Page 127 of Dance of Ruin

A side door creaks open, and a man is shoved forward by two masked guards.

He’s Asian, maybe in his late forties. Slicked-back hair, broad shoulders, a long scar across his cheek, hands bound in front of him. He’s not wearing a mask.

I glance around, my heart racing.

Where thefuckis Nico? And what the hell does he have to do with this shit?

The bound man sneers at the crowd, clearly trying to look annoyed by all this instead of scared. He’s…not exactly selling it.

The man in the dog mask leans forward.

“Han Jiang,” he says. His gravel-thick voice sends a chill through the room.

Han scoffs. “Spare me the fucking theatrics.”

“You stand accused,” Dog Mask says calmly, ignoring the sneer, “of breaking a blood marker with Desmond Robinson, leader of the New York Jamaican Syndicate.”

“I merely exited a deal that no longer served me,” Han replies, unruffled. “Desmond can take it up with my people or go fuck himself. That’sbusiness.”

A ripple moves through the masked crowd.

The man in the dog mask tilts his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not that simple, Han. We all know how a blood marker works. It isthesingleunbreakable currency of the underworld. Yet, you broke it.”

Han laughs. “I don’t give a shit. I do what’s best for me and mine, same as all you motherfuckers.”

The man in the crow or raven or whatever fucking bird it is mask stands, rolling his neck, cracking his tattooed knuckles.

Something about that moment freezes me, but I can’t identify what.

“Desmond’s cousin Jamal is dead,” Bird Mask says. “Killed whenyourpeople, underyourdirection, opened fire on Desmond’s.”

Han rolls his eyes. “I don’t know about you, but the underworld thatIlive and operate in is dangerous. Truces crumble. Arrangements change. It is what it is.”

Bird Mask shakes his head slowly. “Truces crumble, yes. But a truce cemented by a blood marker is anunbreakable oathby both parties. Again, it is theonecurrency the underworld has that we all agreecannotandwill notbe broken.”

“Oops,” Han says sarcastically.

“You signed the contract,” Bird Mask continues, an edge glinting in his tone. “You swore inblood. You chose to break it. And now, you’re going to pay the price of that choice.”

Wait.

Something inside of me ripples and jangles, like a warning bell in my head.

When it suddenly hits me, like a slap to the face, I can’t breathe.

It took a while, because of the mask muffling it, but Iknowthat voice.

The cadence. The tone. The dark power behind it. And it’s then that the rest of the pieces suddenly fall into horrible place as the world tilts.

The tattooed hands and neck.

The suit jacket I watched him put on earlier.

The man in the bird mask is fuckingNico.

“It’s time for judgment,” Nico growls quietly. He turns to the man in the dog mask. “Hound?”

“Guilty,” Dog Mask says easily.

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