Sparrow

I offered him a sly smile. “Aw, I’m hurt. Are you saying I’m no fun?”

“I’m saying that if I can’t eat it, fuck it or kill it I have no interest in it,” he answered dryly.

He was messing with me again, capitalizing on the fact everyone feared him. And let’s face it, he knew what I was ashamed to admit—his dangerous aura did appeal to me. People were like onions, made of lots of layers. The deeper you went, the rawer the layer. With Troy, I’d found a layer in myself that wanted to be scared. That got off on the adrenaline and rush of being with a savage.

I bit on my inner cheeks, tasting the metallic tang of blood. A cheater, a criminal and perhaps even a murderer, my husband wasn’t exactly a catch in my book.

And sadly, I still wanted him around.

“Fine,” I said. “Have a good meal. Find a hooker. Fuck her. Kill her. Do your little homerun of fun. Just don’t expect me to sit here and wait.”

He laughed when he shut the cab’s door with an unpleasant thud. It wasn’t a spiteful laugh. He laughed like he was genuinely enjoying our mutual exchange. Then he rolled down the window. “Dinner is at nine. Be ready and dress nice,” he had the audacity to say.

I folded my arms over my chest. “Is that a request or an order?”

“That depends on your answer.” He tipped his shades down, the storm behind those frosty blues threatening to sweep me off my feet.

I took a step back and watched my husband tapping his palm over the headrest of the driver. Anger boiled beneath my skin, and I held my lip between my teeth.

Don’t lose it, Sparrow. That’s exactly what he wants.

“Semantics.” He shook his head in amusement. “You women just love it. We’re outta here.”

The cab rolled back into the traffic jam ahead, leaving me with our suitcases and a sour mood. But this time, I wasn’t going to just take it. I was going to up my game.

In true Brennan fashion, I turned around, took out my purse and shoved a few bills into the hand of the nearest bellboy. I didn’t have much money, but whatever I had, I gave him.

“Keep the suitcase somewhere safe until I’m back and get me a taxi. Now, please.”

A minute later I was sitting at the back of a bright yellow sedan, an elderly Cuban driver asking me where I was going.

“Wherever they’re going.” I pointed at Troy’s cab. The other yellow car was still buried deep inside a traffic jam. We’d have no trouble tailing them—they wouldn’t even notice.

Oh, yes. If Troy was going to treat me like a prop, I wanted to find out why. Why we were here, what was he up to and especially, why the hell I was his.

TROY

I WAS GOING TO make the most out what was left of Paddy Rowan.

I hated the man with a passion, and if there’s one thing I knew, it was that passion never fails. Passion always fucking delivers.

Back in the days when the Irish ruled Southie, Paddy shaved some serious commission money off of my dad. Protection money, mostly. He was in charge of the bookkeeping, just like Brock, and just like Brock, he was not to be trusted.

I didn’t discover the truth until after my father was dead. Rowan had skipped town months before. Of course, by then the Armenians were after him, too. That’s why I’d let Paddy alone when I set out to avenge my father’s death and chased down everyone who had wronged him over the years. Rowan’s theft was ancient history and he had reason to lay low after he fled. He was, therefore, pretty far down on my list.

Then Red told me about what Rowan did to her, and it reawakened all kinds of dark thoughts I had about this man and put him straight up on that list again. He may not have been responsible for the death of my father, but he still stole our money.

He touched a girl.

He touched my girl.

Of course, killing Rowan was pointless. The man was already half dead and I wasn’t dumb enough to be that impatient. All the same, I couldn’t wait to get to Miami, especially after the news Jensen – a private investigator who was on my payroll - had sent while we were waiting to take off. Red was in for a hell of a wedding gift.

I also wanted her around just to make sure my cock wasn’t doing anything overly stupid, like getting itself buried in other women. Even though I had no illusions about my icicle of a wife, taking her with me guaranteed I wouldn’t find myself getting up to any old bad habits. The emptiness of the aftermath was intolerable. Case in point, tapping Cat today was about as fun as doing my own taxes.