Sparrow (9 page)

“Oh.” I collected my wits, still flushed. “That was your gun? I thought you were just happy to see me.”

He laughed a hearty laugh and carried me with my legs wrapped tightly around him to the leather sofa. The persistent, cold summer rain knocked on the windows, but the living room felt hot and charged with what was happening between us.

What the hell was wrong with us? We couldn’t hold a five-minute conversation, and our only communication so far involved heavily making out and taunting each other like high school kids. Nevertheless, I felt like a bundle of quick-firing nerves in his arms.

“Troy…” I moaned his name into his mouth, giving in to the moment of sudden lust, tasting the Johnnie Walker Black Label on his breath and trying hard to suppress the memories that particular smell—a brand my father would never be able to afford—brought with it. The stranger who ruined me, whose name I never told anyone.

“Are you still on that period of yours?” He bit my neck, wrapping my hair around one of his fists and dragging his tongue down my cleavage. His other hand roamed my body—my chest, ass, legs—familiarizing himself with every angle and sliver of flesh.

I froze. Even though my body reacted to him like he was crack cocaine, my mind knew better than to jump into bed with a man who’d forced me to marry him. I didn’t know what the hell had come over me when I kissed him. Maybe I wanted to give this unwanted life a fair chance. Maybe it was the job. Hell, maybe it was just me being human. But it had to stop.

“Yes.” I stilled, our lips disconnecting. “Still on my period.”

“God-fucking-dammit,” he breathed into my mouth.

He peeled his suit coat off angrily, leaning backward to give me space at the same time. Disappointment crashed into me at the loss of his touch. His body was sculpted, strong, freaking perfect. And a part of me, an adventurous part, wanted to know what the girl down my hallway talked about when she said he fucked like an animal all those years ago.

Sleeping with him could be a dream or a nightmare. Either way, I refused to fall asleep.

“This was a mistake,” I said, my chest rising and falling to the rhythm of my heart.

“Fuck you.” He got up on his feet from the sofa, running his fingers through his raven black hair.

“Hey,” I argued softly, following his movement through my lashes, “I’m new to this.”

To
you
.

“Sparrow…” he sneered, shaking his head slowly, like I was a stupid kid. He never called me Sparrow, only Red, and my name sounded like a curse leaving his lips. “This is not junior high. I don’t need your wet, hesitant kisses.”

I darted up after him, knowing I was about to pick another fight. How dare he speak to me like that! “I’m not the one who insisted we get married. So save the attitude, Mr. I-Deserve-Anything-I-Want.”

“It’s not what you did, it’s what they did
to us
, Miss Annoying-As-Fuck.” He untied his tie, throwing it on the sofa. “We’re done here. You can go back to pretending you’re asleep.”

Was he kidding me?

“Who are
they
?” I roared. “What did
they
do to us? Did someone force you to do something against your will? You can’t just drop a bomb and pretend it’s nothing.” I followed him around the room, trying to get him to look me in the eye.

The idea that Troy was caged in this situation just as much as I was never occurred to me before. But it made sense.

It made a lot of sense.

He looked at me like I was a cockroach, his expression turning from furious back to his usual default of cold and vacant. “Don’t make me laugh.” He turned his back on me, pouring himself another drink. “I would never do anything —or anyone—who isn’t worth my time. Of course it was my choice to marry you.”

“Bullshit.” I smiled bitterly, knowing that I’d hit a nerve. He was as chained as me. Something drew us together, and it wasn’t love. Wasn’t lust either. “You’re just as miserable about this as I am.”

A brief silence filled the room while he took a sip of his drink, brushing his fingers over the neat row of expensive whiskey bottles in his bar.

“You probably don’t remember, Red, but when you were a kid, you sat two rows in front of me in Trinity Chapel every Sunday at mass. Your dad used to fall asleep on your little shoulder because he was drunk, but you would stroke his gray hair, like the loving daughter that you were, and help him walk all the way back home afterwards. You were always giving hugs to all the kids your age and younger. You even used to make fucking lopsided cupcakes when someone had a birthday. You were all fucking heart despite your shitty upbringing—the no-mother part and the drunk-father reality. And you didn’t drop out of school, didn’t do drugs, didn’t become a slutty biker chick. You finished high school, worked your ass off in a shitty diner and took night classes to become a chef.

“You…” He pivoted, shoving an accusing finger to my chest with the hand that still held the whiskey glass. “You’re so good, too fucking good. And whenever I looked at you—from afar, of course, because my family didn’t mix with your nobody father—I thought to myself one day, my children will have a mother this noble. A mother whose goodness would rub off on them, because their dad is bad. Really. Fucking. Bad.”

I was shocked, confused, and underneath it all, maybe even touched. I fiddled with my hair. “You know stuff about me? I didn’t realize…”

“That I noticed you? Yeah, I’m not exactly the flowers and chocolate type of guy.” He loosened his collar, and my gaze dropped to catch the sliver of skin he exposed. “You better get used to it, or you’re in for a miserable-ass life. Now what the fuck is it that you want, Sparrow? Why did you wait up for me? It wasn’t to ask how my day was or what I do for a living.”

I caught my bottom lip between my teeth, rubbing the back of my neck. Somehow, it seemed difficult to ask him for a favor when he’d shown me a glimpse of honesty. Of romance. Even if this favor was only a request to let me out of his house to work at his restaurant, the first part of which he’d already agreed to on our wedding day.

I forced a patient smile, despite the impatient need whirring in me to break free. “It can wait. Can we talk about it tomorrow? You obviously had a shitty day, and it’s three a.m. and...I don’t know, maybe in the light of day, we’ll be able to communicate like two grown-ups and not like dogs in heat.”

He brushed my shoulder as he walked past me, not sparing me even a second glance. “Go buy yourself something half-decent tomorrow. I’ll take you out to dinner and we can discuss whatever it is you have in mind. And Sparrow, I’m
not
a nice guy.” He emphasized every word. “So if you’re looking for favors, you better start reciprocating. Start acting like a goddamned wife and not like a prisoner. Oh, and a few more days of that magical period of yours and I’m sending you for a checkup in the ER. Don’t want you to bleed out, huh?”

With that, he disappeared up the stairs, leaving me high and dry.

Jesus Christ
.
This man
.

TROY

THE INVITATION TO
dinner was an impulse I might regret. Taking her out on a date? What the fuck was that all about? This wasn’t
Pretty Woman
, and Red sure as hell wasn’t Julia Roberts.

I’d made up the story about church. I hadn’t watched her. In fact, I’d tried my best to pretend she didn’t exist, suppressing the idea that one day this kid would be my wife. Even when her preteen friends inched close to me after mass, giggling, and she stood beside them, shyly eyeing me like I was fucking ET. Even back then, I knew that Sparrow Raynes was not for me. Her quiet behavior screamed something I didn’t want to hear. I knew her mother deserted her and her father was an alcoholic, that life had fed her shit from all directions. But she never got under my skin. Not many people did, and only one woman ever had.

So, truly, the feelings I had for Sparrow Raynes were the same as I had for every women other than the bitch who broke my heart—a big, fat, hollow nothing.

I took a leak and shower, letting the water wash off the last of my crappy day and not caring if she’d followed me to bed.

The only reason I’d given her false hope that we shared some kind of history together, at least from my end, was because I wanted to shut her up. She was getting all let’s-talk-about-it on my ass, and it reminded me of the stupid, misguided women who’d tried to get through to me over the years.

I admit I was a little intrigued when she came out of the bathroom the night of our wedding and produced blood from her pussy. I saw the socks on her feet, her slight limp when she entered the room like a mouse with a thorn in its foot instead of the lion. She’d purposely hurt herself to buy time. She chose pain over humiliation. The daughter of the drunk, the spawn of the runaway mother, had pride and wits.

I shouldn’t have been surprised by it, but I was.

As it turned out that night, Sparrow was the only girl from our neighborhood who didn’t lose her shit and drool over any affluent, suited man who walked down the dark path.

Even before she marched out of the bathroom dripping blood, I knew she wasn’t one of those girls who’d just spread her legs for me. She probably thought I’d rape her. That she’d just lie there and take it like a dead body. That we would both hate the situation—and one another—but with a bit of luck, I’d manage to knock her up and hope that would shut her up for the next nine months.

But that didn’t happen. See, Sparrow Raynes had a little fight in her, and I was intrigued. So much so, that I tried to test her boundaries, scare her. Play with her a little.

The sexy gift wasn’t my idea. I wasn’t the one who picked it out, and my mistress would pay for distressing Red too soon and too fast.

But the blood? That was all on me. When I tasted her blood, knowing it was from her foot, I searched her face for a reaction. She looked appalled and shocked, but held back the tears. And underneath the distress…she fucking loved it. She had a dark little soul, just like mine.

Yes, Red was brave—so much braver than some of the men I had to deal with every day that I felt compelled to spare her virginity. I had very little interest in it anyway, even though she was hot and ready for me. I knew
want
, recognized it from miles, and Sparrow’s body reacted to me so fast, so hungrily that I had to make a point.

She was mine to take if I wanted her, and that was good to know.

Since that first night, work had taken over. I was too busy to try and fuck her. Frankly, she didn’t look like she was worth the time. Inexperienced, innocent, and pretty but in a pasty, wallflower way.

Red was cute, but was also categorically not my type. Her dress sense made me want to lock her in a designer store with a herd of stylists and come back for her next year. She wore Keds, black hoodies and casual mom jeans. Sure, she had a banging runner’s body and an ass to fill those pants like nobody’s business, but a little effort wouldn’t hurt.

I supposed it might not be that hard to get used to that sort of look. A part of me hoped she’d take offense to my remark about her going to buy something nice for herself. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d almost come to terms with her feistiness.

Of course, when she’d stood in front of me in the living room, trying to strike up a conversation, all I could think about was how screwed up my day had been.

I’d begun the day by crushing the kneecaps of two ambitious little gang nobodies. A job for one of my clients, an up-and-coming rich politico who happened to like it rough and was a sub for a transgender girl who tried milking him for half a million dollars after she secretly videotaped them. Normally, I’d settle the score directly with the girl, only in this case, things got messy.

The gang members broke into the girl’s apartment, stole her shit and unfortunately her camera too. Instead of erasing everything on it and selling it, they found the video footage of the politician and his dom doing ungodly things. Things respectable, proper community leaders like him weren’t supposed to be doing. Somehow, don’t ask me how because gang members are usually as stupid as turds, these two realized the full potential of what landed in their laps and decided to blackmail the preppy bastard, too. Only they wanted a million. I had to step in and do some damage control.

Getting myself into trouble by solving other people’s shit was part of my job description. This wasn’t a first, but it had still sucked ass. By the time I got to the office at Rouge Bis, I’d looked like shit.

I walked in with a lump the size of a baseball on my forehead, courtesy of one of the blackmailing lowlifes.

And
he
sat there behind his desk, typing on his laptop.

Brock took care of my legitimate businesses. I mostly hired out for the illegal stuff to people like Connor, but Brock managed the fronts I used to launder the money I was paid by people like the fucking politician. Along with Rouge Bis, Brock handled the grocery store and the gambling joints. (Strictly speaking, those joints weren’t legal, but the police overlooked this little fact for the right price.) Brock also had one other skill. The sonovabitch knew how to perform as a field doctor and could detox junkies as expertly as I broke faces.