Page 7 of These Shattered Memories

Without a word, Avni takes a seat next to him, her face giving nothing away.

She doesn’t even spare me a glance. I almost convince myself that she doesn’t recognise me, but the way her eyes widened when she first saw us tells me she does.

She’s just hiding it well. Or maybe she doesn’t care that I’m hanging around the heir to The Snake.

Trist lifts his head to look at us, a wide smile breaking out on his face. “Rowan Vasilyev,” he begins, “They say it’s good luck to lay your eyes upon the Head of The Snake.”

Rowan smiles, his eyes glinting under the red lights of the lounge. “Only I’m not the Head of The Snake. That would be my mother.”

Trist huffs out a laugh. “But they say you will be, eventually. If— when she dies, it will be you, won’t it?”

Rowan doesn’t answer, and his face looks impassive. Trist’s eyes move on to me, and he tilts his head, giving me a once over. “And who is this?”

I open my mouth, but before I can say anything, Rowan quickly cuts in. “He’s not important.”

Every instinct inside me fights to argue, but as much as I hate to admit it, he is in charge here, so I clench my jaw and shut up.

“So, can we sit?” Rowan asks.

Trist watches me for a second too long before gesturing to the couch with a shrug.

“You know, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family, and I must admit I was surprised when your men called. Why would someone like you want to speak to someone like me? I’m barely anyone of note in the Ravens.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself so short,” Rowan says, sitting leisurely, arms spread over the back of the couch, enough so that he’s almost touching my shoulder. “You’re one of Moreau’s favourites.”

“It’s true what they say about you. A charmer,” Trist laughs. “But come on, Vasilyev, don’t bullshit me. What’s up?”

“I need some information, and I hear you’re the man who can help me.”

Trist smiles, his ego adequately stroked. “Okay, I’m listening. What can I possibly do for you?”

“A few nights ago, a man called Ramos bought a drug from one of your guys working our clubs. I want to know who is supplying it.”

I notice Avni’s eyes flicker to Trist as he leans in with a grin on his face. “Ah, of course. Haze. You’re not the first to come here, but unfortunately I cannot share that with you.”

My stomach drops.

“Why not?” Rowan asks.

“Because, although we exist in a peaceful time, I know how your family and The Snake work. You’re all like sharks with blood.

Any opportunity to make more money for yourselves and leave the rest of us starving, you’ll take it.

” He pauses. “I don’t think that serves those of us on this side of the river in any way, does it? ”

I didn’t think getting an answer from Trist would be easy, but the way he’s sitting, leaning back, his legs spread open and a smirk on his face tells me he might be after something else.

“What’s your number?” Rowan asks, guessing the same thing.

I glance at him, and again, I’m curious about why he’s helping me.

Trist is right about The Snake. They smell blood in the water, and they go after the source to rip it apart, but Rowan and his family do not do the legwork.

There are a thousand other men who could speak to someone as low in the food chain as Trist.

Why is Rowan here personally?

“ Oooh , the heir to The Snake himself is here to see little old me and offer me money. That must mean he’s desperate,” Trist says with a smile, like he read my mind.

“Or I’ve just heard a lot about you, and I wanted to meet you personally.”

Trist snorts. “Unlikely.”

This isn’t working. Trist can read Rowan’s game, and he’s not willing to play. If The Snake is interested in Haze, that just drives up its value and attracts unwanted attention. If Trist is really behind this, then that’s the last thing he’d want. He wants to protect his source.

We need another angle.

“Rumour has it that it might be dirty,” I say quickly.

“That’s why we want to know who is supplying it.

Either the product is bad, or it’s cut with some dangerous shit.

If that’s true, the police will start sniffing around, and I don’t think I need to tell you how the OCU works.

They don’t stop until they have something and if you’re tied to this, then that’s you taking the fall.

You said it yourself, you’re not important enough for Moreau to protect you. ”

Avni’s eyes snap to me before she quickly looks away. She definitely remembers me. A cold sweat runs down my back, but I tell myself to keep calm. She doesn’t know I’m a cop. Yet.

Next to me, Rowan glares but I ignore him.

Trist narrows his eyes. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t.” I clear my throat. “Like I said, it’s a rumour. So, if you’re behind this, it’s only a matter of time before the OCU is at your door. I’m sure they’d love it in here.”

Trist rubs the back of his neck, licking his lips. “I’m not behind it,” he says defensively.

“Then who is? Because both clans can’t risk anything going down right now.”

His eyes shift to Rowan uneasily. “Who did you say he is?”

Rowan smiles, and he almost looks relaxed, but I can see the tension in his shoulders and the way he balls his hand into a fist before unclenching again.

“Who is she?” he asks, eyeing Avni with intentional desire. His eyes roam all over her body, torturously slow and suggestive. Something burns in my chest.

Trist’s eyes immediately snap to Avni, then back to Rowan and he may as well be a dog baring its teeth and about to piss on its favourite tree. “Off-limits.”

Her face remains neutral, but her eyes fall on me again, like she’s trying to tell me something. I can’t read the message because unlike with Halle, Avni and I were never friends. She was just someone like me, doing their best with what they had.

“Same as him then,” Rowan says easily before shooting me a conspiratorial smile. “My favourite plaything.”

For a second, I think I misheard him, then I realise I haven’t. A strange heat rushes over my body like a hot flash.

“Well, your plaything sure has a lot of interesting ideas,” Trist says, but I’m only half- aware of the way he’s still looking at me.

“What can I say? He hates seeing people die. You know the altruistic type.”

Before I can react, I feel the warm grip of Rowan’s hand on the nape of my neck as he draws me in.

He tugs me closer until our faces are mere inches apart, his scent dancing over my nose, his warm breath on my face, and his palm burning my skin.

I can see every inch of his face, every mark, every line, and the perfect dip of his cupid’s bow. My insides feel like they are melting.

He grins. “Aren’t you, Lexie?”

Lexie .

He started calling me that a week into seeing each other. It made me feel like I belonged to him, like I was something delicate and important enough to keep. I realise now how pathetic that made me and now the name makes me ill.

I hold my breath, stopping myself from breathing in his scent, from focusing on his touch after two years.

It’s all too much. Yet, I don’t recoil like I know I should.

I stay in the same position, staring into the blue of his eyes, and it’s like every inch of me has been lathered in gasoline and set on fire.

“Then you’re in the wrong business,” Trist grunts from where he sits, breaking whatever spell I’ve fallen under.

Rowan’s lips twitch and finally, he releases me, his hand falling to his side as he turns back to Trist, looking completely unaffected by what just happened. I pray I’m not red all over, but my palms are sweating profusely, and it feels like the room is spinning.

“But he is right,” Rowan says. “None of us want the police to get suspicious. If something is wrong with it, it’s best we stop it now.”

Trist is quiet for a second, his eyes meeting one of the bodyguards who came in here with us, then, “I’m not behind Haze. In fact, I don’t know who is. I just sell it.”

That catches my attention.

“Then how do you get the product?” Rowan asks before I can.

“There’s a drop off location. I get a message; I deposit the money, and I sell it.” Trist shrugs.

“I’m going to need that account,” Rowan says.

Trist grins, shaking his head. “You think I’d just hand you the contact like that?

” he laughs. “Look, I’ve been selling this shit for weeks and so far, I haven’t gotten any complaints.

If some kids are dying, that’s not my problem.

Kids die from drugs all the time. That doesn’t mean I gotta stop making money.

I’m sure you understand that better than most, Vasilyev. ”

Rowan tilts his head. “What’s your number?”

“I already told you I don’t have one. Haze will make me more money than you can afford. You being here confirms that.”

He’s not going to budge. He just wanted Rowan here for a power play, to show everyone in here that the rumoured heir to The Snake came to see him and begged him to make a deal. This will do him more favours than any amount of money could, and we played right into his hands.

“Are you sure you want to go against me?” Rowan asks.

Trist laughs, his head falling back against the scrunched velvet couch.

“Oh no, that’s the last thing I want. But either way, you can’t do anything to me.

My status as a Scarlet Raven means you can’t kill me.

If you do, you start a war, and I think we both agree that that’s the last thing Senna needs right now. ”

“You think you’re that important?” Rowan asks. “Moreau would hand your head on a platter to me if I asked.”

“Then please, ask him,” Trist says, grinning. “But if you do that, you’d just be attracting more attention to this. And c’mon, Rowan, you’re here without security so this must all be top secret. If it wasn’t, you’d have sent someone to rough me up a little bit, no?”

We’re fucked and Rowan no longer has a leg to stand on. By trying to keep this quiet, Rowan loses his power to do anything. We’re back to square one.

“It was nice meeting you, Vasilyev. Frankie here will see you two out.”

It’s a quick dismissal and I watch Rowan’s jaw work, clearly not used to being dismissed like he’s not important. Trist waves a careless hand, and a man dressed in a three-piece suit appears in front of us.

Rowan’s lips break into that easy smile. You’d think he’s the one walking away with a win here. “It was nice meeting you, too. I’m sure we’ll see each other very soon.”

Trist looks up at us when we stand, his mouth now set in a line. “Remember what I said,” he warns. “You tell Moreau, then I tell everyone you were here tonight. We both lose.”

Rowan’s smile is tight. “My lips are sealed,” he says and then we’re out of there, but not before I see Avni watching us as we leave, her eyes still trying to tell me something I can’t decipher.

When we make it out into the alleyway that smells of fish and piss, my ears are ringing, and my skin is still too warm where Rowan touched me. I’m not sure what I’m angry about exactly, but words are flying out of me before I can stop and sift through them first.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” I say through gritted teeth.

“What are you talking about?” He frowns, a look of genuine confusion all over his face.

I fling my arms, pointing to the now closed metal door of Spirito.

Goosebumps trail my skin, and a cloud of warm air escapes my mouth when I speak.

“In there! With Trist.” I know I’m being unreasonable, but I’m exhausted.

This was a huge waste of time, and I’m worried about what Avni could tell Trist.

Rowan tilts his head, the shadows from the light above dancing on his face.

“You’re mad because I called you a plaything?

” he asks, like I’m a five-year-old who is failing to understand something basic.

“What did you want me to call you, exactly? Detective Alexander Kimura from Senna’s prestigious Organised Crime Unit, the very same people who investigate guys like Trist every day?

I’m sure he would have loved that as he put a bullet through your chest.”

The way he says it makes me feel like a chastised child, but I can’t back down now. He was being purposefully patronizing in there and we both know it. “You could have said anything else.”

He laughs once, then looks at me, eyes widening. “ Oh ,” he says, “ Oh , did I hurt your feelings, Alex?”

Rage burns through me, a roaring fire in a furnace that he keeps feeding petrol. I shouldn’t let him get to me, but Rowan Vasilyev can get under anyone’s skin without even trying.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

“My problem?” he repeats with an incredulous laugh. His eyes meet mine and they hold the same fire that burns through me, unbridled and wild. We’re on the precipice of something I don’t think I want to uncover, something I’m not ready to talk about.

Not yet , I think, not before I save Halle.

I look away, clenching and unclenching my jaw, but he’s speaking before I can think of a way to not have this conversation.

“What’s wrong with being a plaything, Lexie?” he asks.

I shiver at the nickname. It takes me back to a time I’d rather not go back to. It’s quiet laughter, clutched hands and empty promises. It’s three words whispered in the dark from my lips—words he refused to say back.

“Rowan, let’s not…” I start, my voice losing all of its venom, but it’s too late.

He takes a step forward, nostrils flaring, but I don’t back away. “But aren’t you good at pretending you’re something that you’re not? I thought you could do what you’ve always done. What’s so wrong about that?”

My stomach is churning. He will keep pushing, keep torturing me with the past until he’s satisfied. I probably deserve it, but isn’t it punishment enough knowing I never meant anything to him?

God, I’ve been so stupid.

“This isn’t working,” I say finally. “I’m calling it off.”

His eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly recovers. “We both know you need me,” he says lowly.

He’s right. I do need him, but I’m terrified I’ll go insane before I can make any progress. If I don’t go insane, he’ll kill me instead and either way, Halle will end up in prison.

“Maybe everyone is right. Maybe you shouldn’t become The Head of The Snake,” I say quietly. “Because it’s been two years and you’re still unbelievably full of yourself.” It’s my final blow. The only fuel I have left in my tank.

It lands but only for a split second because Rowan is quicker than everyone else, including me.

He hums, a wry smile on his lips. “And yet you constantly used to beg to be full of me.”

I grit my teeth and turn on my heel, walking away from him because if I stay here, I might punch him or cry, or both.

I’m too exhausted to do either of those.