Sparrow

by L.J. Shen

  And again.

  And again.

  And the fucked-up thing was that I didn’t want her to be done. I wasn’t anxious to get it over with, to get my turn to climax. I let her have her fun. What’s more, I enjoyed watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. For the first time in my life, sex was not about me, it was about her.

  Hell, sex, I’d been doing it wrong all these years.

  This was not me. I was not the caring kind. Last time I cared, I let Brock, Catalina and a bunch of other shit into my life, and it didn’t end well.

  Feeling a wave of angry heat wash over my skin, I punched Jensen’s number. Jensen was my guy for everything hacking-related. He had access to Sparrow’s bank account, among other things.

  He answered the call but didn’t utter a word. Yeah, he was that kind of guy. Cheap with his words and generous with his actions.

  “She cashed the check yet?” I asked. Paddy’s money.

  “No,” he answered, “Still as broke as her hell, same as when you married her.”

  “Beautiful. Let me know if that changes.”

  I hung up, feeling smug. Sparrow would cash the check, I had no doubt, but she’d do it when she ran away and needed the cash. After all, she still didn’t know she’d be rich no matter what, seeing as my father made sure of it in his will.

  I pressed back into the leather seat behind the wheel of my car and took a deep breath for the first time since I’d left the cabin. For now, she was here. With me.

  I intended to keep it that way.

  SPARROW

  I HAD TO dodge Brock’s advances for another diner date. He hadn’t been at work since my confrontation with Catalina, but he waited for me on the corner of the street again after my shift on Monday night.

  “Forget it,” I said, walking past him without sparing him a glance.

  He caught up with my pace, his hands tucked inside his jeans pockets. “Give me a minute? It’ll be worth your while.”

  “You keep saying that,” I ground out, the memory of his wife’s afternoon visit a couple of days ago still fresh in my mind. “But I don’t think you know what it means. Look, I’m sorry if you and Catalina aren’t working out, but I’m not diving headfirst into your mess. You’re married, so am I.”

  It was disappointing to find out that sweet, beautiful Brock, whom I was initially attracted to, couldn’t take a hint, even when it was the size of a mountain.

  It was even more disappointing to know that his wife was screwing my husband until a few short months ago, including after he married me.

  Naturally, it wasn’t my business to tell Brock that. I was trying to put out fires, not ignite a blaze that’d scorch us all to hell, Sam included. That’s why I hadn’t talked about it with Troy since she came to see me. I didn’t need unnecessary drama. They were done. He’d fulfilled his side of our deal. There was nothing else to talk about.

  “Sweetheart, I don’t want Troy to harm you. He’s dangerous.”

  Was he kidding me? Did I give him a damsel in distress vibe? I was pretty sure I handled myself gracefully, even when help was needed. As it happened, I didn’t need saving. I was standing up to Troy on my own.

  “Come with me. Let me show you something.” He stopped in front of a car, not as glitzy as Troy’s toy but eye-catching nonetheless, and opened the passenger door for me. “I promise, if you still think it’s not worth it, I will leave you alone.”

  “The answer is no.” I picked up speed, almost breaking into a run. “Goodbye.”

  I ran all the way back to the penthouse, trying to tell myself that I wasn’t scared, and merely pissed off. That Brock had good intentions, and I was just too drunk on Troy to realize that he was trying to help.

  Back at home, I cracked open a bottle of something vintage and placed two glasses of wine near the white wool carpet by the fireplace downstairs. I polished off two drinks just to take the edge off the Brock encounter—the guy was radiating seriously stalker vibes. Then I went into the bathroom upstairs, the one I shared with Troy, to comb my hair and wash off the last of my day at Rouge Bis.

  It saddened me that I put up with my husband’s secrets. Saddened me because I was no longer able to deny the truth. I was desperately in love with my husband.

  Every day he took up more space in my heart. With every moment, it became a bit more difficult to breathe when he wasn’t around. My love for Troy Brennan wasn’t romantic or sweet—it was violent and needy. It was a cancer, spreading inside my body, multiplying into hundreds and thousands of new cells with every beat of my heart. No chemotherapy, no miracle cure. Every heartbeat, I slipped a little more. Drowned a little deeper. Fell a little further into the bottomless ocean of feelings for him.

  I heard the bedroom door slamming shut and dropped my head back, closing my eyes just so I wouldn’t have to see myself in the mirror. Facing yourself was hard when you’d given up yourself for someone else.

  “Is it possible to feel your heart breaking, even when you’re falling in love?”

  I brushed my long hair. Yes. It was. Here I was, falling in love, and getting my heart broken at the very same time. A knock on the bathroom door reminded me of the first time we talked, on our wedding day. How much had changed since then. Yet, some things remained the same.

  “You better not be decent. I’m coming in.”

  He opened the door, filling its frame with his impossible size. His azure blues scanned me intently. I dropped my gaze to his hands. They looked busted, his skin peeling. He smelled of bleach and gasoline. I shook my head.

  “I can’t believe you,” I said quietly.

  “It’s not what you think.” He threw a crooked grin my way. “I didn’t forget the Chinese. It’s downstairs.”

  I pointed at his hand. “What the hell have you done now?”

  His gaze became hooded, guarded, and his shoulders tensed. Still, I didn’t regret bringing this up. If he was going around killing people like life was a Quentin Tarantino movie, I needed to know.

  He looked down to his knuckles, frowning. This was not him. He was always good at covering his tracks. It was almost like he wanted me to find out, consciously or not.

  “Troy…” I narrowed my eyes at him. “I’m done looking past what you do. Tell me.”

  “Sparrow, really.” He tried to stroke my arm.

  I took a step back. “Now, Troy.”

  His smile vanished. “I’m going to go ahead and be really honest about one thing, but beware. It’s not pretty, and I take betrayal very seriously, so I’m trusting you to keep your mouth shut.”

  I looked up at him as his chest bumped into my body. He was so close, I was able to smell his delicious sweat and everything else he carried with him that day in the mix of bleach and gasoline.

  I nodded. “I won’t betray you.”

  “I know.” His tone was harsh all of a sudden. “Remember, you’ve been pushing for some kind of truth. So here’s the thing I want you to know. I’m not a hitman. I don’t kill people for a living. Never been paid to finish someone off, but…” He raised his hand, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. I did kill Billy. And I killed Father McGregor, too. Both deaths were ugly, but so was what they did.”

  My knees buckled, and my stomach lurched, but it wasn’t from fear. I was elated. He had confided in me. He was cracking. My monster, my capturer, my corrupter. My lover.

  “What did they do to deserve this?” I croaked, watching his finger playing with my strand of red hair.

  “Billy killed my dad, a cold-hearted murder for money. McGregor told him where and when to find him, knowing his intentions. They took away the only thing I cared about.” His eyes dilated as he watched his index finger playing with my hair, his voice lost in thought. “They had to pay for their sins.”

  “And you’re Boston’s God,” I finished softly.

  I wanted to cry but was too stunned to do something so natural and instinctive. I shouldn’t have been surprise
d—the gossip warned about my husband all along—but I was. How did he live with the fact that he’d taken not one, but two lives? Then again, no one ever murdered my parent.

  “Does it scare you, little lovebird?" he breathed into my ear, his huge body engulfing my small one, “To know that I’m capable of these things? I’m still on the lookout for the person who sent them to kill my dad, you know. I’m not done with my list.”

  Troy let go of my hair, taking a small, yellow slip of paper out of his pocket, pressing it to my chest. I plucked it out of his hand and read it. Crupti and McGregor’s names were struck through. He didn’t know who the third person was. There was a question mark.

  I dragged my eyes up to meet his. “Am I scared? No,” I said serenely. “Because I know you would never hurt me. Am I happy about what you’ve done? I’m disappointed. Playing God is immoral. Not to mention dangerous.”

  His expression relaxed when he scanned my face, looking for a hint of fear or disgust. There was none. He was a monster, but he was my monster.

  “A little bird told me my ex-fiancée paid you a visit a couple of days ago.” His lips were still parted. “Sparrow—”

  He was going to say something more, but I didn’t want him to think that I was angry. Especially when I knew in my heart he wasn’t seeing her anymore.

  “I don’t care.” I gave him a wicked smile. “As I said, this is just an arrangement, remember? Are you keeping your side of the deal? Is your dick inside your pants when you’re out of the house?”

  The softness in his eyes turned dark and cold. “It is. Is your pussy still mine?”

  “You bet,” I whispered.

  “You’re a little fucked up, Sparrow. I like that.” He moved his hand up my arm and thrust me lightly toward the walk-in shower.

  I stumbled back until my back hit the glass door, pushing it ajar. I stilled, staring at my husband, waiting to see what he’d do. He ducked his head down to meet my throat, biting and then sucking the pain away. His hot lips dove lower to my cleavage, but I dodged another bite by moving deeper into the shower until my back was flattened against the black ceramic tile.

  “Nice try, pal, but I’m still disgusted with your confession.” My heart hammered against my chest like a woodpecker on speed.

  “I’m not your pal.” He flashed his teeth, leaning forward and turning on the water behind me in one go. The showerhead sprayed cold water over my clothes, soaking me, and I gasped. “I’m your husband, and I’m going to do very marital things to you right now.”

  There was no point resisting, and who the hell was dumb enough to say no to this anyway? He attacked my mouth again with his warm tongue, his suit-clad body pressing into mine. I got lost in his passionate kisses, found myself again in his little teasing bites and, at some point, despite the chill of the water, got hot on every stroke of his big hands. Troy groaned into my mouth, taking both of my wrists in one of his hands and placing them against the towel warmer above my head. He jerked loose his tie, and tied me to one of its bars, tight enough to stop me from breaking free but not so tight that it hurt.

  “Jesus.” I dropped my head, watching the soft lighting from the ceiling blur out of focus and the cold water drops raining all over my body. My clothes were getting heavy and soggy, but I didn’t care. We were both fully clothed and dripping. “Daisy was right.”

  “I bet she was.” He yanked my jeans down violently, but didn’t take the bait.

  My underwear followed just as fast, leaving me bare and ready for him. Intoxicated with want. “She said the rumor is you like it kinky.”

  His warm breath traveled between my breasts, and I trembled as his tongue brushed the valley between them.

  “I like it interesting…” He dropped to his knees, his face disappearing between my thighs. He grabbed one of my knees and draped my leg over his broad shoulder. “I like it delicious…” he murmured into my pussy, his tongue, so incredibly warm in contrast to the freezing water, swirling in circles, hard and hungry.

  Shockwaves ran through my veins like hot honey.

  “I like it rough…” He grazed his teeth against my clit, up and down, up and down.

  I moaned, trying to wriggle free when his tongue danced around my sensitive nerves, but the tie was tight against my wrists. My long hair stuck to my eyes and forehead, and I was barely able to see. I whipped my head sideways, but my hair still streamed in my face. He liked the fact that I couldn’t see shit. He liked me little, small, hopeless.

  “But most of all, I like it with you…” His mouth continued its relentless motion.

  “I’m close,” I panted. I was. And there was nothing I could do to ruin it. I felt the orgasm washing through me. Rocking back and forth, aroused to a point of insanity.

  The faucet behind me turned slightly to the right, and the cold water suddenly ran warmer until it got hot. When he moved up to kiss me, I smiled. “I’d like to reciprocate.”

  “Oh, you will.” He grabbed one of my thighs, holding my knee in the crook of his elbow.

  He slammed into me hard and fast before I knew what was happening, and I gulped air. Shit, it was good. I was so full of Troy I thought I already was going to explode again.

  “When did you have time to take off your pants?” I asked, laughing while he fucked me.

  It was crazy, but with a few short, powerful thrusts, another orgasm was building inside of me, chasing the first one and threatening to tear me even harder apart. He grabbed one of my breasts through my wet shirt and pinched my nipple hard.

  “Baby, oh…” I was moaning in a volume more suited to a heavy-metal concert, so he started swallowing my loud, happy sounds with dirty kisses, muffling my voice, his tongue fucking my mouth, his lips locked on mine. Toothy kisses, filthy kisses, hungry and desperate and wanting kisses. Kisses that were much, much more than kisses.

  There was nothing gentle and romantic about it. He was banging the living hell out of me, screwing me so hard I could feel his cock pounding deep inside me. I felt my second orgasm rippling from the inside, rushing through me like a tsunami of warmth, when something sharp sliced the tie in two and my arms fell free without a warning. I almost dropped to the tiled floor, but Troy grabbed me by the elbow at the last minute, my knees just inches from the tile.

  “Reciprocate,” I heard his sharp voice ordering, and immediately knew what he wanted me to do.

  Bending down, I lowered my head to meet his cock, taking as much of it as I could in my mouth. My gag reflex was impossible to tame, but I held my breath and covered some of his shaft with my lips. I was still self-conscious about my blow-job technique, or lack of, but I didn’t need to be.

  Before I had a chance to figure out what to do, he slammed into me, fucking my mouth. “Can I?” he asked.

  I nodded, closing my eyes. I’d always thought it would feel degrading to go down on a man, but how could I with him, especially now when my wrists were still hurting after he ate me out and made me feel like I was the most delicious thing in the whole freaking world.

  I felt him tense, spasm, and then the thick, warm liquid filled my mouth. I swallowed hard, a small shiver running through my body. Looking up, I saw the smile on his face when his head dropped back, his black hair dripping water on my face.

  He stroked my hair twice with the hand that wasn’t holding his cock and sighed with pleasure. “Fuck,” he said.

  Fuck, indeed.

  Despite everything, Troy Brennan was human. And he was the worst kind, too—enchanting enough to get away with anything. Even murder.

  We ate cold Chinese food and drank buckets of alcohol in front of the TV while I forced him to watch 10 Things I Hate About You with me. Well, he wasn’t really watching. More like answering emails on his phone, twirling my hair around his finger and occasionally rolling his eyes whenever Heath Ledger and Julia Stiles shared a romantic moment, but it was more domestic bliss than I’d had in my whole life combined. We lay on the carpet, him taking another sip of his Guinness, when I roll
ed into his chest, seeking his warmth.

  “You don’t have to be so anti-love. You can learn a thing or two from rom-coms,” I said.

  “I’m not anti-love.” He dove down to kiss my lips, his hot tongue flicking my lower lip sensually. “I’m anti-bullshit. I bet you good money that if a real life chick had a guy jumping on the bleachers, singing a love song for her in front of a bunch of pimply high school kids, she’d pretty much kill him.”

  I laughed. “Wrong. I would love to hear you sing for me in front of high school kids.”

  “I would love for you to come back from your shift tomorrow completely naked, with nothing to hide your lady parts but a rare steak.”

  “That would never happen.”

  “Neither would me singing you a song in front of snarky teenagers.”

  He was normal. And fun. Worst of all, he showed me another part to love. A new layer in his complex personality no one else had access to. A layer tucked so deep under layers and layers of apathy, brutality and abrasiveness, showing it to me was almost like learning how to walk again.

  He hated that part of him. The softer, kinder part.

  And the fact that he shared it with me made me feel special. Special to have Troy, the guy you watched chick flicks with, and not Troy, the kill-a-priest and fuck-your-brains-out guy. That old, tired version he gave to everyone else. With me, he was still rough around the edges, but he wasn’t all bad either.

  “You’re impossible to deal with,” I said, pouting, but hell, I was enjoying this ping-pong.

  “And you love it.” He planted another kiss, this time on my forehead, as he scooped me into his arms. “I’m myself. I make no apologies for who I am, and you like it, because you’re so much like me. You’re the girl who teased the son of a dead mobster, The Fixer, on your wedding day. You own your shit, consequences be damned. Have you ever wondered why your parents called you Sparrow?”