Page 26 of Broken Mercy
“Happy to help a long-term client.” He hesitates and uses the butt of his old cigarette to light another. “But a question anyway. That phone…” He trails off.
Tension fills my shoulders. I’m aware Alan likely copies everything from the phones he cracks before handing them over. I’ve never asked him not to do it, and he’s always been smart about whatever he does with the data. But now I feel something shifting, and I don’t like it.
“Whatever you think you saw, you should assume you didn’t actually.”
He grunts, scratching his head, and takes a drag. “Yeah, maybe I should, but I wanted to warn you. The guy who used to own that phone? He’s a player.”
That’s a surprise. I expected him to steer me away from a Sarkissian family member, or maybe to ask for more money to keep his mouth shut.
“Player in what way?”
“There was some serious software on that thing. Sort of stuff to prevent people like me from doing what I do. Obviously it failed, because I’m a genius, but still. I’d be careful with that thing.”
“I appreciate the warning.”
“Anyways, good luck with whatever that is.” He gestures at my clothes. “You look like you’re going to a wedding.”
I slip Sam’s phone into my back pocket. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s getting married?”
“I am. See you later, Alan.”
I wipemud off my shoes before climbing the back stairs to my tiny dressing room. The church is beginning to fill and the ceremony should start soon. I’m wondering if anyone noticed I was missing as I elbow my way inside, only to find Arsen Sarkissian standing near the back window gazing out at the city with a drink clutched in his hand.
Surprise jolts me. I do my best not to show it. Arsen looks at me, mouth tugging down into a frown. He’s older than me, around the same height, but physically imposing. Where I’m rangy and lean, hard and athletic in my way, he’s got the muscular build of a man who spends a lot of time lifting. Scars poke out from the neck of his shirt and every inch of his skin, aside from his face, is covered with intricate tattoos.
The leader of the Armenian Brotherhood turns to face me.
“I was starting to think you were going to abandon my cousin.” Arsen doesn’t smile. I doubt he’s joking. “I was going to send people to bring you back.”
“Had an errand to run.”
“All good now?”
“All good. No surprises.”
Arsen considers me like he’d read a clock. It’s disconcerting, that intelligent and placid face, the skin of an enormous body of water, undisturbed. I’d hate to be the rock who sent ripples through him. I doubt it’d survive long.
“My wife encouraged me to come speak with you before the ceremony. She thinks I should thank you for this service.”
I move sideways toward a bottle I have propped on a side table. I lift it, fill a paper cup, and sip. “I appreciate her kindness.”
“And I appreciate your willingness. What happened in Vegas and with the cartel afterward, that was an ugly business, but it’s behind us now. You’re entering the family.”
Nerves flutter through me. There aren’t many people in this world who can unsettle my calm, but Arsen’s definitely one of them. “I’m happy you’re giving me this opportunity to prove myself.”
Arsen gestures with his glass, a short shake for emphasis. “That’s exactly it. Well stated. I’m giving you the chance toprove yourself. You want to be useful, don’t you, Brenden?”
Coldness floods me. I nod, meeting his gaze. “That’s right.”
“Perfect. I know you can be. Your sister always speaks very highly of you.”
“Riley’s a good person.”
“Now you’re becoming one of us. Not exactly a Sarkissian, but close, and that means we’ll be related. I always believe family comes first. I think you have to be able to trust your family. Can I trust you, Brenden?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
