Page 16 of These Shattered Memories

I watch his face drain of its colour, his mouth falling open. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?” He looks at the door, then back at me, like he’s trying to figure out if I picked his lock or something.

I shrug. “That’s not important.” I look down at my knife, gleaming under the golden lights of the open-plan kitchen.

Alex, to his credit, doesn’t hesitate. He pulls out his gun immediately, pointing it downward to the floor and not putting a hole in my forehead immediately. Bad move.

“I’m serious, Rowan. Why are you in my house? How did you even get into the building?”

I tilt my head, pushing myself out of the chair and standing. We’re almost eye to eye, but I have more muscle on his lithe and tapered body.

His eyes don’t leave mine as I approach him, and I revel in it. I want his attention solely on me when I break him.

“Are you going to shoot me?” I ask.

His grip tightens around the gun, his jaw clenching. “Will I have to?”

I stop just in front of him. We’re mere inches apart, and I can smell his clean scent.

Alexander Kimura has always smelt like a summer’s day.

He smells like fresh laundry that has been hung up in the sun.

It makes my stomach roll because it’s all so false.

Everything about him is smoke and mirrors.

Under all of it, I know lies something else and I want it to come out. I want the truth.

“Yes,” I say. “But first, I need you to be honest with me.”

He glares. “Honest about what?”

Tension fills his straight shoulder as his eyes dart to the knife at my side. The tip of his tongue sticks out and he runs it against his bottom lip in a quick swipe.

He’s terrified. Just the way I like him.

“Was this your plan all along?” I ask. “You couldn’t get me the first time, so you’re coming after me again?” I take another step towards him and we’re almost touching. He instinctively moves back until the back of his head touches the closed front door.

“If you don’t step back now, I will shoot you,” he says.

“ Ooh , did you learn that during your de-escalation training?” I laugh. “This is not a situation you can de-escalate, Alex.”

He lifts the gun from his side, unclicking the safety. I back off as he lifts it, pointing it at my chest. His hand is steady, and his nostrils flare. “I don’t want to shoot you, Rowan. Just … just step back.”

“Do it,” I tell him. “Shoot me.”

He watches me for a second, then he lifts an eyebrow in question.

“What do you think will happen if I shoot you here?” he asks, voice deceptively level.

He must be used to situations like this, trying to calm down big bad men like me and get them to cooperate through some bullshit good cop act.

“If I shoot the future Head of The Snake, the governor will give me a medal.”

I laugh because, of course that’s what he’s thinking about. A fucking medal from the governor. “Detective Alexander Kimura. Senna’s best. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, isn’t it?” I ask.

Something flickers behind his eyes, and he wavers. I don’t know why, but somehow, that annoys me more than it probably should. I move into his space quickly, grabbing the gun in his hand and pulling it towards me. He lets go of it easily, the surprise clear on his face, but I don’t turn it on him.

Instead, I press the release, the magazine slipping out and falling to the floor. It lands with a loud clank, and he flinches a little, still glued to the door. I pull the slide all the way back, removing the stop hinge and throw the final pieces on the kitchen table before looking at him again.

“You were saying?”

“Rowan,” he tries again with that annoyingly calm voice of his.

I almost wish I hadn’t dismantled that gun and shot him in the head instead, but I have to be patient. I want to take my time with him, maybe make him beg me to show him mercy.

“Can we just talk about this?” he continues.

I smile. “Sure, let’s talk. Let’s talk about how you tried to trick me into telling you about Haze. Let’s talk about how you tried to fuck me over— again .”

His brow creases for a moment, then his jaw loosens, like he just realised something. “Wait. You know?”

“Of course, I know. The police raided Summit today. They had a warrant to search because someone told them about the girl and guess who the only other person who had that information is.”

Alex’s frown deepens, his mind working. I want him to confess. I want him to give me a reason to slit his throat and end this.

“Not to mention, Hayden saw you at Summit last night.”

His mouth falls open and something cracks inside me, realising Hayden was right. He was there.

He starts shaking his head, holding out his hands. “Wait, what? No, no,” he says. “You have it all wrong. I swear I didn’t tell—”

“Don’t lie to me,” I say. “Lying will only make this worse.”

He licks his lower lip, his eyes darting to the table where the gun lies in pieces.

It’s only a split second, but I know what he’s going to do and when he tries to move past me, I grab him.

He struggles, letting out a frustrated grunt against me, but it’s easy to overpower him.

I push him forward, knocking him to the ground.

He lands on his stomach with a thud, and before he can get up, I kneel right next to him, running my hand through his silky black hair and pushing the side of his face down onto the cold hardwood tiles.

“Seriously, Rowan,” Alex struggles to get out, trying to move out of my grip. “I wouldn’t lie to–”

I strike the back of his head, completely knocking him out. “Yes, you would,” I mutter, releasing his hair and watching his eyes flutter close.

Alex’s apartment feels like a home, cluttered with plants, a half-finished vanilla candle, and shelves lined with books.

I pick up a framed picture that sits beside his TV It’s a younger version of him and another girl.

I run my thumb against the glass of the frame.

I met Alex when he was only twenty-three, but he looks younger in this picture, maybe sixteen with fuller cheeks but the same eyes.

I recognise the girl too, Halle—his foster sister.

He never talked about her with me, but I know who she is.

I look at her wild mess of curls and bright hazel eyes. She’s pretty enough, I guess.

Throwing the picture back on the TV stand, I glance back at Alex, who is now tied up to the kitchen chair with a tie I found in his closet. It’s blue silk, something someone would wear to a wedding or an office party. Something boring.

It’s a shame, I don’t think Alex is boring at all.

I make my way back to his kitchen, bypassing him in the chair and opening random cupboards and his refrigerator.

It’s painfully normal in here, all the contents of a single man living alone.

His alternative soy milk has expired though.

I’m not sure why, but I dump it into the sink before moving on to open a cabinet where I find an almost empty bag of cherry sour gummies.

Without wanting to, my mind plunges me into a memory from two years ago. We’re in a corner shop near my apartment and Alex is insisting we buy a family size pack of cherry sour jellies which he goes through that same night.

“That can’t be healthy,” I say.

“Who cares?” he laughs, throwing his arms around me and planting a kiss on my mouth.

Back then, I thought it was cute. Now my mouth just tastes bitter at the memory. I throw the packet back into the cabinet and close the door, leaning against the counter.

It takes a few more minutes before Alex begins to stir in his chair. He moans quietly, breathing heavily like he’s having a nightmare. I grab a chair and sit across from him, watching as his eyes flutter open, long eyelashes visible under the overhead lights.

He struggles against the restraints, the chair jumping and screeching with him. “What the hell, Rowan? Untie me now!” he shouts.

I smile. “You’ll disturb the neighbours if you keep doing that. Wouldn’t want a noise complaint.”

“Rowan, I swear to God—”

I lift the knife that rests on the kitchen table. It’s a small switchblade, but it’s sharp with a decent grip. Alex follows my hand, his eyes widening at the sight of the glinting steel. Realisation dawns on him. He’s not going anywhere until I let him go. If I let him go.

Right now, all signs point to no.

“Now, are you ready to talk?” I ask him.

“Talk about what?” he shoots back. “I told you I didn’t play you.”

I sigh loudly. “The police think we’re tied to a body found at the docks.”

Alex stares at me blankly.

“The only person who knew about that girl being at Summit that night is you. Not to mention, you were there last night too. So, how can I not think you played me? I still don’t know why you came to me.”

He laughs, shaking his head like I’m the one missing the point. He’s lost his initial panic now, and he’s looking at me with an enviable serenity, like he doesn’t believe I’ll actually kill him.

“You keep reminding me why that was a terrible idea on my part,” he says. “But I didn’t do it. You know that because it wouldn’t make sense.”

“Do I?” I ask, although doubt is starting to creep in. “You’ve done it before.”

He lets out a quiet breath and meets my eyes. “I don’t regret what I did back then. I can’t apologise for it because you would have done the same if you were in my position.”

“No, you didn’t have to do anything,” I push.

“Ahh yes, of course the pampered prince of The Snake would think someone like me is afforded the luxury of choice in his life.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, spare me from the ‘ woe is me; I grew up poor’ speech. No one gives a fuck.”

Alex barks out a laugh. “Still a dick, I see.”

I should kill him.

“Why did you come to me about Haze. You must have known this is how things would end?”

This time Alex shrugs, as if resigned to his fate. “It was a chance I was willing to take.” He meets my eyes, and a shiver goes up my spine. “Are you going to kill me?”

I stand up straight and he watches me, mouth set in a line. I place the knife at the base of his throat, but he doesn’t cry out or flinch when I press lightly, breaking through skin enough for a stream of crimson to flow down to his chest, settling in a red stain on his white shirt.

I release the pressure, sliding the knife down his throat and down to his chest, forcing open the buttons of his shirt and revealing his taut torso, glistening with sweat. His chest rises and falls rapidly as his shirt falls open at his sides, but no words leave his mouth.

I don’t let myself look into his eyes. My head is buzzing and everything feels too heightened between us. I just need to push deeper into his side, and he’ll bleed out right here in his kitchen.

Hayden and Xander would slap my back in congratulations and maybe my mother would finally realise I have what it takes to become The Head of The Snake. Maybe I’d finally be able to get a decent night’s sleep in my own bed.

Getting rid of Alexander Kimura would improve my life exponentially.

“Maybe,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than I want it.

“There’s something I found out at Summit, something you should know first,” he says carefully. “Before you do it.”

I laugh. I know what he’s doing. I know he’s stalling. “Nope, I’m not falling for that.”

He shakes his head, but just as he does, his shirt falls to the side. My eyes land on a hint of ink on his chest.

I frown. I don’t remember him having any tattoos.

Unwillingly, my mind pulls me into another memory. Alex’s smooth skin, his naked body under me, tanned into a dusted golden colour from the summer sun. I hear him laugh and the sound is muffled, like I’m underwater and he’s far away.

I wince, forcing myself back into the present as I push aside the shirt further to fully reveal a taut nipple and something else. At first, I’m not sure what I’m looking at. The ink is delicate, the lines straight and thin.

XIX VI.

19 6.

My chest stutters, because no. No way he has that date tattooed onto him.

A wave of memories flood through my brain, not allowing me enough time to hold them back.

I see everything I’ve hidden in a box at the back of my mind, everything I only I allow myself to think of once in a while. And at the forefront is that date.

That date I’ve thought about for years, going over and over it, wishing for something different. The nineteenth of June—the night we met.

“What is that?” I ask quietly.

He glares at me, but I watch the moisture pool in his eyes. The blood has dried on his skin and his chest is still flushed with sweat. “Rowan,” he says, voice painfully low.

“What the fuck is that?” I ask him again because he has to be messing with me. This can’t be real.

“What do you think it is?” he asks, his voice just a whisper.

The knife slips from my hand, clattering against the floor. The sharp sound echoes, cutting through the room. I shake my head. “No. Fuck you , Alex.”

And then I’m out of there, barely able to keep my breathing level.

My hands are shaking when I get to my car and as hard as I try to swallow down my anger, I can’t.

But I don’t think I’m angry at him exactly.

I’m angry at myself for failing. Because again, I’ve fallen for it—another one of Alex’s lies .