Page 161 of Dance of Ruin

What thefuckam I looking at?

Two fucking Vaughns, that’s what. One stands a dozen feet away, the gun in his hand pointed at my chest with unflinching precision. And across from him—still tied to the chair, still catching his breath, still bleeding—is theotherVaughn, staring at his double with the same confusion I feel tightening in my gut.

In that frozen moment, I drag my gaze back to the Vaughn holding a gun at me and start to dissect the details.

He’s got the same face as the Vaughn I know. But everything about it is a little more serious. More hardened, rougher around the edges. He’s got the same bright blue eyes and same dark brown hair. But his is cut a little shorter, with less of that “messy cool” style.

And sure enough, when my eyes drop to his exposed forearm, they’re devoid of any tattoos.

“Untie him,” the doppelgänger holding the gun says, his voice a more roughened, razor-edged version of Vaughn’s.

I hesitate.

“I saiduntie my brother, right the fuck now.”

The old slaughterhouse is pin-drop silent except for a distant drip-dripping in the shadows. The rustle of a pigeon.

My brother.

Houston, we have a fucking problem.

Slowly, I turn to look back at Vaughn. He’s got the same stunned look of disbelief and confusion on his face that I do.

Holy shit.

“I’m not going to ask you again,” the gunman growls thinly. “Fucking untie him, or this goes very differently.”

I show the guy my hands as I turn and walk over to Vaughn.

“I’m going to reach for a knife.”

“Do it fucking slowly,” the man says.

I pull the blade out of my pocket and reach down to free Vaughn’s wrists. He groans as the pressure releases, slumping forward, catching himself with a wince.

He looks up at me, whispering. “What the hell is this?”

“Fucked if I know,” I mutter as I squat down and cut his ankles loose.

Vaughn stands on shaky legs, his face twisted in pain. Then I’m shoved aside, and before I can even register what’s going on the guy with the gun is throwing his arms around Vaughn and hugging him fiercely.

Vaughn stiffens, that utterly confused look still on his face. But then he’s hugging the guy back, sagging against him a little.

“There’s a lot to say,” the doppelgänger says softly, holding Vaughn’s shoulders as he steps back, looking at him. “Alot.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, then back to Vaughn.

“I’ll explain everything, but first, I need to talk to Nico. Alone. It would be better for your safety if you don’t hear.”

Vaughn nods, wincing as he lowers himself into the chair. His eyes lift to mine, glinting darkly. “Don’t think for asecondthat you and I are done, motherfucker.”

That’s fair. I reach into my pocket and toss him my cigarettes and lighter. He catches them with a grunt, glancing back at me. “Yeah, still not fucking done.”

New-Vaughn glances at me and gestures with his jaw. I follow him a few yards away, still eyeing the gun in his hand.

There’s another difference between him and the Vaughn I know. Vaughn walks like a dancer. An athlete. This guy walks like a soldier.

We stop near a shattered window and a pile of bricks and he curiously puts the gun away.

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