’t want to be known.

If they were a Raven, they would have paraded it, boasted about their newfound power over The Snake.

My mind shifts to the person behind the emails. Where do they fit into all of this? Why do they want to find the person behind Haze?

“What are you thinking?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I lie. “Thanks, Avni. I need to go.”

She frowns. “I’m guessing I need to keep this little meeting a secret?”

“That would be great. Thanks.” I start to walk away, but a question pops up in my head. “Why are you with him?”

Avni is attractive and I think she’s smarter than Trist realises. I’m curious about her, even though I know I shouldn’t be.

She frowns, looking past me to see if anyone has started looking for her. “Trist? Why are you with Rowan Vasilyev?”

I flinch without meaning to. I have no idea how to answer that. The basic response would be that I needed his help, but I know that’s not it entirely. A small part of me was curious. I wanted to see him again and now, after Spirito, I know it was a terrible idea.

“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 Snake allows it 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.

“Waiting for someone, Eric?”

I smile. “I was, but I think I just found him.”

Keller chuckles, his pupils growing impossibly larger. “So, tell me, what are you into?”

It’s undeniable that he’s attractive, but I’m out of practice and still not drunk enough for this. Maybe I need another drink. Still, I match his smirk, leaning in a little closer. “Depends on what you’re into.”

“Oh, I’m into a lot of things.” He looks back at his friends. There are three of them. “You want to join us for a little fun?”

I shrug, careful not to look too enthusiastic. “I’m always up for a little fun.”

He holds out a hand. It’s much larger than mine and it makes me feel smaller than I have in a while, yet there is nothing safe about this or him. I need to watch him and make sure him and his friends don’t slip something into my drink.

We weave through the sweaty crowd, strobe lights flashing in my eyes. We end up in a small section nestled in the corner, near the elevated DJ booth. From here, I can look up and see the black glass that I know Hayden Vasilyev watches us from.

The oldest Vasilyev is an enigma, both to the police and to me.

I only ever met him once in passing, and he seemed uninterested in everything taking place around him.

He’s ridiculously attractive and ridiculously aloof.

Yet, since he’s been in charge of The Snake’s entertainment portfolio, there have been no incidents or run-ins with the police.

He might be uninterested, but he’s extremely good at whatever he does.

“You okay?” Keller asks, pulling me back.

I’m sitting on a leather couch surrounded by people greedily making out or dancing to the song coming from the speakers. None of them pay any attention to us.

I smile back at my companion. “You promised me fun,” I say. “Show me.”

Keller makes a tortured sound before reaching into his pocket. His hand emerges, holding a small plastic baggie. Inside are four, small red pills. I know what they are immediately.

He pops the small plastic ziplock open and slides one pill onto his tongue.

Before I can think, he pulls my face in giving me an enthusiastic open-mouthed kissed.

I feel the pill land in my mouth as his tongue continues its assault on my mouth.

Thinking fast, I slide the pill under my tongue, trying very hard not to swallow.

It tastes sweet, like a vitamin C tablet, nothing like a drug.

Finally, he moves away from me. Eyes wide. “Shit, you’re a good kisser.”

Really ?

I pretend to preen, keeping the pill under my tongue. I reach for a drink on the table and pretend to take a sip but spit the pill into what tastes like straight tequila instead.

“What did you give me?” I ask.

“Modafryline,” he says, taking a sip of his own drink.

“What?”

He chuckles lightly. “Some people call it Haze but during the day when I’m not looking this good, I work as a lab tech, so I always prefer the scientific name,” he says. “Heard of it?”

My mind clicks. Modafryline . Haze is clearly a street name. That might explain why I couldn’t find anything about it on the internet. It was created in a lab.

“Here and there,” I say easily.

Keller nods, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “It’s some good shit. New on the scene. Gets you so fucking high you almost forget your name.”