Page 30 of Broken Mercy
“Seriously Tallie, I have this whole thing. Power Point, like twenty minutes of great material?—“
“God, I love you Annie and I wouldn’t miss it for the world, but I need to pee so bad my bladder’s going to explode.”
“Fine! Just hurry back!”
I slip through the crowd, stopped a few times to say hello to guests I’ve missed, before finding my way into the cool evening,in the space between the tents. He wouldn’t be out here though: that’s not my husband’s style.
I go straight for the house. The one place nobody’s supposed to go.
That’s exactly where he’ll be.
I don’t know what it is with this man and trouble, but it’s like Brenden can’t help himself.
Whenever there’s somewhere he’s not supposed to be, that’s exactly where he wants to go.
Maybe it’s the thief in him. Ever since we got engaged, I’ve been digging as much as I’ve been able to. It’s not like there’s information lying around on the internet about him, so I’ve been reliant on what I’ve been able to get out of the people around me.
Dad said nothing. Mom knew nothing and acted like I was being dramatic even asking about him. I pressed my older sister Tate over the phone but she insisted she didn’t know anything, which is plausible since she was never in the life much to begin with. I considered trying Gor, but he’s not exactly the most reliable person in the world, and so that left me with only three options.
Annie, Sam, and Davit.
I tried my youngest brother first, but Davit didn’t know anything useful. He told me that he’d heard the McGraths were a serious group and had some real power in the region, but past that he didn’t know much. He offered to ask Riley, but I figured that would only make it obvious I was prying.
I got more out of Annie. She said the McGraths had a reputation for brutality, but that they were also considered very fair. How the hell she knew that beat me to death with the stick, butwhatever. She also claimed they’re the most powerful Irish clan on the east coast without any proof to back it up.
Sam was by far the best and worst source of them all.
He went on and on about the McGraths, about some crazy pair of brothers called the Murder Twins, about some psycho named Seamus, a dozen other characters that weren’t at all relevant to my question. The picture he painted was that of a ruthless, power-mad organization driven to do almost anything to keep their iron grip over their territory.
So basically like my family’s Brotherhood.
But at least he talked more about Brenden. He claimed my future husband—or I guess justhusbandnow, which is really freaky—is one of the best thieves in the region, rivalled only by his sister Riley, which is hard to imagine. He said Brenden got into some trouble and is considered low-status these days, and Sam implied that said a lot about how I’m viewed in the greater family orbit. I smacked him for that one. But he also said Brenden’s generally considered a mystery, not outright dangerous and aggressive, but nonetheless very skilled.
I’m not sure how to feel about any of it as I drift into the mansion and pause to get my bearings. If I were hiding from a wedding, where would I go? I decide to wander since I have no real idea where Brenden would be. Instead, I try to make sense of everything I know.
We come from a similar background. My father is a senior member of the Armenian Brotherhood, a powerful crime syndicate based here in Baltimore. My cousin is the Patron, the top leader. Brenden is also from a crime family and grew up under an influential father. But somewhere along the line, ourpaths diverged. He seems to have fallen deeper into that life, while I’ve done my best to skim along the surface, barely keeping myself out of the blackest depths of this world.
Why him of all the men in the family? Why another McGrath when Riley’s already married to Alexan, the Patron’s own brother?
Maybe Sam’s right. Maybe me and Brenden really are a couple of broken toys thrust together out of convenience.
I reach the second floor of the mansion and pause, listening intently. He wouldn’t be bold enough to come up here, would he? But there’s a noise from a room down the hall and my heart rate picks up as I walk toward it. There’s no staff around here, since this is a private family wing of the house, and nobody would be stupid enough to come near here. Besides, most of them are outside working the party.
It’s the perfect time to come snooping.
I find my husband in a music room. I take a moment to look around, surprised to find a place like this so close to the central living quarters of the primary Sarkissian family. Guitars hang on the walls and brass instruments are placed neatly into racks. Sheet music is tacked to corkboards beside complex electronics, recording equipment, and what looks like ten miles worth of thick black cables dangling from pegboards in the ceiling like hungry snakes.
Brenden’s jacket is tossed aside, left forgotten on the floor. His shirtsleeves are rolled up and he’s leaning over the body of a piano, his head lost inside the inner mechanism. He’s doing something, his forearms working, and he keeps grunting like he’s frustrated. I watch in astonishment, wondering if he’stuning the damn thing, but that makes no sense. The only noise is mechanical, a clicking like he’s turning a dial.
“What are you doing?”
Brenden flinches and his head smacks into the piano lid. He curses, rubbing his skull as he steps back, a gun appearing in his hand, the barrel aimed steadily at my face. I open my mouth, my hands whipping up in panic, as adrenaline floods me.
My husband doesn’t lower the weapon.
“Why are you here?” he asks, looking past me to the door like he’s waiting to see if I was followed.
“I was trying to find you and—can you please lower that gun?”
