Page 79 of Broken Mercy
“How? How will that help? He’ll hurt the people we care about?—“
“He won’t. Trust me, Tallie. He doesn’t want this to get out of hand any more than we do. Right now we go to ground, regroup, and come up with a better plan, but you have to trust me. Can you do that? Please, baby?”
I wipe my face with the back of my hand. This is all wrong. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I wanted to save myself—maybe save Sam in the process—but now I feel it all spiraling.
Brenden’s my only chance.
If anyone can get us through, it has to be him. No matter what happens I want to believe he’s competent and clever enough to find a solution, but he can’t do that if I lay down and give up here in this stupid parking lot.
So long as we’re still alive, there’s always a way out.
I reach down deep, straight into my core, and I find a hidden well of strength. I didn’t know it was there, but I grab onto it and hold it tightly. Not only for me, but for my siblings too, for my whole family, and maybe for my husband.
“Which way now?” I ask, doing my best to take deep breaths.
Brenden leads me to the truck. He produces another key and we pull out, leaving the Jeep behind. He drives slowly and carefully through the city then down south, past the limits, and out into the suburbs, stopping only when we reach a nondescript brick apartment building in a town I’ve never heard of before.
My legs feel heavy trudging up the echoing steps in a cinderblock stairwell. Brenden doesn’t speak as he takes me into a grimy apartment, barely furnished, the refrigerator empty.
“What is this place?” I stare around, numb and shellshocked, my world falling apart.
“This is one of my best safehouses. This is where we’re going to figure out how to fix things. And we’re going to do it together.”
CHAPTER 22
BRENDEN
The ledger makes no sense.
I read through it for the tenth time. I’ve barely slept since we ran from the Brotherhood greasers back at the bank. Tallie’s wrapped in blankets and breathing slowly, but I’m sitting up against the headboard, eyes down on the pages in my lap.
They don’t make any damn sense.
There’s a shape to the names but it’s like there are massive chunks missing. Shipments appear in the logs without any apparent origin like they teleported into place. Money flows out, but nothing ever comes in. I can’t figure it out and it’s like my guts are being sucked into a whirlpool.
I have to toss the ledger aside and go for a walk.
There’s a grocery store not far. I keep my gaze straight ahead, hands shoved in my pocket, doing my best to disguise myself with a hoodie and jeans. I doubt the Brotherhood will come looking for us here, but I don’t want to take any risks. I’m surethey’re scouring the city by now and most likely keeping Tallie’s family under strict surveillance.
I let her down. That’s the worst part. I wanted to make things right—that’s why I told her the truth about Sam and the robbery—but in the end I only dragged her into this pit with me.
Maybe I’ve been spiraling into self-destruction for a while now, ever since I failed so miserably out in Vegas. Riley’s kept me alive, her and Alexan, but maybe they wasted their time. This whole idea, stealing from Arsen, using what we find to buy true freedom, it was always half baked from the start. Even if we get what we’re looking for—and he’s willing to deal—and he’s willing to pay?—
There are so many holes it’s a miracle I haven’t sunk through them sooner.
Now it’s bad enough I did this to myself. Riley will be very upset when she finds out what happened.
But it’s so much worse bringing Tallie into it.
I buy food for a few days. Avocados, pancake mix, chicken breasts, pasta, enough staples that I can cook her some decent meals. I force myself to focus on the task ahead of me, but I keep drifting back to the horrible facts of our situation.
Arsen knows we have the ledger. Which means he’s coming for us. Which means Tallie’s family really will be targets sooner or later, though I doubt he’ll drag them into it right away. Haik’s strong enough that he’d be a problem if Arsen decided to go scorched earth.
But how long do we have? Hours? Days? Not weeks. Not months.
The ratty apartment doesn’t deserve Tallie. She should be back at our house in a nice neighborhood with beautiful furniture and lots of light. Not this shitty little place in a nothing town.
I find my wife awake and curled up on the couch when I get home. She barely stirs as I make coffee and cook eggs. I give her a plate and a mug, and she rouses herself enough to look over.
