Page 159 of Dance of Ruin

“…What?” I finally snap.

“Your boss. Let’s talk about him.”

“My…” My brow furrows. “Mybossis sadistic thirty-something Russian woman who thinks drinking water during a rehearsal is being lazy. But fine, fuck it. What do you want to know about Kuzmina?”

“Don’t get fucking cute,” Nico growls.

“Get?” I make a face. “Baby, I don’t need toget—okay, STOP!” I hiss, right as he winds up again.

“Nico, from the very bottom of my heart, I haven’t the slightest goddamn idea why thefuckwe’re here, why thefuckyou’re hitting me, or what the actually unholy FUCK you want me to say!”

“I want you to tell me about the Obsidian Syndicate!”

I stare at him blankly. “Thewhat?”

Nico disappears behind the lights, then returns and approaches me again. He tosses something at my feet—a file folder that spills open as I look down at it. The paper inside fans out a little, and my gut clenches.

“You were found in an Obsidian-owned drug warehouse,” Nico says tightly. “Age nine.”

I look up at him, red mist clouding my eyes.

“State custody records for minors are sealed for a fucking reason, asshole,” I say quietly.

I’m not going to bother asking how Nico fucking Barone got his hands on my foster records. I don’t need to hear some bullshit story about them “falling off the back of a truck”.

“Let’s talk about that warehouse, Vaughn.”

I shake my head. “That what we’re doing here, Nico? Talking about my fucking childhood?” I bark out a cold laugh. “Joke’s on you, dipshit. I don’t remembershitbefore I was placed in a group home.”

“How convenient.”

“It’s actually anightmare,” I hiss. “But thanks for the fucking sympathy. It’s notconvenient, Nico. It’s a bunch of shit I don’t even know if Icanunpack, let alone want to.” I shoot him a look. “If you’re hoping I’ll confess to something I can’t remember, you’re barking up the wrong psych evaluation.”

He stares at me for a long moment.

“Why don’t we jog your memory.”

I glare at him. “You keepjogging my memoryand I’m going to have permanent brain damage, dickbag.”

Nico pulls out his phone, taps the screen, and turns it to face me. A video starts to play.

In it, a guy is sitting alone at a booth in some bar, sipping a beer. Then someone else comes over and sits down opposite him. The guy pulls his hood back…

What the actual fucking fuck.

It’s me.

It’s fuckingmesitting at that booth. Except it’snot.

There’s something off.

Nico’s babbling on, threatening me with something or other, and I’m pretty sure he’s mentioning Naomi and whatever this syndicate thing is. But I’m ignoring him, just staring at the screen, trying to spot the glitch in my personal Matrix.

Then I do.

The guy on the screen stretches his arms a little, and the sleeves of his jacket ride up, revealing more of his forearms.

Bare, un-tattooed forearms.

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