Page 9 of These Shattered Memories

I’m not close to Jonathan Vasilyev. As my mother’s Right Eye, his duty only lies with her and his disinterest in our lives has always been palpable.

Until it came to ordering our discipline, then he was more than happy to oblige.

Although my mother is ruthless, there is an undercurrent to my father, a sadism that doesn’t exist in her. Xander probably gets it from him.

When my mother enters the living room, she settles in her seat at the head of the table and the food is served in steaming pots and intricate dishes. Throughout the meal, I only manage to catch hints of the conversation, my mind drifting to the pictures of the dead man.

At Summit, I initially thought the dead girl had been bruised by something else, but she had already begun the decomposition process. That man in the warehouse must have taken Haze too, bringing our death toll to six. The bodies are piling up, which means I’m running out of time and so is Alex.

Once dinner is over, I step outside with my brothers, feeling myself relax when we escape the house into the cool evening air touches my skin. It feels I’ve been holding my breath underwater for hours. I need to get home and sleep, but judging from the last few nights, I won’t get a lick of it.

“Have you found anything?” Hayden asks.

I shove my hands in my pockets. My mother asked me not to talk to anyone about the dead guy in Sying and as strange as it is to lie to them, I remember what she has offered me, a chance to prove myself, so, I decide to tell a half-truth instead.

“Not yet,” I say. “But I’m working on it.”

“Is this about the dead girl in Summit?” Xander asks, grabbing his matte black helmet from his bike’s handle.

“Yeah.” Hayden nods. “Something about it feels off.”

“Maybe she just OD’d,” he says. “This wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had one of those.”

“I’ve seen what an OD looks like, and it wasn’t that. This was something else. That drug, it’s dirty,” Hayden says. “Have your guys picked up anything weird?”

Xander shakes his head. “Not that anyone has reported. It’s been pretty quiet. A few skirmishes here and there, but nothing I can’t handle.”

With Xander in charge of the men in The Snake and Hayden managing the clubs and the casinos, I’m not left with much responsibility. I keep my mouth shut, guilt spreading through me, but the sooner I find out what’s going on, the sooner I can stop lying to them.

“I’m gonna go,” I say.

Xander grins. “Another night with Chelsea?” he asks, eyebrow arched. “Careful, you might fall in love with her.”

“Something against love, Xan?” I ask. “Unlike you, I don’t have to constantly be in orgies to feel something.”

Xander’s grin is menacing, and if I didn’t know him, I might be afraid, but all it does is make me smile. “You can join me tonight if you like? I miss bonding.”

“Ew,” Hayden mutters. “Do you have to be so disgusting all the time?”

“Offer’s open to you too, but I know how you get about bodily fluids, so…” Xander says, earning him another roll of the eyes from Hayden, who begins to stalk away to his car.

“Let me know if you find anything,” he says to me.

I give him a mock salute. “Will do, boss,” I call.

When Hayden drives away, Xander is looking at me strangely. “You were off all through dinner,” he says, losing the smirk and looking at me levelly. “You aren’t sleeping. Why?”

He rarely asks questions. He only says statements from careful observations.

For all his brashness, he is acutely aware of everything and everyone around him.

It probably helps not to be able to feel anything.

He can see how everyone else is feeling instead.

But maybe there is a hint of concern there and it sends an unexpected warmth through me.

I pause. I know if I told him about Alex, he’d lose it, and he wouldn’t let me give him the same old lie I told them from the beginning.

I’ll kill him myself.

Yeah, sure, Rowan. It’s been two years and now you can’t sleep.

“If I said I can’t talk about it yet, would you leave it alone?” I ask.

He watches me for a moment, blue eyes that match my own gleaming from the garden lights. “Sure,” he says with an easy shrug. “As long as you’re safe.”

“I’m fine. Thanks, Xan,” I say, deflating.

“That offer for tonight still stands,” he says. “It’ll be fun.”

I shake my head. “Still no, but thanks anyway,” I say, slipping into my car.

The idea of random men and women touching me has me cringing. It’s strange. I’m usually so opposed to Xander’s idea of fun, but I’m clearly not behaving like myself.

Either way, orgies can wait. I need to focus.

My mother just offered me a lifeline which I’ve been hoping for from the beginning.

I’ve pulled the strings on what I can in the background, aligned my pieces and formed alliances where I need to.

This would be my final move, and I can’t afford to let anything throw me off my game.

Not Haze.

And definitely not Alex.

When I reach my apartment, I pull out my phone to find a message from Chelsea asking what I’m doing and whether I want to come out with her and her friends.

For a moment, I consider telling her to come over.

I look at the text again, my mind tossing and turning.

The idea of her naked body and her hair that smells of strawberries does nothing to rouse my dick.

I need something else; a release I’m not sure how to get.

I decide on heading to the gym instead. It’s a Wednesday night, and it’s completely empty, allowing me to run fifteen kilometres at a breakneck pace on the treadmill. By the time I’m done, I’m covered in sweat, and my muscles ache, but my brain is still a muddled mess I can’t keep up with.

When I emerge from my shower, there’s another text from Chelsea with a question mark, but I ignore it. I decide to get dressed instead, pulling on a pair of sweats, a hoodie, and a baseball cap that covers my hair and my eyes.

I look myself over in the mirror. A bit of dark hair sticks out of my cap, but I look inconspicuous enough, like any other random guy out late in the city.

Grabbing my keys from the counter. I opt for my discreet black Mercedes instead of the red LaFerrari with an obnoxious engine that Xander gifted me on my twenty-sixth birthday and zoom out of the garage.

It’s nearly midnight as I drive through Senna, through the quieter area of Queen’s Peak, where old brownstone townhouses and modern apartment buildings coincide.

Queen’s Peak fades into the trendier Flower District.

The night is alive here, people walking from bars and into black taxis, shops still open with bright neon signs and flashy billboards displayed everywhere.

I can see the river, and across it Canning, elevated on a hill, lights twinkling in a way that might make you believe it’s magical out there. The Scarlet Ravens have made sure it’s anything but that. Not that it’s any of my business. The treaty makes sure of that.

I drive without thinking, like I’m stuck on autopilot, and my hands and legs are doing what they should without instruction. I don’t need to check my GPS to know where I’m going.

It’s been a while since I’ve done this. But I feel compelled to do it tonight. I’ve been losing it since I met up with Alex, since I saw that face again—still so stupidly pretty and delicate despite years in the OCU.

I shouldn’t give a fuck about Alexander Kimura, and yet I do. I hate him and admitting that feels like a loss in its own way. Hate is an emotion I shouldn’t even afford him.

But here we are.

Before I know it, I’m pulling into a quiet street at the edge of Flower District and Harrow. There are quaint homes, houses that were subdivided into duplexes and even though they all look similar with white paint and large bay windows, I know the exact building I’m looking for.

I park right across it, my jaw clenched. My hands grip the steering wheel when my eyes land on an open window. It’s a sash window, the bottom pulled up to open into the room completely. It’s on the second floor of the duplex, but someone could easily sneak through there if they really wanted to.

He always does this too.

Even in the depths of winter.

For someone who is paid to keep others safe, he isn’t doing a very good job of taking care of himself.

What an idiot.

A light emanates from what I know is the open-plan living room.

When Alex moved in a year ago, I did a tour of the vacant apartment downstairs just to get a better understanding of the layout.

There are two bedrooms, two bathrooms, one en-suite and a modern open-plan kitchen.

A small family’s dream , the estate agent said before I bent her over the counter and fucked her, secretly picturing myself doing it in Alex’s apartment instead.

She was right, though. It’s what most people would consider a nice apartment in a good and safe neighbourhood, a nice place to raise a family. It’s everything he’d want, I assume. A loving partner and a couple of kids running around the place.

The thought disgusts me and for a moment, I’m tempted to sneak through that open window and slit his throat just to prove a point.

I know I’m being unreasonable. I’m not even sure why I’m here or why I’m reclining my seat slightly, watching the light in the living room until it switches off and the bedroom light turns on.

My heart races in my chest as I watch his silhouette move around for a few minutes, appearing and disappearing from the window until the bedroom light switches off, too. He leaves the window open, and I fight against everything inside me not to sneak up there and climb through it.

I settle on picturing it instead, the way his eyes would open up as I clamped a hand over his mouth and another around his neck…

I sigh contentedly, revelling in the fantasy until the night is completely still, until most of the lights in the building are off and until I feel my own eyelids grow heavy and I slip into a heavy dreamless sleep.