Page 6 of These Shattered Memories

It’s past ten p.m. on a Tuesday and the sky is dark with no stars or moon in sight.

A half-broken streetlamp buzzes above us, casting shadows over Rowan’s face when he stands in front of a black metal door with a red “ NO ENTRY ” sign on it.

He is dressed in all black, a simple shirt and jeans with a leather jacket that I doubt is for warmth.

Unsure of what to wear, I’ve ended up in a similar outfit to him and when he spotted me, he smirked knowingly, like I copied him which forced me to leave my jacket in my car.

Now I’m freezing, standing in the middle of my alleyway, my insides desperate to escape my skin and bolt in the opposite direction.

“Relax, will you?” Rowan says, giving me a sideways glance. “Isn’t this your element? Pretending to be someone you’re not?”

I open my mouth to say something smart, but before I can, the metal door swings open with a sharp squeal.

A man with tattoos peeking out of his starched collar and sporting a buzz-cut looks us over carefully.

My eyes instinctively scan him, landing on his hip where a gun is snugly fitted into the waistband of his jeans. A standard-issue Glock.

“Who are you?” he asks, his face twisted.

“We’re here to see Trist,” Rowan says easily.

“Many people want to see Trist. Who are you?” he repeats, his hand twitching. I bet he’s raring to use that gun tonight.

“Rowan Vasilyev.” His voice is light, like saying that is completely normal.

The bouncer visibly flinches, his mouth twitching and his eyes widening for a second. He may be a Raven, but the Vasilyev name is terrifying enough to have him acquiescing and losing the frown.

“He’s expecting us,” Rowan adds. “I’m sure he’d hate it if we’re late.”

The bouncer grunts out something I can’t make out, looking us both over once more before moving aside.

I let out a quiet breath, following Rowan into a narrow, dark hallway.

There’s a lone metal chair and a pocket-sized bottle of cheap vodka on the floor, the faint hint of cigarette smoke in the air.

Through a door in front of us, I can hear the thumping of a loud sound system and the clamour of voices.

“Arms out, legs apart,” the bouncer instructs.

I do as I’m told. I’m unarmed, which adds to my anxiety as his arms pat down my body before he asks Rowan to do the same. Rowan smirks at me the entire time he’s being felt up and I openly roll my eyes at him.

When the bouncer is done, he walks over to the metal door and pulls down a metal wrench that opens the door to a lounge purposefully designed to look like a classic and slightly seedy speakeasy from an old movie.

“Someone will come down for you,” he mutters before turning away and shutting the door behind him, leaving us in the dimly lit room.

People sit on red velvet couches, games of poker and blackjack creating a noise over the music.

My eyes follow the different women and men, scantily dressed in short dresses or boy shorts.

They hold trays, but instead of drinks, there are wads of cash, powders, and pills.

Narcotics would have a field day in here.

“So, who is this guy?” I ask Rowan as we walk over to the bar.

Rowan gives me a look that says it’s a dumb question, but I don’t cower from his icy gaze.

He barely gave any details about tonight—just a location and a time.

It’s to be expected. We’re not friends; we’re barely partners in this.

All I need is a name, and with any luck, we’ll never see each other again.

Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. Rowan’s brow furrows slightly. “Boyfriend?” he asks.

I hesitate, my hand faltering. “If it is?”

It’s only Kane checking in. I send a quick thumbs up and slip the phone back into my pocket.

Would he care if I was seeing someone? Judging by the way he smiles easily, he wouldn’t. Good.

“Sorry, I don’t think Trist would appreciate me revealing who he is to an officer of the law.”

“But he’s happy to meet up with you?” I ask, “The soon-to-be Head of The Snake?”

“The Snake and The Scarlet Ravens have an ongoing peace treaty. We’re friends,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, but I can hear the tightness in his voice, can spot the tension in his shoulders. Did I say something wrong?

Not my problem, I decide.

“I did a little research, and I think the fifth death happened in one of your clubs. A girl’s body was recovered at the Sying Peak docks last night; her body severely decomposed.

It’s been passed off as inconclusive just like the others, but I think she was at Summit just before she ended up at the water.

If I’m right, then you or one of your brothers had her dumped there, which is why you’re helping me, isn’t it?

You don’t want any bodies tied to you,” I say.

“OCU and Homicide are on your ass, not to mention some parts of The Judiciary don’t want to be associated with the clans anymore.

Any misstep would mess up a lot for you. ”

Of course, there is no solid evidence that she was at Summit that night, no CCTV, no payments, nothing except for her drunk friends’ testimonies, one moment she was alive, the next she was dead at the docks.

Next to me, Rowan smiles lazily. “That is some accusation there,” he says. “Any proof, or is this just some wild fantasy you came up with?”

“I know how The Snake works. I know your M.O. when it comes to disposing of bodies. She was at Summit. I know it.”

“If you say so,” he says calmly, matching my gaze.

I don’t know why, but I suddenly want to push him. I want to know what happened after he was arrested. I want to know why he didn’t come after me, but this isn’t the place for that and before I can get a word out, I spot a group walking towards us, a woman and two large men, both armed and stoic.

My attention is focused on the woman, though.

She looks young, maybe even younger than me, with long brown hair and deep olive skin that suits the short red dress she’s in.

She’s beautiful, her limbs long like a dancer’s, with a long neck that has a purple bruise at its base, like someone tried very hard to show they were sleeping with her.

And she looks familiar.

My heart seizes for a moment when her brown eyes fall on me. Her nostrils flare and her eyes widen, but only for a split second. She quickly schools her features.

Avni .

“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.