Page 168 of Dance of Ruin

“It’s okay,” he breathes into my hair. “I’ve got you.”

A grunt makes my eyes fly back open. The gunmen on the floor is staggering to his knees, blood pouring down his arm as he aims his gun at Nico’s back.

“NICO—!”

Another shot crackles through the kitchen.

The attacker jerks, then crumples like a puppet with its strings cut.

But that’s not where my eyes are looking in pure shock.

I’m staring at the man standing behind the body, gun still raised, eyes steely.

Vaughn.

At least…sort of?

The manlookslike my friend, but with a different haircut, and no tattoos on his arms. But then Nico pulls me to him again, burying his face in my hair and clutching me like I might blow away in the next breeze, and that’s all that matters.

“You’re okay, love,” he growls quietly. “You’re safe now.”

“Naomi!”

My brain short-circuits, my eyes not trusting themselves as Vaughn rushes into the kitchen from around the corner. This Vaughn is bleeding all over the place and looks like someone just beat the shit out of him.

And now he’s standing next to theotherVaughn, who’s lowering his gun.

“What the fuck?” I whisper.

37

NICO

“You weresix when they took us.”

Vaughn—the real Vaughn, apparently—is leaning against the kitchen island, eyes trained on his brother, who’s perched on the counter across from him, holding a gauze to his busted lip.

Like someone split a mirror in half and left the shards facing each other.

Same jaw. Same build. Same restless twitch in their fingers.

“I was seven,” Vaughn continues. “Mom and Dad had checked out a long time before that, though. It’d been you and me taking care of ourselves for about a year.” His jaw tightens. “Heroin, both of ’em. Dad boosted carburetors; Mom turned tricks in the living room.” He clears his throat. “They’re, uh, both dead, by the way. Died years ago.”

Jesus. I glance over to where Vaughn—no, fuck,Val—sits on the countertop, his face a stony mask as he takes all this in.

Naomi’s at his side, holding his hand. I won’t lie and say I’mfinewith that. I’m not. But in this moment, given what he’s being told, I’m willing to give the fucker one pass. ONE.

“I’m sorry you have to find out like this,” Vaughn says as Val’s gaze drops to the floor. “I know you don’t remember anything after what happened?—”

“Whatdidhappen?” Val grunts.

“I’ll get there,” his brother murmurs. “The Obsidian Syndicate busted us when we broke into one of their fronts—this mattress shop. This was in McKeesport—” He pauses, frowning. “That’s where we’re from, by the way. McKeesport, Pennsylvania.” His brow knits. “Sorry, I’m not the world’s greatest storyteller.”

“Just keep fucking going,” Val growls quietly. He pulls my pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and slips one between his lips.

I sure as shit don’t smoke in my own house. But again, he gets a pass on that.

Vaughn nods. “It was winter, and cold as fuck. Mom and Dad had fucked off somewhere, and there was no heat in the house. Your lips were blue, and I honestly thought we might die if we stayed there. So we got our coats on and went downtown. I broke into the mattress shop because you were always saying every time we walked past it that those beds looked so comfortable.”

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