1. RAVEN

1

RAVEN

TWO YEARS AGO / FOUR DAYS BEFORE SPRING brEAK

The moment the mansion gate opens, I know this day is going to change my life.

A courtyard full of government cars and CIA security is not exactly a great scenario for a person who feeds the darkest cravings of the richest students in the country—me, of course.

My body tenses as I cruise my BMW toward the fountain roundabout of Archer Crone's mansion. Archer is the golden child of Deene University. His friends' lavish indulgences are the reason for my six-figure savings. My perfectly tailored suit and a Rolex are my permanent attire. Despite being a darknet and black-market dealer, my clients are not street thugs and junkies anymore. I deal to a sophisticated crowd.

The front of the mansion is lined with government cars. Security in black suits and earpieces dot the courtyard.

Interesting.

Archer never schedules meetings with me when his father, the Secretary of Defense, visits. This is out of the ordinary and might be an emergency.

Archer's bodyguard directs me away from the main entrance to the east side of the mansion, which is lined with luxury cars.

So, Archer is having a party. And his father is visiting? Something doesn't click.

In my line of work, I learned to always keep my eyes and ears open, noticing every detail. So, when I roll down the window and the guard says, "Wait here until you get clearance to enter," I keep my windows open and my eyes on the entrance.

There you are.

A tall man hurries out of the mansion. Suit and tie, glasses, a phone pressed to his ear. Meet Secretary Crone, the devil of the US government.

"You are not listening," the secretary barks into the phone as he stomps to one of the black SUVs. "You don't need details. When I tell you to get out of the country before this weekend, you listen. Pack your bags and wife, get your kids by the scruff, and pick any country north or south of the US. The farther, the better. I am not repeating?—"

His voice fades as he disappears in the SUV, and in a minute, an escort of black vehicles follows it off the premises.

Archer's bodyguard motions to me from the front terrace, and I finally go into the mansion.

"What you got for me, man?" Archer says as he pads through the two-story hallway toward me, clad only in his swim trunks, leaving wet footprints on the marble floor.

"Exactly what you asked for," I say, passing him the small pouch with tiny vials, the most potent drug that puts E, coke, and LSD combined to shame. This is child's play of what I can get for him, but when it comes to even innocent indulgences such as this, Archer Crone puts his trust only in me. And I want it to stay this way.

Archer doesn't look that great. After the accident that burned his best friend two years ago, he's been shoving every drug possible into his system and partying his head off. Considering he's only twenty-two, if he continues in this manner, he'll become a permanent resident at a rehab. If he doesn't kill himself first, that is.

It's a pity, really, because he is a prodigy with a brilliant mind and the youngest board member of the Gen-Alpha project, which conducts innovative DNA research.

But shitty family history can ruin the best of men. I should know. I grew up in the system. Foster homes, juvie, living on the streets, dealing.

And here we are. By the age of twenty-five, I still deal, but it's a different kind of business. So is social engineering. So is hacking. So is synthetic identity fraud. Arms dealers are businessmen, too. So are the people in the White House. You get the point.

Five minutes is usually the maximum extent of my interactions with Archer. I'm about to leave, but the conversation I overheard earlier nags at me.

"What's happening, Archer?" I ask casually.

"The usual," Archer says, texting someone, not looking at me. "Spring break is going to be crazy this year."

He and his crew are taking a private jet to Zion Island, a tropical paradise in the Atlantic. Most of the properties there are owned by his father, so no surprise there.

"My father tries to put a tail on me for whatever fucking reason," he adds with irritation.

The secretary's words ping in my head.

"When I tell you to get out of the country before this weekend, you listen."

An eerie feeling is slowly twisting my stomach. When my intuition sets me on edge, I listen. It got me where I am in life despite being beaten, abused, imprisoned, cut and stabbed so many times that my body looks like a badly-patched-up pi?ata after a rowdy party, though my fancy clothes hide it well.

"Hey, Archer, need a small favor," I say, ready to humble myself. "About Zion…"

Archer lifts his eyes off his phone. "What about it?"

"I know it's not my place to ask, and you'll think I'm out of my league…" I trail off, locking my eyes with him. "I can get anything you want to the island if you take me with you for spring break."

He stares at me in amusement, then confusion.

I despise rich kids who grow up taking things for granted and thinking they are above it all even though many of them have shit for brains and the personality of a cabbage. Archer Crone might be one of the very few I respect. Mostly for his genius brain that made him a chemistry prodigy at the age of fourteen and his achievements in football.

"You?" Archer lifts a tipsy brow.

I nod, blinking in response.

"What's this about?" he asks, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

I know he's trying to figure out the reason why I, for the first time, want to be in his crew. I need to lather him up. "You want a ride on a Russian submarine around the island? I'll find one and deliver it to Zion. You want a ladyboy parade from Thailand? I'll put one on a plane within an hour. Indigenous tribes dancing? Military air show? You name it, I will organize it for you there."

An amused chuckle escapes him, but I'm not kidding. He knows me well, knows my background, too. I can get anything. Anywhere. Anytime. It's only a matter of price. I take my job seriously. Otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to find dirt on the newly appointed league commissioner to help get one of Archer's buddies into the NFL. When you say dealer, people assume drugs. But the most precious thing to deal in is information.

"Things go down on Zion in a way that threatens your reputation? It's on me," I say calmly, pushing it.

I'm gambling, but I'm going to get my way, always do.

"I have connections in Port Mrei at Zion," I bluff, because I've never been to Zion or the port town or the Ayana resort, but if needed, I'll find them.

I never ask for favors. But something is up, and I want to be where Archer Crone is for the next week. Because the son of the most protected man in this country is—you guessed it—the most protected.

Archer straightens and studies me with renewed interest. People like us don't mix in this life unless bound by business or shady deals.

He narrows his drunk eyes on me, sniffling from what is probably a several-days-long coke binge.

"Then I need to place another order," Archer drawls. "A bit tricky, but if you want to be on my jet, I'm sure you'll manage."

"When do I not?" I hold back a triumphant smile.

"The jet leaves from the Staton Airfield this Friday at noon. You get me what I need, and you are in."

I have several days to get him something even his Secretary of Defense daddy could not possibly get for fear of a scandal.

"Thanks, Archer. I'll be in touch."

I turn to leave when his voice stops me.

"Why?"

I turn to lock eyes with him. "Why what?"

"Why do you want to go to Zion?" He lifts his chin. "It's not about the party. I know you are not into that scene. You don't do drugs or drink, really. You don't have any interest in my crew. It's probably not one of the girls either since you just broke up with the mayor's daughter."

His gaze pries into me. Another thing I like about Archer—straightforwardness and the ability to see through people despite his well-known arrogance. In a different life, we could've been friends.

I smile coldly. "Research."

He suddenly breaks out in laughter and starts walking away. "Whatever you say, man," he murmurs without turning around.

He didn't believe me, but after two years of doing business, he trusts me.

I know I'm in.

And if my gut feeling is right, this trip will change my life.