Page 59 of Broken Mercy
“What are you doing?”
“Stopping you from being stupid.”
“I want to look around.”
“No.” She tugs me back. “We talk first.”
I grit my teeth. This is what I’ve been thinking about for months. This is my Holy Fucking Grail, the path to my freedom. I knew these stupid passages existed, and now I have a way in.
And once a thief is inside, it’s very, very hard to get him back out again.
Against my better judgement, I shuffle until I’m sitting with my back to the locker. She’s crouched a few feet away, looking at the gap in the wall thoughtfully.
“You want to know why.”
She nods and bites her middle finger. “I assume you have a plan and you’re not just suicidal.”
“I have a plan.”
“And that plan is how you’re going to buy your freedom?”
“That’s right.”
“Just tell me. It’s my future too now, isn’t it? I’ve been patient, but I’m not sitting around and waiting anymore. Tell me what you’re after.”
I think about lying. I could give her some fake version of my plan, keep her off my trail, until it’s too late to stop what’s about to happen. But she’s right, now that she’s involved this affects her future.
And I’m tired of keeping things from her. I don’t want to sneak around. The weight of Sam’s dossier is like an anchor dragging me down into the deepest parts of the ocean. I’ll drown if I can’t find a way to cut it free.
“Arsen doesn’t like to let people go.” I move to the side and start replacing the hatch as I speak. “It’s not as simple as just moving away. He wouldn’t allow that, not when he decided that I’m useful. So the only way to get my life back is to force his hand.”
“Blackmail.”
“Exactly.” I pull the locker to cover the hatch and make sure it looks like nothing’s moved. “I need a tool to hold against him. Do you remember when we first met?”
“Hard to forget. I flashed you.”
My heart stutters and I smile despite myself. “You still had a bra on.”
“That’s splitting hairs.”
“But where were we that day?”
“The party… at that house…” She squints as she remembers. “The Davises.”
“You know what they are, right?”
“Old and rich.”
“They’re arms dealers.”
She waves a hand. “They’re in defense contracting.”
“Another fancy way of saying they sell murder weapons. Who do you know that needs a lot of arms in this city?”
“You think my cousins get their weapons from the Davises?”
“I know they do. But the Davises can’t just sell that kind of weight to a man like Arsen, so they hide it through layers of corporate shell structures. I need a list, proof that Arsen’s buying from the Davises and selling further down the line into the black market. I need something bad enough to tie them all together, to the point that Arsen will let me walk to make sure it never sees the light of day. Or the inside of a DA’s office, either one.”
