Chapter 13
brENDEN
Iroll the bottle opener between my fingers, deftly flipping it around and around as a glass of bourbon sits at my elbow, barely sipped. The bar’s nearly empty after the lunch rush but before the work crowd starts filling the booths.
“You good, man? You need anything else?”
I look up and picture ramming my hand down Justin’s throat, grabbing the root of his tongue, and ripping it straight through his broken jaw.
“No, thank you, I’m fine.”
“Let me know.” He walks off to polish some glasses. I make the opener reappear and continue fiddling with it.
I don’t know what I expected when I told Tallie to get his name.
I figured it would be possible but difficult, especially during a busy time like happy hour.
She’s a girl who’s used to getting whatever she asks for, and I wanted to see if she could problem solve in an unfamiliar situation under pressure.
I assumed it would happen sooner or later, but only after a few awkward attempts.
Instead, she exceeded my wildest predictions.
At first, it looked like she was going to fail. Poor Tallie seemed uncomfortable with the whole exercise, and I thought she might quit before seeing it through.
Then everything changed.
It was like a ghost took her over. I watched her go from meek and nervous to sitting up straight and exuding pure confidence. Tallie’s a beautiful woman and I swear she always seems to glow, but she was using that brightness to her own benefit.
I’ve seen transformations like that in very skilled actors—
And very skilled thieves.
A shadow falls at my elbow as a man sits beside me. I turn to look and flinch with surprise to find Alexan Sarkissian, my brother-in-law, flagging down Justin.
“Scotch on the rocks and a refill for my friend here—?” He looks at me questioningly.
I tilt my glass. “I’m all good.”
“Thanks then.” Justin walks off to fill the order. “I didn’t peg this as your kind of place.”
“It’s usually not.”
“So what are you doing here then? Drinking at noon?”
“Something like that.”
Alexan accepts his glass. He’s a big man, taller and broader than I am, but his size and frame hides an extremely sharp mind.
He’s one of the best computer specialists on the east coast and he’s incredibly analytical.
I’ve come to deeply respect him, not only because he saved my life.
He loves and treats my sister like she’s a goddess.
We share a companionable silence. I know he’s not here for a social visit, but it’s nice to have company for a while. I like Alexan, even if our stations in the family don’t allow us much time together. He’s part of the core family, and I’m a has-been thief hanging on to the fringes.
“Riley was talking about you yesterday. She’s worried you’re not acclimating to your new wife.” Alexan says this like he’s relating the local news.
“My sister would worry no matter what.”
“That’s probably true.”
“I’m fine though. I know what’s expected of me.”
Alexan peers into his glass. “And what is that, exactly?”
I’m surprised by the question. I thought it was obvious, but I take a moment to consider. “I’m a hook in the McGrath family. You’re the big one, but it can’t hurt to have two. I’m guessing your brother wants to make sure they can’t wriggle away.”
He nods thoughtfully. “That’s part of it for sure, but you sell yourself short. Didn’t you think maybe Arsen wanted you for your skills?”
I tip my glass to my lips. “Doesn’t seem likely.”
“And yet here we are.”
“The Brotherhood has dozens of thieves, con men, safe crackers, and killers on its payroll. What’s it need me for?”
“You’re good.”
“Allegedly.”
“You still are.” He reaches into his jacket and produces an envelope. “This is from my brother.”
I try to make sense of it but there’s no outward markings. “What is this?”
“It’s a job. Don’t ask me what it says, he didn’t tell and I didn’t bother looking.”
I take the envelope and turn it in my hands. The opener I was playing with disappears back into my pocket. Alexan goes silent, like he tends to, and I struggle to parse out what this means for me.
Arsen’s giving me a job. Which suggests he really does think I’m a worthwhile tool and investment. But why me for this? Why not anyone else? Is it some kind of loyalty test?
Or something worse?
“I’m guessing I don’t get to refuse.”
“You do not.”
“And I’m not getting paid.”
“My cousin isn’t payment enough?” He grins at the look on my face. “I’m kidding. Relax. I like Tallie a lot. She’s a good person.”
“You married her to a piece of shit like me though.”
“Again, you sell yourself short.” Alexan pushes himself off his stool. His glass is still mostly full. “Whatever Arsen wants, make it happen. Prove that we’re right about you.”
“If I don’t?”
“You’re family either way.”
“That’s not totally reassuring.”
He rubs a finger against his forehead and turns to the door. “By the way, when you read that, you’re going to think you have to refuse, but do it anyway.”
“I thought you just said you don’t know what it says?”
“I did? Huh.” He walks off without elaborating.
God, that man is infuriating sometimes.
I look at the envelope until my drink is empty. Justin gives me a refill. I have another murder fantasy, and that gives me enough strength to unfold the pages inside.
It’s a simple dossier. Not much information, nothing personal about a target, but dread fills my stomach anyway. Mostly it contains instructions, a layout, and some vague intelligence on safe models I might encounter.
But I recognize the blueprints. It’d be hard not to, since I’ve studied them recently.
It’s the god damn house Tallie grew up in.
Which means my target is her father.
I shove the papers back into the envelope, my hands shaking.
What the fuck is going on right now? Arsen wants me to steal from my own father-in-law?
There’s not much on what I’m taking, but I can make some good educated guesses.
He’s looking for material, likely bad material, the sort of information that might start or swiftly end a civil war.
Alexan was right: I want to refuse this straight up.
But what choice do I have?
And how is this going to put Tallie into danger?
The house smells like cooking. God, she keeps surprising me. Tallie comes off like a classic crime lord’s princess daughter, the youngest darling girl, spoiled rotten. But I keep finding new layers to her I never expected.
Like the cooking.
“There’s no way you didn’t have a private chef growing up.” I watch her moving around the kitchen with practiced efficiency.
She barely registers my presence. “We had several.”
“How did you learn to cook then?”
“There was this really young cute guy named Rodrigo—“
“That’s not funny,” I say through my teeth.
She looks back, eyebrows raised high. “Who said I was kidding? Anyway, when I was little I’d hang around when Rodrigo was cooking and I’d bug the crap out of him.
I think he started showing me what to do and letting me help mostly to keep me from awkwardly staring and making eyes at him.
Annie said I was like a dog in heat. But it was more like puppy love. ”
“What’s Rodrigo’s last name? And last known address?”
“Settle down. I was twelve. Here, try this.” She gives me a small bowl. It’s marinara, cheese, sausages, and what looks like lasagna noodles, but instead of in layers it’s like a broken-down version.
I take a bite and struggle not to groan. “That’s incredible.”
“I think it needs more salt.” She wrinkles her nose happily and stirs some in. “Hungry?”
“I wasn’t, but now I’m starving.”
“Sit down. I’ll get you a bowl.”
When her back’s turned, I shove the envelope with the blueprints of her family’s house deeper into my pocket.
She joins me at the table. I eat in silence, hunched over my food like a prisoner in the mess protecting his meal.
She seems like she wants to chat, but eventually gives up after I’ve exhausted her with one-word answers.
I know I’m being a prick, and it’s especially not nice since she went to all this trouble to make dinner, but I can’t bring myself to look her in the eye.
I’ve lied all my life. I’ve lied to my parents, my sister, friends, lovers, partners.
I’ve lied to politicians, judges, cops, psychologists, and doctors.
I’m generally good at it, and it has never bothered me before, not a single time.
Lies are part of what I do, they’re another layer to the game.
They’re shielding on a tank. They’re the walls of a tower.
But right now, lying feels like poison in my throat.
I don’t want to introduce that to our marriage. As soon as I start, we’ll spiral down a path I’m not comfortable with. I know this thing we have is temporary, but there’s still a strange part of me that wants to take it seriously.
And that part of me came out the other day when I punished her in the alley.
Jealousy. Fucking jealousy. I’ve never been possessive in my life, not a single time.
Women come and go, they stick around or they don’t, it never mattered until now.
When Tallie transformed into that other, confident woman, and leaned forward to chat up the bartender, I felt like my blood was going to evaporate straight through my skin.
“You’re quiet,” she observes, looking at me over her wineglass as she takes a long sip. “Anything going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Think I can get a full sentence from you?”
“Probably not.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere. Seriously, what’s the matter? You were grumpy this morning, but right now you’re impossible.”
I stand and carry my plate to the kitchen. “Thanks for dinner.”
“Brenden, wait.” She follows as I try to escape to the bedroom. “If it’s about the bartender, you know I was only trying to win the stupid game, right?”
“It’s not about that.” I move upstairs, feeling trapped.
“But you didn’t like it. And I noticed the bottle opener is missing. Did you steal it back?”
I slip the opener from my pocket and toss it to her. She fumbles but manages to hold on. I use the distraction to put distance from us and duck into the bedroom.
But Tallie’s persistent. She stomps in after me. “Would you stop running away and talk to me?”
“You don’t want to know, alright?”
“Something happened then.” She moves in front of me as I try to slip into the bathroom. “Talk to me, Brenden. We’re supposed to be partners, right?”
Not in this. Not even fucking close.
But I can’t keep lying to her. I won’t be able to look her in the face, not until the job’s done, which means I need to pull it off quickly. I don’t want to live like this.
God, I hate this so much.
“Alexan brought me a job,” I say after a long, painful silence.
“What kind?”
“A bad one. A job I don’t want to do.”
“Then don’t do it? I mean, you don’t really work for them, do you? I can talk to him—“
I grab her arm. Not hard, but firm. “Don’t do that.”
“Brenden, you’re freaking me out.”
“Listen to me. You don’t want to know what I’m supposed to do, okay? You have to stop asking me about it.”
“Does it have to do with your other thing? The thing we’re allegedly working on together?”
“No, not at all. This is straight from the Sarkissians, and you know what your cousins are like. I can’t turn them down.”
She’s pale and shaking her head. “That’s not right. You aren’t their slave.”
“I know, baby, but Alexan saved my life. Arsen’s giving me another chance by letting me marry you. I can’t say no.”
“This thing you’re doing, it’s going to let us escape, won’t it? So can’t you try to ignore this job for a while and see if it goes away?”
“I wish it were that simple.” I release her.
On a whim, without thinking, I touch her cheek.
I wish I could keep my hands off her, but fuck, when she’s this close and I can smell her, it’s like I’ve lost control of myself.
“I’m going to pull it off tomorrow night.
When it’s done, it’s done, and we don’t have to talk about it again. ”
“But what are you doing?”
“Please don't ask me that. I’m begging you. I can’t say and I don’t want to lie.”
She chews a fingernail. “This is messed up. We’re trying to be partners here. We’re trying to… I don’t know… do whatever this thing is, but now you clearly don’t trust me.”
I drag myself away. I put space between us, because if I don’t, I’m going to spill everything. When she’s around it’s like I have no power over myself, and that’s fucking dangerous. I inch back toward the bedroom door.
“I’m staying at my apartment until it’s done.”
“Brenden! Are you kidding me? You’re abandoning me again?”
“It’s for a couple nights. When I’m back, we’ll concentrate on getting you free. That’s all you really want, right?”
Her hands ball into fists. She looks like she wants to curse me out, which is interesting, but I don’t want to interrogate her reaction too much.
I only want to get the hell out of here.
“Go ahead, run away. I might as well get used to it!”
Her words echo after me and sting like a wound as I escape into the night, hating myself and this fucked position I’m in.