Sparrow

  I wasn’t Catalina, Maria or Red. I was an asshole, just like him, and he didn’t need to impress me. I already knew who he was. He was like the first scene in David Lynch’s Blue Velvet, the insect underneath the well-kept lawn. That was Brock. A cheesy, Hollywood smile disguised the outside, while he was rotting beyond repair inside.

  “She came back pissed off. From Miami, that is,” he said, his eyes on the floor. “Tell me you’re not abusing her in any way, because I told her I would keep her safe.”

  He told her what? What business did he have butting into my shit?

  “And if I am?” I taunted, leaning against the countertop of the galley kitchen. “What if I made it my mission in life to make her miserable? Don’t pretend like you have any power over this, Brock.”

  “Oh, but I do.” He lifted his head, blowing a plume of white smoke directly in my face. “Don’t forget I have the key to your can of worms. I know exactly why you married her. What you did to her mother. In fact, I know enough about you to want someone as innocent as her to stay the hell away from you, but since what’s done is done, let me explain myself slowly.” He blew another cloud, grinning behind it. “Harm this girl and I’m giving away every single secret you have to the highest bidder. And you and I both know the competition would be tight. Got it?”

  Was he fucking threatening me? Did he forget who I was, what I could do to him? Did he forget he was on my payroll, that I paid for his wife’s fancy shit, for his son’s school and for all those goddamn, David-Beckham-wannabe preppy clothes?

  Not thinking clearly, and perhaps not thinking at all, I charged at him, slamming my fist straight into his face. He didn’t see it coming. The sound of my fist against his bone filled the air. Brock dropped his cigarette on the floor and stood up, swaying. He balled his fist and tried to throw a jab my way. I dodged it, and he fell on the floor, still dizzy from my punch. His nose bled all over the floor as he lay there, grunting. He rolled into a fetal position when I stood over him, took my handkerchief out and wiped his blood off my hands. Squatting down to my colleague so he could hear me clearly, I tipped his face up with my finger, looking him in the eye.

  “I wouldn’t threaten someone like me when it comes to my secrets. Remember, the reason my secrets are so extreme is because I do extreme things. You don’t want to mess with someone who does what I do. If you think you have some kind of leverage on me…” I snorted a laugh, my hand snaking to the front of his neck, wrapping it around his throat firmly. “Well, it’s a mistake that could cost you a lot. More than you’re willing to pay.”

  “Fuck you.” Brock spat blood toward my face, missing it by mere inches. His eyes were watering and his pretty face completely fucked.

  I let go of his neck and offered him a casual smile, lifting the burning cigarette he dropped on the floor and tucking it back between his lips. I patted his shoulder like we were old friends. “Good talk, buddy. Now, turn off your fucking car lights. You’re gonna be here awhile.”

  Slamming the bedroom door behind me, I sighed into my chest. We were going to spend some time in this shithole trying to help Flynn, but that didn’t mean I had to tolerate the idiot. A sudden urge to smash someone’s head into a wall washed over me, and I took the list from my pocket, observing it again.

  1 – Billy Crupti

  2 – Father McGregor

  3 – The asshole who hired Billy?

  The shit storm Paddy stirred in my life recently had made me dig up my original goal. It was easy to get lost in life when your quest was to avenge death, but make no mistake. Getting my hands on the person who had my father killed was still my first priority, still what made me tick.

  Balling the yellow paper in my fist, I tucked it back into my pocket. I was close. Knew I was close. Felt it in my bones.

  And I was going to show no mercy.

  SPARROW

  YOU DIDN’T CHEAT.

  My feet thumped against the concrete and I drew in the chilly air of the dawn, Nonpoint’s “Alive and Kicking” roaring through my earbuds. I rounded a corner toward Marlborough Street, my muscles straining as I sped.

  If anything, your fake husband is the one who takes his dick out on tour every time he leaves the house. You didn’t ask for that kiss from Brock. Didn’t initiate. Sure as hell didn’t think it’d ever happen. Brock’s cheating is none of your goddamn business.

  My feet were burning and I felt my pulse in my neck, fast and furious. I crossed the road, heading back to the penthouse.

  You don’t have to tell Troy. It’ll only bring more trouble, and it’s not like you’re suffering from a domestic bliss overdose.

  I stopped in front of the revolving door leading to our building complex as I tried to regulate my breathing. I was not going to tell Troy about what happened with Brock, even though it made me feel really crappy about myself.

  Troy was in the penthouse when I opened the door, must’ve arrived after I went out for my pre-dawn run. Still in his clothes from the day before, he lay on the sofa, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

  I didn’t acknowledge him. I took a shower and made my bed in the guest bedroom, and when I came back to the kitchen to fix myself some coffee, he was still there, in the same position. He looked exhausted, but any sympathy my heart could muster toward this man had vanished after the Paddy Rowan incident. I leaned my hip against the kitchen counter as I waited for the water to boil.

  “Hello to you, too,” he grunted into his drink.

  I didn’t answer. Christ. It was eight a.m. Too early to be drinking.

  “You know…” He looked into the glass, swirling the amber liquid. “For someone who’s been upgraded to living in a penthouse and got the job of her dreams, you seem a little ungrateful.”

  I threw my head back and gave a bitter laugh, my hands on the counter behind me for support. “Oh, you’re good, Troy. I see the mistress you spent the night with managed to put all kinds of crazy ideas in your head. See, in order for me to be grateful, I needed to want this in the first place. No one asked me before you kidnapped me. We both know I’m not here out of choice. So why don’t you tell me why you’re keeping me here? I’m sure it’s good.” I turned around, pouring myself some coffee and clucking my tongue. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s real good.”

  He got up from the L-shaped sofa. I heard him padding barefoot over the gold granite tiles even before he appeared by my side. He poured a cup of coffee, a smirk tugging at his lips. I knew he got high on this exchange, too. Our fighting recharged him. He already looked a little better, like he’d caught a quick nap.

  “You seem to give all kinds of fuck about who I’m screwing nowadays. Are you jealous, Red? Because I already told you, you can always use me for your personal needs. The offer still stands.” He deliberately brushed his arm against mine.

  “Don’t worry, I’m used to the idea of you cheating. I couldn’t care less who you were with last night.” I took my cup of coffee, intending to march to the guest room. His rough hand landed on my arm, stopping me.

  His touch was gentle, almost like he was extra careful not to hurt me, but it was also firm. “I never cheated on you, because we were never really together. You know that and I know that. If we ever were together, I wouldn’t even look at another woman.”

  “But we’re not,” I hissed into his face, just like he loved doing to me. “So I’m sure you had fun.”

  “I wasn’t with anyone else last night. It was work.”

  I looked down at the hand that touched me. His knuckles were red, traces of dried blood in the creases. It seemed I wasn’t the only one giving him a hard time this week. I scanned his body through my lashes. Yes, he wasn’t with anyone else last night, and as much as I hated to admit it, that made me feel slightly better.

  “I hope whoever you bloodied your knuckles on managed a few decent punches, too.”

  An unsettling grin spread on his face. “Who, Brock? In order to hurt me, he’d need to be a man first. And since I can’t trust him to be one, I??
?ll have to warn you myself. Stay away from him.”

  I felt like the blood was draining from my face. My mouth dried. How did he find out about the kiss? Did Brock tell him? No, Brock had no reason to. And even though I had no illusions about my husband’s feelings toward me, I was pretty sure Troy wouldn’t stop at punching if he knew Brock kissed me.

  No, Troy was still in the dark.

  He scanned my face, his hand still resting on my arm. I jerked free and hitched up one shoulder, shrugging off his order. Who was being jealous now? It felt good knowing that he cared. If he cared.

  I hated him, yes, but my panties were on fire every time he was in the room. Troy stimulated something wild and aching in me in a way Brock was unable to. It didn’t matter that Brock was kinder, easier on the eyes and overall, a better candidate as a lover. No, it was Troy who made lust and fear buzz under my skin. My blood ran hot and wild for him, and only for him. Even, and especially, because I had so many mixed feelings toward him.

  Worst of all, Troy knew it. How much I wanted him, how I was his.

  “Or what?” I stuck out my lower lip. “I work with Brock.”

  “Or…” He took a step closer, grazing his bloody knuckles against my cheek and down my neck, raising a trail of desire and excitement on my skin. “I’ll have to make sure you and he spend less time together.”

  “You’re going to fire me?” I swallowed the lump of anger down my throat but stood my ground, still staring straight into his frosty arctic blues.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you, wifey.” His lips floated over mine, his blues never leaving my greens. He leaned back, taking a sip from his coffee, his free hand still traveling over my body, down my ribcage.

  I didn’t pull away, despite wanting to. Despite needing to.

  “No. I’ll fire Brock,” Troy said. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be able to find a job that pays enough to support cute little Sammy in no time. I mean, it’s not like Catalina works, but damn, she could use getting out of the house and doing something productive with her time.”

  Jesus, he played dirty. My dad had been on the Brennan payroll for years. If it weren’t for his family, we wouldn’t have had a roof over our heads. Food on our table. Presents under our Christmas tree. I couldn’t have Brock fired. He was Sam’s dad, and Sam deserved, at the very least, everything I was given as a kid.

  “You’re an asshole.” My voice was hoarse. I was staring at his lips. Why the hell was I staring at his lips? Why was I still attracted to him? What kind of fuckery was that?

  “I’m an asshole, and you can’t stay away from me.” He was so close his warm breath blew against my temple. “I’m the asshole who is on your mind twenty-four-fucking-seven. And I’m telling you now, if Brock has it in his head that he can take you too, he has another thing coming. You’re mine, got it?”

  My defiance collapsed into a frown. What did he mean by you, too? Who else did Brock take away from him? Then it hit me, stealing the air out of my lungs and making my stomach tighten with revulsion. I backpedaled, my face crumpling in disgust. My ass hit the wall behind me and I felt my chin quivering. My anger was uncontainable. It filled my chest and stomach, washing every inch of my body with hot, red rage.

  Yes, I was jealous. I was screwed up and weird and jealous of the woman who dated my fake-husband. The guy who freaking kidnapped me.

  “You dated Catalina?” I felt the pinch of tears behind my nose.

  He laughed, a laugh that made his chest heave and his whole body shake with amusement.

  Nausea washed through me and I felt lightheaded. Damn Catalina. Who broke up with who? Why did they break up? When did Brock get into the picture?

  “Can you please answer one miserable question for once in your life?” I breathed. “It’s not even about our marriage or your job.”

  “Stay away from Brock,” he said again, suddenly serious. He slammed his coffee cup onto the island and started up the stairs leading to the master bedroom.

  The faint scent of his expensive aftershave wafted through the air, dissolving my knees into jelly. But I stood rooted in my place, “What makes you think that I will?” I shouted behind him.

  He continued climbing upward. “Because you’d only mess around with him to piss me off, and if you think I’m not nice now…” He turned his head to flash me one of his wolfish grins. “Then you should see my pissed-off version. That’s some scary shit.”

  “Stop seeing your skanky mistress, and I’ll keep my distance from Brock,” I challenged. “Continue screwing around, and you bet your ass I’ll do the same.”

  That made him stop mid-step. He spun around, his lower lip jutting out, impressed. “This sounds a lot like a threat, baby Red.” He bobbed his head, zeroing in on my last words. “Is it one?”

  “Semantics.” I clucked my tongue, feigning amusement, just like he did when we were in Miami. “You men just love it. “

  The way his eyes lit with glee, you’d think I told him he won the lottery. That was Troy. He liked it when I pushed back. Loved it when I shoved enough to leave an impact.

  I continued. “I won’t sit here with my legs tangled together and take orders like a good little soldier.” My voice was surprisingly calm. “I’m not my father, and I sure don’t intend to comfortably fit into the tidy, screwed-up box you created for me. You want me to stay away from Brock? You do the same with other women. You mess around with me, and me only.”

  Where did that come from? I wasn’t entirely sure, but I liked extra-feisty Sparrow. Knew she might be the death of me, but still rooted for her. She was the crazy underdog who wasn’t afraid of biting the ass of its owner.

  “Are you offering me what I think you’re offering?” He tipped his chin down. “Because I won’t be gentle.”

  “I don’t want you to be gentle.” I walked across the kitchen to fix myself some breakfast, my tone bored. “I want you to be badass, and cut the jealous tantrums. You act like a chick.”

  As I opened the fridge and shoved my head in, in search of something interesting to eat, I smiled to myself. I’d learned Troy, knew that he would take the bait. The harder I fought back every time he messed with me, the more he liked me. I bet if I set his penthouse on fire, he would laugh like it was all a big, fat joke.

  “Hell, wifey, I’m game. Let’s play.”

  And with that, I knew there would be no more mistresses in the immediate future. For the first time since we got together, I’d won. And victory never felt so sweet.

  SPARROW

  I SPENT MY shift at Rouge Bis dicing vegetables that Pierre tossed in the trash in front of his sous, saying they were too inconsistent to be used. Pierre made it a point to make sure I knew my ties with Brock and Troy didn’t intimidate him. Guess he had every reason to hate me after the stunt Troy pulled, but I still couldn’t keep my mouth shut.

  I answered back and no one answered the head chef back. I was giving him trouble, and like most men in my life, he saw me as a walking, talking headache. An environmental hazard to steer clear of.

  After my long day, all I wanted to do was take a hot shower and crawl in bed. I walked into the darkened guest bedroom. I’d already changed out of my kitchen whites at work, so I kicked off my shoes and threw my street clothes in a messy pile by the bathroom door. The immense shadow on the bed didn’t register at first, but then his voice boomed, filling the room with a presence that was much more than physical.

  “Get your shit and move back upstairs.” It was an order.

  Troy.

  I stilled, clad only in a purple undershirt and matching underwear, the boyfriend-shorts style.

  “I want to mess around.” I smiled into the darkness, staring at a spot above his head. I could faintly make out the shape of his body. He had one foot propped on the bed, his knee bent, his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows.

  “Nobody said anything about getting back to playing house,” I said.

  This was a blunt provocation, a way to lick the Paddy Rowan wound
that he split open so brutally when he visited him in Miami. It almost made me feel better, hearing his breaths picking up speed, both of us engulfed in the pitch black. He was getting restless. Annoyed. And more than likely, hot for me.

  He rose from the mattress, striding in my direction. A warm shiver ran down each of my nerves like a bomb fuse. It exploded somewhere between my thighs, sending sparks of adrenaline to the rest of my body.

  I was going to pick a fight tonight.

  “You know, Red? It’s hard to hate you all the way when you stand toe to toe with me.” He chuckled, circling me, his arms clasped behind his back.

  The room was dark, too dark, and I was disorientated by the long workday and the fact that he came here for something.

  For something I wanted and waited for.

  For something I feared and dreaded.

  For him to take my innocence.

  “Is that your version of sweet nothings?” I snorted, shaking my head. “Because you suck.”

  “I’m rooting for you,” he continued, ignoring my jab. “I’m fucking your life up, and you’re still trying to claw your way out of the quicksand. It’s hard not to admire that.”

  His body hovered over mine like a cloud of sweet mist, almost touching. I sucked my cheeks in, feeling my cool façade faltering. I didn’t want him to be nice to me. It made our war so much more dangerous.

  “Get to the point,” I hissed.

  “You refuse to be a victim. You always fight back, boots on the ground.”

  “Troy…” My voice nearly broke. It was the first time I called him by his first name without having a hidden agenda. “I said get to the point.”

  “When we were in Miami, I was doing you a solid.” His lips found my skull.