the smuggler’s bible


“You shouldn’t have killed the girl, Judge. Everyone was happy to ignore you,” Dorian says, easing open the door to the library. He leads with his gun. His other hand is wrapped around a set of brass knuckles. “But you crossed the line with her. The senator’s mad as hell.”

The big revolver’s loaded with the Baron’s special No. 9 cartridges. A cross is carved into each one, and they’ve been blessed by some crazy monk from Austria who really knows his shit.

There’s nothing special about the brass knuckles—just a reassuring weight in the palm of Dorian’s hand.