Chapter 25 #2
A crying pregnant girl might be a relief, if what she’s saying is true…
And definitely something I can use against them.
“Oh God!” I redouble my sobbing, shoulders shaking. Annie would be proud. I’m crying too—it’s a gift. “He was a beast! I didn’t want to say, I’m so embarrassed, but I have pictures of the bruises he left on my throat!”
Mrs. Davis lets out a bored sigh. “There, there, now, you’ll be alright… photos you say? How many? And are they only on your phone?”
This woman is truly a monster.
“It was horrible! It was so horrible!” I sob and sob and Mrs. Davis makes soft cooing noises like I’m a broken baby bird until the door opens and Mr. Davis makes his appearance. He’s wearing that disturbing reptile smirk as he sits on my other side.
“Now, what’s happening, darling? Is that Tallie Sarkissian? My dear, it’s wonderful to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances.”
“It’s Peter again,” Mrs. Davis hisses. “She says she’s pregnant. He got rough with her. And there are pictures this time.”
“Oh dear, that’s definitely not good.”
I swear, I don’t think there are worse people on the face of this earth. Not only are they rich arms dealers, but they’re both clearly psychopaths.
I sniffle and rub my eyes, giving Mr. Davis my most pathetic smile. “I’m sorry to bother you, I just didn’t know what else to do. I was terrified that if I went to Peter, he’d… you know, he’d—“ I start moaning like I’m going to cry again.
“No, no, you did the right thing.” Mr. Davis leaps to his feet and grabs tissues. He all but throws them at me. “Coming to us was the right idea, Tallie. I know your father would be proud of you right now.”
Talking about my father is a new low, but I nod like I agree. “Papa always had a soft spot for you two. He always says you’re good, reasonable people.”
“Yes, darling, we’re very reasonable,” Mrs. Davis agrees quickly. “We want to help you, darling. I know you’re in such a bad position—“
“Terrible position,” Mr. Davis adds.
“And we’re sympathetic. Very, very sympathetic.” Mrs. Davis rubs my back some more and I want to puke in my own mouth. “What can we do, darling? How can we fix this?”
“Because we want to fix it.” Mr. Davis sits on the couch opposite this time. I get the feeling he’s allergic to crying girls. Probably seen more than a few of them in his life though. “Peter can be a rowdy boy—“
“Rambunctious but well-meaning,” Mrs. Davis clarifies.
“So we’re very familiar with situations like these.” Mr. Davis’s expression hardens as he leans forward. “Are you very sure your family doesn’t know?”
“I haven’t told anyone else.” I dab my eyes with the tissue.
“Not Papa or my older brothers. Not yet, anyway.” I wonder if they hear the potential threat in that statement.
I might not be the most important member of the Sarkissian family, but I’m still one of theirs, and they wouldn’t be happy to learn their little baby girl got fucked and beat up by some idiot Davis grandson.
The pair of old bastards exchange a very pointed look.
Mrs. Davis speaks first. “That’s good… which means a solution seems very obvious…” She leans in closer. “We know a very good, very discreet doctor who can take care of this problem for you. We can make it disappear entirely. You’ll barely know it even happened when it’s all over.”
“Really?” I let a little hope in my voice. At least, I try to, while masking the revulsion.
“But the photographs.” Mr. Davis stands. “I’ll need your phone now, dear.” He holds out his hand. “Be a lamb, unlock it, and hand it over.”
Brenden
The safe in Mr. Davis’s office is hidden behind a false painting.
Seriously, it’s like something straight out of a TV show.
I’ve never seen it before, but luckily they cheaped out on the safe itself, whereas the fake-painting-construction is extremely well done.
Otherwise, I’d be spending all evening trying to drill the fucker, instead of using a shim to pop the front facing open.
No time to marvel at the workmanship. I get to struggling with the safe, reminded of the night I cracked into the Sarkissian house. What a shitstorm that was. I got what I needed, but finding Sam’s material has only made my life that much harder.
Any other time, under any other circumstances, and there’s no way in hell I’d withhold a score from Arsen. What is Sam to me, really, except for a fake brother-in-law? But it’s not him I care about, not really, even though I do like the kid.
It’s Tallie I’m doing this for.
The woman I wanted to escape from, and now?
I’m pinned by her. She’s a spotlight and I’m a creep. She’s all the light in the world keeping me together, because if the darkness comes back, I’m going to drift apart.
What the hell am I going to do?
I manage to get the safe rebooted and I’m about to input the default code when there’s a noise in the hall.
I freeze, listening carefully. Someone’s definitely coming.
Cursing, I throw myself behind a settee sitting in the corner, wedging my body down where it really doesn’t fit, and lay as still as I can with a wooden leg jammed against my face.
I see comfortable shoes and there’s a voice.
The same woman from outside.
“Doing it all over again, the sick bastards… and here I am, following their orders. Get our blackmail materials, Patricia. Find the gun and shoot the girl in the head. One of these days… What the fuck?”
A nervous jolt pulses through me and I realize—
The painting is still hanging open.
And the front panel of the safe is lying on the floor.
Oh, fucking shit.
With a grunt of effort, I throw myself up over the back of the settee.
The woman is gaping at it like she can’t believe her eyes.
She hardly reacts, turning in slow motion in my direction, a thick envelope clutched between her hands.
She shrieks, arms flailing wildly, and cash flies all over the place, fluttering through the air as I ram into her, knocking her backwards.
No time for finesse—she bashes into the bookshelf.
But the girl’s tough. She lashes out, trying to punch me, and I have to grab her by the face and slam her skull back a second time. There’s an ugly crunch and she goes limp, blood slicking the wood behind her as she sinks down to the floor with an audible thump.
Fuck. I stand above her, breathing hard. There’s a chance she’s still alive, but a small one. God damn it, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I check her gingerly and she’s still breathing.
For now.
Tallie
“Where is that girl?” Mr. Davis mutters to himself as I pull my knees to my chest. Mrs. Davis continues to rub my back. I wish she’d stop.
“When Patricia comes back, we’ll take care of you,” Mrs. Davis tells me for the tenth time.
“I’m sorry about this. I’m just so sorry.” I keep repeating it over and over. “But I need ten thousand if I’m going to hand over my phone.”
“We know how this goes.” Mr. Davis doesn’t seem so sympathetic anymore. I wonder why?
Probably because I stared at him coldly and demanded cash before I was willing to hand over my phone.
The sick part is, neither of them even hesitated, because ten thousand is probably nothing in the grand scheme of things.
Peter’s rambunctious behavior will likely cost them a lot more in the future.
Lawyers would bleed them dry, that’s for sure.
There’s a loud thump. It comes from above us like something big hit the ground. Mr. Davis looks to the door sharply and Mrs. Davis starts to get to her feet.
“There’s more!” I shout, shoving my face in my hands. “Oh god! He said these awful things… about my family… about your business…”
Mrs. Davis grunts in response. “Dicky, darling, maybe you should go see what’s keeping Patricia?”
“Yes, darling, I will.” He starts across the room.
“Wait, please!” I flail and accidentally kick over the teapot. It tumbles, getting more tea all over their pretty white rug.
Mrs. Davis hisses. “You idiot girl! Oh look at what you did. Patricia! Where the fuck is that moron?!”
“I’ll get her.” Mr. Davis storms to the door.
Panic hits me. I have to keep them both in this room.
I don’t know what happened upstairs, but I’m guessing that sound has something to do with Brenden.
If Mr. Davis catches him this whole operation was for nothing and Sam will get in trouble and Arsen will know what we did and nothing will keep any of us safe—
“I think I feel the baby kicking!” I cry, gripping my stomach. I stagger toward Mr. Davis. “Oh god, please!”