Chapter 8
brENDEN
Istomp through what I have to think is water, otherwise I’ll be forced to throw these very nice shoes into a fucking dumpster, and pause near the middle of the alley.
It stinks in here, the trash overflowing, the big metal lid left propped open by a pallet.
Powerlines cross the space above and the narrow street ends in a chainlink fence.
“Brenden? That you?” A skinny man steps out from a doorway, a cigarette pinched in his fingers. He takes a drag, squinting, and blows out smoke. “Holy shit, what’s with the clothes?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I adjust my jacket and tug at the cuffs of my shirt.
“You’re in a tuxedo.”
“I always wear this.”
Alan Way rubs his forehead and takes another drag. “God, I swear, talking to you is like screaming into a dry well.”
“I’m assuming that’s a good thing.”
Alan does not seem to mean it that way.
He comes closer, twitching like a squirrel.
His shirt’s too big and his pants sag. His hair’s nearly gone, but he keeps a few strands awkwardly pushed across his otherwise bald head.
His bright blue eyes are sharp though and I know he’s noticing every little detail right now, analyzing and putting it aside for later.
Despite his appearance, Alan’s one of my more reliable contacts.
“I got that package for you. Wasn’t particularly hard this time.” He pulls a plastic bag from his pocket. “How we squaring up?”
“Cash.” I take a roll from my jacket. “The usual price?”
“Yes please.” He tosses the bag over. I catch it and throw him the money. He snatches it, gives the roll a sniff, and makes the bunch disappear. “You know, of everyone I work for, you never ask how I do it.”
“Does it matter?” I lift Sam’s iPhone and hold it up. It unlocks with a pleasant click as it accepts my face.
“Lots of people think it does.”
“I’m not a tech guy.”
“Nah, you’re still old school.” Alan’s teeth are nice, white, and straight. Me and Alan, we’ve got a lot in common, more than I usually like to admit. For example: we use our appearance as a way to hide in plain sight.
At a glance, Alan comes off as a sketchy scumbag.
But he’s one of the smartest people I’ve ever met and one of the few who specializes in cracking into Apple devices.
“Thanks for this. And for your usual discretion.”
“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 wipe mud 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 to prove 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.
When I really mean absolutely not.
“Good.” Arsen doesn’t smile. He shows no hint that he’s actually pleased. “This was an enlightening conversation. I want you to know that I’ll be seeing you again. I’ll have jobs for you. I’m sure you’ll be able to handle them.”
“That won’t be a problem.”
Except it will. It’ll be a huge fucking problem. Enormous on scales I can’t comprehend. But I keep myself composed the best I can.
“Good luck today.” Arsen walks past me and pauses at the door. “Just so you know, I like Tallie. She’s a sweet girl. I don’t have to explain what would happen if she were unhappy, correct?”
“I’ll take care of her.”
Arsen leaves the room and it’s like the air comes rushing back.
I lift my paper cup to my lips and drink, staring grimly at my reflection in the mirror.
This fucking tuxedo, my hair combed back, my eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
What’s going to happen to that man? How am I going to let a girl like Tallie into my life without hurting her?
That’s an easy answer: I won’t.
But I’m a liar. Always have been. And my first mark has always been myself.
I can say Tallie means nothing, that she’s only an obstacle in the way of my true goal, that when I’m free she won’t matter anymore. None of this will hurt her, not seriously anyway. She doesn’t want me, not any more than I want her.
So why was I at her house last week? Why did I sneak into her room? Why did I give her that damn ring?
Why did I kiss her?
To keep her from asking questions.
That’s becoming my move.
Or it’s turned into a decent excuse.
Tallie’s pretty face rolls through my mind as I nearly crush my cup. I’m busy obsessing about my future wife when the door opens again, and this time, my father’s standing on the threshold, not coming any closer, like an invisible barrier’s keeping him out.
I watch him mutely for a long moment, not sure what to say.
I haven’t seen my father in months. He made it clear that I’m not wanted anymore, that I’m only a liability, that my failures have done nothing but embarrass his precious McGrath clan.
My father’s a hard man, a lot like Arsen, and it was painful growing up under his roof.
But I’ve grown, and his roof isn’t mine anymore.
“What are you doing here?” The words wrench themselves out, mostly because I know Dad will stand there and stare at me until I speak first. It’s some fucking weird power thing he does.
“My son’s getting married. I came to make sure you were really going to show up.”
“Why does everyone think I’m going to run?”
“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it?” Dad’s fingers grip onto the edge of the frame as he leans closer, but his feet don’t move. “I want to be clear about something. I didn’t request this marriage.”
“I never thought you did.”
“I actively fought against it, but Arsen was insistent.”
“That’s real nice. Thanks for the help.”
“Don’t be a fool, boy,” Dad snaps sharply, and for one brief moment, I’m a kid again and he’s a giant with a belt in his hand.
Old scars, long faded, pulse with bloody pain and naked fear.
“Whatever you think this is, you’re wrong.
The Sarkissians don’t do charity. Not even with some second-tier worthless girl cousin.
No, they’re going to use you up and spit you out, and I won’t stand in their way.
That’s what I’m here to tell you. As far as I’m concerned, all we share is a name. ”
“And if I had my way, we wouldn’t share even that.”
“Don’t embarrass me today, boy. You’ll regret it, I swear—“
“You don’t get to come in here after months of silence and threaten me.
” The anger spills out before I can bottle it again.
The heat’s always inside me lurking beside my bones, and I’ve gotten very good at keeping it leashed and silent, but this is too much.
The fury burns, a forest fire of memory turning my veins to ash.
Hate courses down into my heart, and there’s a reason I’m broken, there’s a reason all I know is thieving and lying and sneaking around.
I am what I’ve been made, and this is the hammer that smashed me to the anvil, this bastard of an old man standing here like he gets to tell me a damn thing anymore.
“You’re still a McGrath despite everything.” His lips curl with distaste. “What you do reflects on me. Remember that. Whatever the Sarkissians want, you’ll give them.”
“Go to hell, old man. I’m not yours to use anymore.”
“Tell yourself that all you want.” Dad’s mouth opens for more, but Riley appears at his shoulder.
“Everything okay?” she asks, putting her hand on his arm. Dad looks back at my sister and grunts something in reply. He steers himself away, shuffling past her.
“He’s yours now,” Dad grumbles, throwing one last glance before descending the stairs, back down to the main section of the church.
I slam my drink, crush the cup, and throw it at the wall. Riley comes in and shuts the door behind her. “What’d he want?”
“The usual. Threats and power trips.” I take a slug straight from the bottle and thrust it at Riley. “Take this before I fuck up and drink too much.”
She eases it from my hands and tucks it under her arm. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Dad’s an asshole. I don’t know what he said, but he doesn’t matter anymore, right?”
“Right.” I look at the ceiling, seething. The rage won’t release me from its grip. Once it’s out, it’s a stampeding thing, a wild and consuming gullet, eating and swallowing and killing until it works itself to sleep again.
“Tallie’s down there. They’re about to get started.” Riley touches my elbow. “She’s waiting for you.”
Fuck. I want to strangle my father. I want to hear the wet thud the bottle would make if I smashed it to his forehead.
But Riley’s right, Tallie’s waiting. She’s in a dress and she probably spent all morning getting ready.
I can’t let her down.
Even if half the people in this god forsaken place think I’m going to.
“How’s she look?” I manage to say the words without sounding like a lunatic.
Riley pats my shoulder happily. “You’re a lucky guy, that’s all I’m saying.”
“Then show me to my bride and let’s get this done.”