Page 87 of Broken Mercy
“I want you to promise me something. No matter what happens, you’ll keep going.”
“Brenden—“
“No, I’m serious about this. Everything I’ve done to this point has been about saving my own ass.”
“But you want to make sure my pretty ass remains intact?”
“Exactly.” I reach down and squeeze her tightly. “Promise me. No matter what.”
“I promise.” She touches my cheek. “But we’re doing this together. Nobody’s nobly sacrificing for anybody else, right?”
I kiss her so I don’t have to say:not unless I have to.
CHAPTER 25
TALIN AND BRENDEN
Tallie
Sweat dribblesdown my back as I hurry up the sidewalk. It takes a lot of effort not to look around, but I don’t even know what I’d be trying to find. Some shady car? Men in trench coats smoking cigars? Eyes leering out from nearby curtains?
I have to trust Brenden. He’s been obsessively watching this house and he’s positive this is our window, only I wish I knew what I should be careful about.The less you know, the better you can play the role.
Easy for him to say, the freaking dickbrain.
I pause on the walkway leading toward the Davis house. My story echoes through my head for the fiftieth time. The problem isn’t that I know what I’m supposed to say—it’s more that I have no clue whether it’ll work or not.
Trust him. That’s what he keeps asking. Trust him and work with him, and maybe we can do this together. Through this wholenightmare I keep thinking Brenden’s finally going to pull away entirely, suck himself into some black hole and never release himself again, but instead he’s opened up. Not at first, and not smoothly, but I finally feel like we’re equals in a partnership.
Like we really are husband and wife.
The thought gives me enough courage to knock on the door.
I stand for what feels like an age until a young woman answers. She smiles at me but it’s the look of an employee doing their best to come off like they care about what’s happening. “Hello, can I help you?”
“Hi, my name’s Talin Sarkissian, I was hoping Mr. and Mrs. Davis are around? I know I’m dropping in unannounced, but it’s important.”
The young woman’s smile falters. “They’re home, but?—“
“It’s about their grandson, Peter.”
That instantly gets her attention. She grimaces like I punched her in the face and turns away. “You’d better come in then.”
Relief floods me as I follow her into a sitting room beside the main entrance. I’m left on a large couch surrounded by ancient doilies and an oil painting of Mr. Davis, thirty years younger, holding an elephant gun over his shoulder and dressed like he’s going on a safari. Nightmarish, honestly, the way his creepy oil eyes stare at me. My heart’s an ugly mess and sweat beads along my underarms but I do some breathing exercises Brenden taught me to try to settle myself down. They don’t work.
Mrs. Davis appears moments later, looking very much like a walking, wrinkled old poodle. She’s in white, her poofy hair teased to an obscene height, her smile plastered in place by thefinest surgeons in the region. “Tallie Sarkissian! Darling! What a lucky day!” Mrs. Davis frets over, hugging me, and it feels like I’m touching a literal bag of bones. “When Patricia told me it was you waiting down here, I almost didn’t believe her.”
“I’m sorry to drop in like this, Mrs. Davis.”
“Please! Nonsense! And call me Darla.” I almost gag.Darla Davis. “Sit down, sit down, can I have Patricia fetch some tea? No, don’t turn it down, the cookies are lovely and I have a very special blend. Patricia! PATRICIA.”
The young woman reappears, looking serene again. “Yes, miss?”
“The good tea and those cookies I like, please, darling.” Mrs. Davis’s smile suggests Patricia better hurry her ass up or else there will be nasty consequences. She turns back to me the moment Patricia is gone. Her hands fold in her lap and she sits very straight. “Now, darling, tell me how your mother’s doing?”
I clear my throat and stumble through the usual small talk. Araxie is fine, Mama is always wonderful, Papa takes such good care of her. And my siblings? They’re all perfect, especially Annie, oh yes Annie’s doing well, wasn’t her singing incredible? You should hear her at home, especially in the shower, the acoustics are divine, ha ha ha! Yes, yes, Sam’s good, Davit’s well, no I haven’t heard much from Hovik, and yes Miriam’s out in Boston, married to a doctor, imagine that!
Luckily, we’re interrupted when Patricia arrives with a tea set, cups, and a bowl of crumbly pale-yellow Italian cookies with big globs of crystalline sugar on the top. Patricia pours carefully and retreats once our cups are full.
