Sparrow

by L.J. Shen

  He stared me down and spat again into his bucket, reaching back for the oxygen mask. “Your word ain’t worth shit.”

  “Then it’s a crying shame that’s all you’re going to get. Either you hand over the money to Sparrow, knowing I intend to keep my promise not to touch your girl, or you let me walk away from this place, knowing my generous deal is off the table and that I’m going to do horrible things to your kid. Your call, old man.”

  The look on his face told me everything I needed to know. He loved his daughter, even though he was a monster. I’d broken him. He had lost everything he’d worked for. He was going to die a poor man, leave nothing to his only family. He was going to pay his debt.

  “You are worse than your father, Brennan.”

  I smiled in agreement and fished out my phone. “I’ll call a lawyer and have him draw up the papers right away. And you can start by signing this Power of Attorney. Don’t worry, boyo, I brought a pen.”

  SPARROW

  FROM MY CAB at the end of the block, I watched Troy walking up to the Spanish-style house. Once he was out of sight, I instructed my driver to wait and slowly strolled up the sidewalk, noting his idling cab. His driver was busy with his cell phone and didn’t seem to notice me.

  I eyed the stucco mailbox at the end of the driveway. Who was Troy visiting? What was so important at this house? Maybe Daisy was right. Maybe he did take his dick on a tour and was now visiting another mistress.

  There was a house number on the mailbox but no name. I doubted I’d recognize the name anyway, but what the hell. I’d come this far. Trying to look casual, like I belonged, like this wasn’t illegal, I pulled open the mailbox, hoping to find a letter with a name. I got far more than I bargained for. I read the address on the first envelope, and my breath caught in my throat, and I froze.

  It said “Patrick Rowan.”

  Patrick Rowan. Paddy. The man who molested me.

  Troy Brennan was at my molester’s house. My husband and the only person I’d ever told about my dark, awful secret.

  Stupid girl.

  I stumbled back from the mailbox, like a nest of snakes was inside. My heart pumped wildly against my ribcage. Maybe he’d come here to kill him. After all, everyone said he’d killed before. Maybe he would punish this vile man the way I never could.

  I forced my gaze back to the house, just as a girl in a maid’s uniform hurried down the drive toward me, looking flushed and concerned. For a moment, I was afraid she was going to confront me, but instead she glanced right and left, like she was the one who was afraid. The girl made her way to a bus stop further up the street, hugging herself defensively and looking around every now and again.

  When she was out of sight, I got my shit together and jogged to a spot behind a square bush. I watched the courtyard at the front of the house intently.

  Twenty minutes after he arrived, Troy left the premises.

  He had a stack of documents under his armpit and an easy expression. A few seconds later, a thin, frail man appeared beside him in the entry to the courtyard. He looked sick and old, nothing like the Paddy Rowan I knew and remembered, but then I saw his eyes and choked. It was him.

  They shook hands and nodded at each other. I couldn’t see Troy’s face, but I heard him laugh before he walked back to his cab. He climbed right into its backseat, leaving Rowan very much alive.

  I’d seen all I needed to see, and I wished I could unsee it.

  The asshole was here for business. He didn’t give a damn about what this man did to me.

  I threw up between the bushes, feeling the bile bubbling in my throat like poison.

  I hated them. Hated them both. But I knew one thing for sure. I wasn’t going to give Troy the pleasure of knowing that I knew he was still in business with the man who molested me. Especially not after he disrespected me by having sex with someone else in our bedroom.

  There was nothing I could do to get back at him, so I might as well not let him know that I was privy to his atrocious deeds.

  No. I would hate my husband quietly, pretend like it never happened—and would never, ever let him touch me or get to me again.

  Troy Brennan was dead to me. This time for good.

  TROY

  AS MY CAB pulled away from Paddy’s house, I let out a groan and eased my head back, rubbing my palms against my eye sockets. It was difficult to come to terms with not being able to kill the person who assaulted Red, and probably other girls, too. I wasn’t a saint, but like all criminals, I, too, had my individual, custom-made moral codes. And those codes were strict about molestation and sexual harassment.

  Those people deserved to die.

  Fuck, I even felt a little guilty about playing with her like that the night of our wedding. Sure, I knew she wanted it, saw it in her eyes, felt it in the way her body arched into mine, begging, writhing, but she’d been broken before. I didn’t want to break her again.

  Well, at least not this part of her soul.

  My phone buzzed in my pocket and made me open my eyes. I had an incoming call from George Van Horn.

  “Crap,” I muttered as I placed it near my ear. Van Horn was business. A real estate mogul turned politician who really fucking wanted to become mayor, and was about to run over his whole family to get to his goal. His campaign was absurdly aggressive and, since he had more skeletons in his closet than in a fucking graveyard, he’d hired me to keep his name clean.

  Shit had to be handled, and I was the one handling it. I waited wordlessly for him to speak first. It was a good habit if you wanted people to cut to the chase.

  “Brennan,” he barked, “I need you to take care of a package for me.”

  “This’ll have to wait until Friday,” I said calmly. “I’ll be back in Boston then.”

  “It can’t wait until Friday.”

  “I’m on my honeymoon, George.”

  He gave a humorless laugh. “And let me take a wild guess, it’s not exactly a Motel 6 in the middle of fuck-knows-where, and your wife ain’t bargain shopping at T.J. Maxx, right? Yeah. That’s because people like me pay people like you a good buck to work for us. It’s not a nine-to-five job, Brennan. Get your ass back here. Now.”

  I answered with silence, knowing it would drive him mad. He should thank me. If I told him what I was really thinking, the words would cut so deep he’d be the first person in the world to be seriously injured by a telephone call.

  “Brennan? Brennan! God-fucking-dammit…” He took a deep breath. “Look, okay, I get it. It’s your honeymoon. But it’s also an emergency. My package needs to be delivered somewhere discreet ASAP. I can’t have it sitting around in the house any more. This could sway my voters and stain my image.”

  Another beat of silence on my end. If you wanted to win a negotiation, rule number one was to talk less. Show minimal interest. Let the other person sweat it.

  I heard Van Horn hit something hard and curse in pain. Yup, definitely sweating it.

  “Dammit. How much?”

  “Double the amount you’re paying me now.”

  “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  “I wish I were.” I fumbled for a toothpick and stuck one in my mouth. “But I’m afraid I have a terrible sense of humor.”

  “Whatever. Fine. And you’ll cut your honeymoon short?”

  It wasn’t like Sparrow and I were enjoying the sun, alcohol and the deluxe king-size bed the hotel had to offer. And I fucking hated Miami anyway. Too lively for my taste.

  “I’ll be on my way as soon as I can. I have to take care of one minor matter first.”

  I heard him lighting up one of his rancid cigars. “Some lucky wife, you got yourself.”

  “Leave my wife out of this. I don’t want you mentioning her or even thinking about her. As far as you’re concerned, she doesn’t exist.”

  “Ah, so he has a soft spot after all.” Van Horn said.

  I almost gave a mocking laugh, but I tightened my jaw, clamping hard on the toothpick between my teeth. “
I’ll have my business associate Brock Greystone send you the new payment terms by tomorrow morning.”

  Click, and the line went dead, and so did any good thought I had about George Van Horn.

  RED WASN’T THERE when I got back to the hotel suite. Not that it surprised me. She was more independent than I pegged her to be. She was also a pain in the ass, and from what I’d noticed, hadn’t touched my credit card even once. Consequently, Red was broke as hell. I had no idea how she managed to walk around without spending a penny, but she did it and hadn’t complained about it even once.

  She was stirring some very fucking strange shit in me—shit I wasn’t prepared to deal with. Not when I still had to find the missing person on my list, my impending revenge hovering over our lives like a black cloud of suffocating smoke. I took the crumpled note out of my pocket again just to remind myself I had a goal in life, something bigger. Something that didn’t involve money or ass.

  1 – Billy Crupti

  2 – Father McGregor

  3 – The asshole who hired Billy?

  I kicked off my shoes and walked into the bathroom, turning on the faucet and taking off my clothes. The heat and humidity killed me. Summer was my idea of hell. I was dark, cold person who enjoyed dark, cold weather. That’s why Boston was my kingdom, my home. The unseasonable cold in the city this June suited me perfectly.

  But the weather was the least of my worries after meeting with Paddy.

  The important thing was that tomorrow morning Paddy’s lawyer showed up with a check for Sparrow. Then I was going to get the fuck away from this place and back home to deal with the George Van Horn problem. Sparrow would enjoy a fat payment for her suffering all those years ago, and maybe she’d feel a little less reluctant to spend the bastard’s money than she did mine. Though this money wasn’t only for Sparrow, I kept reminding myself.

  It was also for my dad.

  I took a quick shower and by the time I got out, my wife was back. I was always hypersensitive to the presence of other people. Especially when I couldn’t see them. A survival instinct I’d inherited from my father, I guessed, though it had failed him in the end. She didn’t make much noise—she never did—but I heard her shuffling about, and the sound of her soft footfalls on the carpeted hallway filled the quiet presidential suite.

  I walked out with the towel wrapped around my waist, not thinking much of it. She already seen me in my underwear dozens of times and didn’t seem to mind. Most of the time, she even sent hungry looks my way. Leaning my hip against the doorframe of the double doors leading from the bedroom to the suite’s foyer, I watched her intently.

  Of course, she was still wearing the same pair of baggy jeans and tight blue-and-white striped tee she’d worn on the plane. I knew her play. She wasn’t going to wear anything special tonight just to spite me. Red was standing on the balcony, her back to me, staring out at the turquoise ocean and tall palm trees. It was late, the sun was setting, and pink, orange and yellow hues smeared the sky like a perfect painting.

  “Your resistance is growing old, you know that?” I spoke softly, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward the balcony’s sliding door. There was a beat of silence before she answered.

  “Then do us both a favor and let me go.”

  Stopping a few inches from her back, I placed my hands on the railing she was leaning against, caging her with my arms, my chin on top of her head. “That’s not what you said when I was eating you like a seven course meal at an Italian wedding.”

  She twisted out of my touch and spun around, facing me, anger written all over her face. For the first time since I married her, she looked genuinely disgusted by my touch. This wasn’t pretense or shyness. She really didn’t want me anywhere near her. I took a step back.

  “That was before,” she spat, every muscle in her face quivering.

  Right, that unfortunate Catalina fuck in our house. It seemed like a decent idea at the time, to try and kill the little obsession I’d started nurturing toward my wife. But in retrospect? Worst fuck I’d ever had, and entirely not worth it.

  I pivoted back into the room, not wanting to show any kind of emotions. Hell, what was I talking about? I didn’t have emotions toward this weird kid. I stopped at the mini bar and grabbed a bottle of hard liquor, not even sure which, twisting the top and taking a sip straight from the bottle. She followed me into the room, pouring angry heat from every pore of her body.

  “Don’t pretend to give a damn about who I fuck, Sparrow. Not when you keep on saying everything we do is a fucking mistake. Stop acting like the betrayed wife.”

  “You think I care about you screwing around?” She threw her hands in the air, frustrated. “Sorry you didn’t get the memo, Brennan. For all I care, you can dick your way to every STD known to mankind and even create new ones in the process.”

  I turned around and got in her face, still holding the bottle by its neck. “Then what the hell are you talking about? What made you so pissed off now?”

  “Forget it!” She shoved me back, her eyes glinting with impending tears.

  Fuck, she wanted to cry. Red never cried, even when she married me, when I took her in, when crying was the only thing she could do.

  I felt my anger faltering. “What happened?” My voice came out so gentle it startled me. “Why are you so upset?”

  “Like it matters. You wouldn’t share anything with me, won’t tell me anything.” She wiped the tears from her face, and I hated that a part of me wanted to do it for her. “Just leave me alone.”

  “We have reservations for nine.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she bit out.

  “It’s the best place in Miami. Two Michelin stars. You can hate me tomorrow, the day after and for the rest of your life, but who knows the next time you’ll be able to visit a world-class restaurant other than the one your husband owns.”

  Why was I trying to convince her to go out with me? I could have picked a woman better dressed and more agreeable at the hotel bar and actually enjoyed my time tonight. But for some screwed up reason, I wanted her to go ape-shit when she saw the restaurant. Red was food-crazy.

  “Still not interested,” she said coldly, yanking the bottle from my hand and taking a long sip, fury in her eyes. I grabbed the bottle back and pointed its neck in her direction.

  “Put your fucking shoes on, Sparrow. I won’t ask twice.”

  Okay, this was not the best strategy, but damn, she frustrated the living shit out of me.

  “Yeah? What are you going to do if I won’t? Will you kill me, like you killed Billy Crupti?” She hit me with her tiny balled fists. She was too small to make an impact, but that didn’t mean Sparrow didn’t try. Shoving me deeper into the room, she continued, “Will you cut me into tiny pieces? Throw me into the ocean? Make sure there’s no trace of me left, but not give a damn that the whole freaking city knows?”

  I shook my head, scrubbing my face and raking a hand through my hair, so frustrated I wanted to punch something. If she was bringing the Crupti shit up, she had nothing more to lose. She wasn’t scared anymore. Or at least not as much as she was pissed off.

  Sparrow was not going to come to dinner, and for the first time in my life, I knew there was nothing I could do about it.

  I had no leverage over her. I couldn’t restrict her, because she refused to use my money. And I couldn’t hurt her, because I didn’t want to.

  She didn’t deserve to be ruined. She wasn’t Catalina.

  Quietly, I turned around and stalked into the bedroom. I got dressed, put on my Rolex and some cologne, tousled my hair and walked out of the room, leaving her to polish off the alcohol I had left.

  When I marched out to the hotel bar, she was still lying on the carpet, drinking herself to oblivion.

  I took a seat on one of the stools and ordered a whiskey. A tall blonde of the model variety who was sitting two seats away from me smiled in my direction. I didn’t smile back.

  I drank two, three…four drinks before she
came over and offered me her hand.

  “Kylie.” She pouted her name, but I didn’t reach for a handshake. “And you are…?”

  “Not interested. Sorry.”

  Two hours after I’d left, I walked back into our suite, drunk as hell and way beyond fed up with the Red situation. Talk about a liability.

  I found her laying in the darkness, curled on the sofa, the dim light spilling from the TV, highlighting the curves of her face. She had a pillow under her head and a duvet covering her body, all the way up to the chin. We weren’t going to share a bed tonight.

  “I’m only going to ask one last time. Tell me what crawled up your ass, Sparrow.”

  “And what good would it do me? You’ll never give me any answers. You never have.”

  She was right, and there was no point in denying it. I was keeping her in the dark.

  “Pack your stuff. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.” I didn’t even bother to watch her reaction as I strode straight to the bedroom.

  The Paddy business was going to be over in a few hours. His lawyer probably had him signing the papers to make the transfer as we spoke. And I had to get back to Boston to take care of the Van Horn issue. Clearly, my wife was in no mood to play, and let’s admit it, Miami was a nightmare to someone like me.

  “I never unpacked,” she replied with boredom.

  “The fuck not?”

  “I knew we’d be back in Boston in twenty-four hours. This isn’t a honeymoon.” I heard the bitterness. “Like everything else in your life, Troy, this was nothing but business.”

  SPARROW

  WE SLICED THROUGH the gray Boston streets, the brownstone buildings, jaywalkers and dead-end streets flying by. I pressed my forehead to the glass, trying to ignore my husband as best as I could. His hard eyes were fixated on the road ahead and I knew he wouldn’t talk to me. Knew he’d given up.

  I moved my stuff out of the bedroom and into the guest room downstairs, and he let me. A part of me struggled to remember why I didn’t try this approach in the first place, and another part reminded me that for some unexplained reason, I liked sharing a bed with Troy.