Chapter Five: The Price of Marriage

Zhou Lin went pale. Memory returned: fifteen years ago, he had held a knife to a woman's throat and marched her through Aftertaste's rear door. She had pressed her bloody thumb against his wrist. The same wrist now bore a six. “I captured your mother,” he told Zhiwei. Every safe in the vault sprang open. Each contained a white bag marked 12:13 A.M. The second night had arrived.