Sparrow

It wasn’t about who Red was that I liked—it was about who she wasn’t. She wasn’t a woman who wanted me because of my power, status, job or bank account.

Buying her shit only pissed her off, and trust me, I’d had my people filling her wardrobe with designer shoes and dresses. She gave them all away to the homeless shelter down the street like they weren’t worth a dime. In fact, there’s a crazy homeless woman in downtown Boston walking around in a Stella McCartney suit and a pair of Jimmy Choo’s, yelling at traffic lights that she was the real Messiah.

Yeah. Red either ignored my flashy gifts like they were contaminated, filthy, unworthy, or worse, tucked them under her slim arm and gave them all to charity. I wanted to kill and kiss the shit out of her in the same breath. It pissed me off and delighted me all at the same time.

She wasn’t a woman who cared for superficial shit, someone who was motivated by the wrong things. She was a blank, clean, white sheet for me to scribble on.

And I scribbled.

On her lips, on her jaw, her neck and collarbone. I jotted my hunger for her in vivid colors as I sucked on her pink nipples, grazing my teeth over them, at first slowly and very carefully, and then with more force, when I realized that inside little Sparrow, lay a wild bird waiting to be untethered. I rubbed her until she almost bled, until her moans became growls. I scrawled my initials all over her as I licked her up and down and made her cry my name. Again.

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.