Page 114 of Mercy (The Sins Trilogy 3)
“When it comes to protecting what’s mine? Damn straight.”
“Well, I’m not telling. You’re going to suck up to your mommy again.”
I narrow my eyes. Is he saying whatever he’s looking for has something to do with Mother?
I take a step forward, clenching my hands into fists. Marty’s eyes widen. He always talks big, but his guts quotient is very low. I pull my arm back, then smash my fist into his face once, pulling the punch slightly. I need him lucid enough to talk, but in enough pain that he won’t think about resisting. I draw my arm back a second time.
“Stop! Don’t hit me again!”
“Give me one good reason, Marty.”
“There’s a recording!”
I lower my arm. “What recording?”
“I don’t know what’s on it.” He lowers his gaze. “Dad never let me hear it, but it’s what he used to get your mom to give us the respect we deserve. She thinks she’s better than us, but she’s not. She just got lucky. Born with a pretty face. Happened to meet your rich daddy.” He tilts his chin up and glares at me. “That’s it!”
I inhale deeply as a slimy fist of apprehension clutches my belly. I thought it was a possibility, but having it confirmed is worse. Because I can’t imagine what Mother did that was so terrible Sam could use it to blackmail her. I give Marty a hard look. “Is that all?”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, come on. I’m not stupid. There’s gotta be more.” He couldn’t even look at me when he told me about the recording.
He starts to lick his lip, then winces when his tongue brushes over the gash on his mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I glance at Byron. “Do you think he’ll know if I give him an incentive?”
“Better coming from me,” he says. “My knuckles are already bruised. Wouldn’t bother me to continue. I’ve been pretty stressed out recently.”
“Same here. Why don’t we just beat the shit out of him together? You take the left side, and I take the right?”
“Works for me.”
Byron and I move forward together.
“No,” Marty says. “I’m not some homeless dirtbag you can beat up on. I have rights.”
“Does it look like we care about your rights?” I turn to Byron. “Do we?”
“No, and I gotta fix that,” he replies. “Can’t have people thinking I’m soft.”
Marty swallows audibly.
Byron moves fast and strikes Marty first.
Marty cries, tears and snot covering his bloody face.
I sneer. For God's sake. No dignity whatsoever. No wonder Sam didn’t give the recording to Marty. He doesn’t have the stomach for anything except pretty things, expensive things.
“Okay, okay, I’ll tell you,” he says. “We…I mean Dad fed Ivy some meds. It made her think she was having panic attacks. He thought it’d be a useful way to control her, but I didn’t know he was doing that. I didn’t! I swear!”
Fury pierces me, leaving my gut raw. Ivy thought—all this time—she couldn’t pursue performance because of her panic attacks. If Sam were still alive, I’d break every bone in his body for putting that sadness in her eyes. For killing her dream.
“That’s despicable,” Byron says.
“We had no choice. It wasn’t anybody’s fault.”
Is anything their fault?I take another step forward. “Tell me the rest.”
