Sparrow (16 page)

Brock’s weekend, meanwhile, seemed to have left him drained and irritated. A bonus, as far as I was concerned.

On Monday, he walked into his office at Rouge Bis—no, fuck that,
my
office. I was the one who footed the bill for the place. Not that he saw it that way. He stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, eying the glass desk as if I’d invaded his space.

“You look like shit.” I spat out my toothpick and wheeled the office chair backward so I could take a better look at him. “Rough night with the missus?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“Fuck you.”

I smirked. He and Catalina weren’t fucking nowadays.

I nodded at the chair in front of the desk, inviting him to sit down. He tugged at his breast pocket, fishing out a pack of smokes, his ass hitting the seat. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply and exhaling through his nose. The way he held the cigarette, between his index finger and thumb, like he was Clint Eastwood in a Western, made me want to laugh out loud. Instead, I glowered quietly.

“Smoking inside this building is prohibited.” I pointed to a sign saying just that behind me, barely containing my glee.

“So is every single thing you do, Troy. Don’t give me shit. I’ve had a rough morning. You needed me?” he asked.

“Trouble in paradise?” I tilted my chin toward the cigarette that hung in the corner of his mouth. Fuck, I bathed in his misery like it was pure water in the Sahara desert.

Brock sucked hard on the cig. This time his mouth hung open after he exhaled, a swirl of smoke traveling upwards. “Cat treats Sam like dirt.” He ran a hand over his hair. “This morning, he went to school wearing filthy clothes because she’s decided he’s not worth doing the laundry for. I almost flipped when he tugged at his shirt, seconds before I dropped him off, sniffing it to make sure he didn’t smell too bad. He said that he didn’t want kids to make fun of him. Man, this is the kind of shit that breaks your heart.”

He rubbed his eyes, continuing before he realized it was me he was confiding in. He must’ve been desperate. “Anyway, I did a U-turn. We ended up buying fresh clothes at Target, and he changed in the bathroom before I dropped him off. Spent the next thirty minutes sitting in my car in front of his school, practicing this stupid-ass breathing exercise from that tape you bought me for Christmas.”

I almost snorted. This was too much. The only reason I’d given him the tape was to piss Catalina off. She was whining like a bitch about Brock being too good and proper. It was a joke aimed at him. And he’d walked right into it.

Brock looked up at me, searching for my response.

I eased back into his soft leather chair and knitted my fingers together. “Some piece of work, your wife is. If you ask me, I always preferred the single life.”

“You’re married now,” he reminded me.

“I guess sometimes it’s easy to forget,” I said through my smirk.

He lolled his head sideways, stubbing the cigarette into an empty mug with a picture of him and Cat. Something she gave him to remind me of her every time I walked into his office.

It was cute how she thought I cared.

“I’m guessing you’re not here to discuss my marital problems.” Brock leaned forward, elbows propped on his knees, and tapped his fingertips. “Why are you here, Troy?”

“Patrick Rowan.” I cut straight to the chase, looking out the window, people-watching as I spoke. “I wanna know what ties he has left in Boston.”

Brock raised his brows, throwing himself back and sighing loudly. He didn’t like this turn of events, and I had no idea why. Rowan, my father’s right hand before everything flushed down the shitter, was just an old washed-up mobster. He’d kept the gambling piece of my father’s empire alive for him for a while even after my dad was dethroned, but eventually Paddy had branched out on his own. He’d high-tailed it out of the state to Miami when the Armenians decided they wanted his head on a plate. I discovered why a few months after my father was killed.

Yeah, Rowan had left enemies everywhere, but on Friday night, he’d made one too many of them in the form of me.

“Rowan?” He frowned. “Why?”

My jaw tightened when I thought about the answer to this question. Did I still hold a grudge against Rowan for stealing money from my father years ago? Sure. Did the fact that he touched my wife act as an incentive to finally seek retaliation? Hell yes. Was I in the mood to watch bad people paying for their sins? You fucking bet.

I’d hit a dead-end with my
Kill Bill
list, still not sure who sent Crupti to kill my father, and I wanted to play. Dealing with Rowan might take off the edge.

“Find out how to contact his second wife.” I ignored Brock’s question.

“What crawled up your ass? Got a new beef with Rowan all of a sudden? He’s rotting of cancer, you know. Leave him alone. You’re beating a dead horse.”

“Not dead enough for me,” I countered, picking up my own cell and punching the touch screen furiously. “I’m going to pay him a visit in Miami.”

“Are you sure? I’m not feeling comfortable about you harassing a guy who is dying of cancer.”

“I’m not paying you to feel comfortable, Brock. I’m paying you to follow orders.”

He stood up with thunder in his eyes, about to storm out of the room, when he stopped in his tracks. “Is he the guy who sent Crupti?” His voice cracked as he half turned.

Brock knew I was after the anonymous motherfucker, even had helped me seek him out.

“Just do as I asked. By the way…” I cleared my throat, avoiding the stream of
hellos
coming from my phone and watching Brock intently. “I hired my wife to work at Rouge Bis. Get whatever paperwork you need together for her. She’s starting next week. Make sure she and the chef don’t stab each other’s eyes out with a spatula.”

He turned back to face me. There was something unsettling underneath those gray eyes, and I wanted to rip them out of their sockets just to find out what.

“She’s going to work? Right here?” He glanced sideways, like there were hidden cameras watching him.

I nodded slowly. He knew that we had an arranged marriage, or marriage of inconvenience, or whatever the fuck Sparrow and I were.

He also knew why Sparrow was so important to my father.

I shrugged into my Armani suit jacket, looking bored with the topic. “She was nagging. Who the fuck cares anyway. If she wants to bust her ass instead of living a life of luxury, it’s her grave.”

“Mmm.” Brock scanned me, searching my face. “So, the tension is high between you two?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We’re fine.”

“And Pierre? He gave her trouble?”

“Who?” I didn’t even bother to pretend to recall the name, then remembered I still had my travel agent on the line. I swiveled the chair so my back was to Brock and waved him off, dismissing him like he was an average-looking day-shift stripper ogling me for tips. “Yes, I’d like to purchase two first class tickets to Miami…”

SPARROW

THE SUN WAS
shining on Monday morning when I arrived at Quincy Market, but the improved weather tense did little to improve my mood.

I had no idea what made me do what I did with Brennan on Friday night.

Lapse of judgment on my part, but who could blame me? He was basically the only guy who’d tried to touch me in God knows how long, and let’s face it, he was so hot the temperature in the penthouse soared every time he entered the room. True, he was also cruel—a savage in a tailored suit—but at the same time, he’d never hurt me.

Not physically, anyway.

My fear radar, sharpened by a tough neighborhood, had impeccable instincts when it came to danger. With Troy, I felt safe.

Nonetheless, the pressure between my legs was a constant reminder that my husband was an asshole. Who did a thing like that? Was it even allowed? Shouldn’t it be illegal in a modern Western society to stop someone from climaxing after getting her to a point where everything was tingling with pain, pleasure and lust?

The weird sensation lingered throughout the weekend. My unfinished business left me craving more, and the nagging feeling I had down there made a small part of me want to beg Troy like he had asked. Luckily, the bigger, saner part of me remembered he still had a lot of questions to answer before we’d be on good terms.

There was one thing he was right about, though. Regardless of what I thought about him as a person, I craved him like a crackhead.

Troy Brennan was the devil, but sometimes, even good girls wanted a healthy dose of evil in their lives.

He’d spent Saturday and Sunday mostly holed up in his office, but this morning I’d hoped to try and make him breakfast again. Stupid, I knew, but feigning emotional attachment made what we did together seem less dirty. More real. But by the time I woke up after another night of tossing and turning, he'd already left for work.

Whatever
work
meant in his world.

I was almost glad I’d rescheduled my plans to meet Lucy and Daisy, my childhood (and essentially only) friends, and agreed to join them for late morning coffee. Anything was better than another day in the empty apartment. Well, empty except for Connor, that is.

Lucy and Daisy waited for me on our usual bench, sharing a box of donuts and coffee. Lucy, a plump, pretty chick with curly blonde hair and freckles like mine, cradled the donut box as protectively as a newborn baby. Daisy was holding our foam cups. Daisy used to work in a strip club not too long ago. Men dug her raven black hair, shapely legs and impressive bust. She reminded me a little of Catalina. A less bitchy version of her, anyway.

Lucy and Daisy got along like the Starks and the Lannisters, meaning they were at each other’s throats every time I wasn’t looking, but they kept things civilized for my sake. Each of us had her own reason for being lonesome and together. We were all outcasts, but at least we had each other.

The minute my friends spotted me, they got up from the bench and threw their arms over my shoulders. Daisy placed a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. I was always the only one not to drink coffee.

Lucy tucked the donut box under her arm and brushed a few strands of red hair off of my forehead, inspecting my face. “Are you okay?”

My cheeks heated, and I hid the lower part of my face behind the foam cup. I’d taken off my engagement ring and wedding band minutes before I got out of Connor’s car, but somehow still felt them on my finger. Guilt gnawed at my gut, but I tried not to squirm.

When I didn’t answer, Lucy and Daisy exchanged meaningful looks and frowned in unison.

“Where do you live nowadays?” Lucy shoved the donut box into my chest, daring me to lie.

Well, that was fast. Not even a
Hello, how have you been?

“Home,” I said, trying to muster some conviction. “At Pops’s.”

I had no idea where I was going with this. There was no plan, other than vehement denial or breaking down in tears and admitting to everything, or maybe stalling by hyperventilating.

“You never seem to be there.” Daisy narrowed her eyes, her glossy lips pouting in disapproval.

I started walking deeper among the tourists and locals, passing stands and people. I wasn’t planning on buying anything but time that day. Time was all I needed to figure out how to break the news to my girlfriends.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of trust.” My mouth twisted. “You think I’m hiding something?”

“I
know
you’re hiding something.” Lucy cocked her head to one side before pointing her thumb in the other direction. “And I was hoping you could start by shedding some light on why that six foot giant is following you. And don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed him, because you kept glancing his way before you saw us sitting on the bench.”

I silently cursed Connor. He was following me 24/7 and being about as discreet about it as Paul Revere announcing the British are coming. But I couldn’t explain Connor, because I couldn’t explain my marriage to Troy, because I didn’t understand it myself. My friends knew my dad was not exactly Father-of-the-Year material, but even I found it difficult to tell them I suspected he’d sold me to the son of a dead mobster.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said.

“No shit.” Daisy threw her hands in the air.

A bunch of kids in matching shirts on a fieldtrip ran between our feet, and I used my friends’ distraction to look behind me. Connor was there, still following me like I was a moving target.

Lucy, the voice of reason among the three of us, spun on her heel and sent him a threatening glare. “Take another step forward, buddy, and I’m calling the cops.”

But Connor continued flowing with the crowd, doggedly moving in the same direction as us, his eyes dead. With every step he took, my lies suffocated me a little more, the walls inching closer in on me. The box Troy put me in was becoming ridiculously small, even for a petite girl like me.

“Is he a bodyguard? Are you in trouble?” Daisy panted as Lucy quickened her pace and we followed suit. “And more importantly…is he single?”

I shook my head, snorting a tired sigh. I wasn’t in the mood for jokes.

Lucy was power-walking away from Connor as fast as she could. “Please tell me your dad didn’t get you into trouble.”